He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

You son of a bitch,” I hiss, intentionally keeping my voice low. Crazy, half-cocked, vindictive ex-lover isn’t normally my thing. Hell, there’s a first for everything, though. “Diana! Stop. This is stupid, and girl, you know I know stupid when I see it because I’ve done all the stupid in my life.” Beatrice pleads with me to think twice as she shuffles toward me, trying to place her small frame between me and the car I’m about to destroy. “Stop the lecture.” My hands tremble as I hold the keys, glaring past my blonde-haired, blue-eyed bestie, and focusing my hatred on the silver Maserati. I march past Beatrice, and before I can change my mind, dig the tip of my key into the gleaming exterior with maniacal glee. Crouching down, I take grim pleasure in destroying the most beautiful car I’ve ever looked at. Sat in. Been fucked in. “Did you tell Little Miss High and Tight your sob story?” I cackle to the car as if it’s my ex-boyfriend embodied. I’d only just met the guy a few weeks ago, my first real boyfriend since my ex-husband took off, but I’d managed to convince myself he was the one. My savior. My hero. With a particularly vicious swipe, I lose my footing and nearly sprawl onto the snowy sidewalk, but I catch myself on the bumper. Wind whips at my hair, icy snow lashing my bare skin, but I hardly feel it. Tequila for the win. “Diana,” Beatrice cajoles. “You’ve had too much to drink. God, woman! Get ahold of yourself! You’ve done it, okay? You’ve done enough. I shouldn’t have let you out of the car. This isn’t you. You’re too smart to pull this teenaged shit. Just get in the car and I’ll—” “Leave me alone.” I love this girl to death, but I don’t trust myself not to shove her out of my way if she tries to stop me. I scrape the key once more, so deep it feels like fucking nails on a chalkboard, but I like knowing the damage will be severe. “You don’t know what it’s like to walk into your bedroom and see some bitch with her lips wrapped around your boyfriend’s cock.” Scrraaape. “You don’t know what it’s like to see betrayal in the eyes of the man who said he loved you.” Scraaaape. “You don’t know what it’s like,” my voice catches on a dry sob, so I underscore my angst with another cut of the key, “to have to explain to your son that the bastard who promised to take him to the drive-in movie theater was a lying piece of shit who’ll never come back.” Scrape, scrape, scraaape. Sitting back on my heels, I eye the destruction with triumph. Beatrice talks to me like one might speak to a rabid animal, her hands outstretched in a gesture meant to calm. “I may not know those things, but I do know that—” She freezes, her voice now panicked. “Oh. Oh, shit. Diana, stop. Oh my God. We have to go.” But before I can respond, the deep growl of a man’s voice right behind me—a voice I do not know—makes me nearly stumble. “What the fuck are you doing to my car?” Shit. His… car? I turn, my cheeks hot despite the freezing cold, to stare into the terrifyingly furious face of the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He towers over me, even wearing my tallest spiky heels, and the involuntary step I take back helps me see him better. Everything about him is dark, with his swarthy skin and nearly-black hair, but it’s his eyes—black as coal beneath thick, heavy brows, that pin me in place. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can barely think. His jaw, covered in thick, dark stubble, tightens when his huge, muscled arms cross his expansive chest. In any other time or place, I’d find the man sexy as fuck. But now? “Your car?” I whisper. “My car,” he says in a low growl. “What are you doing to my fucking car?” I blow out a breath and close my eyes. I’m screwed.

He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

It’s maybe not a good sign that her teasing makes my dick hard as a rock. Jesus, what I wouldn’t give to push her right up against the display and spank her ass in front of God and everybody. The very idea makes my hand tingle. I can almost taste the surge of adrenaline I get when I punish her ass, can almost see the red marks from my hand, feel her writhing beneath me. She’s addictive. And fuck if she doesn’t need this as much as I do. Marla grins as we leave. I guide her to my right, my left side facing the street, before I grab her hand and lead her toward Verge. “Pushin’ your luck in there, woman.” “No, sir,” she contradicts. “Pushing my dom.” Her dom. “I don’t like game playing,” I bluff, feeling as if I need to keep a firm footing on some kind of control. She’s beginning to make me unravel. “There are better ways of getting your ass spanked, you know,” I say. “Sure,” she says, “like saying, ‘Spank my ass,’ in the middle of a bookstore. Yes, I’d be game for that. Or, say, pulling my skirt up and laying over your lap. Perhaps texting you a ‘spank me’ meme?” A gray-haired woman with wide, round spectacles stares as she walks past us, her mouth dropping open. Just to give her something to talk about, I take Diana by the elbow and give her a teasing smack, which makes several passers-by snicker and the lady furrow her brow, literally picking up her skirts and scurrying past us with a disapproving glare. Diana sticks her tongue out at the retreating woman. She’s adorable, but I make a clucking sound. “Alright, behave yourself, now,” I order. I can tell just by looking at her that she needs to know she can push me and that when she does, I won’t crumple. I know the look by now. Submissive women who crave dominance need this from time to time, and Diana’s no exception. I’ve likened it to a blind man finding his way in an unfamiliar room; once he knows where the walls are, his boundaries, he can move more freely. Though she doesn’t say a word, I give her a sober look as I unlock the door to Verge. “You know, I’ve been doing this a while now. I know that look in your eyes.” “Look? What look?” she responds, barely keeping the bite out of her tone. “That spank me, please,” look. I pull her into the empty hallway and shut the door behind her. “The look that says, dominate me.” “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—don’t you—” “Diana,” I say evenly, holding her by the elbow and marching her down the hall, past my office, past the vacant lobby, and into the bar area. “You’re an honest woman. Don’t compound things by letting that slide just because you’re embarrassed. You can get a lot of things just by asking. But sometimes? You don’t know what it is you want, or need, especially when you’re new to this. Lucky for you, or unlucky for you, however you wanna see it, I’m not new.” We reach the dungeon that looks cavernous with no one else here. I release her elbow and point to the padded spanking bench in the center of the room. “Lie over the table. Lose the leggings. And if at any point you want to stop, you say pink flamingo.” “What?” She suddenly has the classic deer-in-the-headlights look. But we don’t have time to argue. “That’s your safeword,” I say, my eyes meeting hers as I reach for the buckle of my belt. Her eyes go wide as I unfasten the belt and tug the leather through the loops, anticipation weaving its way through me, the sweet taste of domination at hand. “What are you doing?” she whispers, now beginning to really look afraid. “Tobias…” Doubling the belt over and pointing to the table, I repeat the safeword. “Pink flamingo.”

He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.

He’s bred to protect.

Tobias Creed likes things done his way, and he likes his women ready to submit. No strings attached. Until the night he meets the one woman who challenges him, practically begging to be taken over his knee.

As a single mom to a child with special needs, Diana McAdams does things her way. She’s in control and doesn’t have time for love. Happily-ever-afters aren’t for her.

Then she meets the man who demands her submission…

Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.

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