Brax can’t get the girl on the dance floor out of his mind, the woman he literally swept off her feet and into Club Verge. She’s no submissive, but he can’t help but admire her ferocity, even as he yearns to take her over his lap and teach her manners. He’s determined to keep her safe if he has to lock her up himself.
Officer Zoe Mackay can handle herself. But when she learns information that puts her life at risk, she’s forced to seek the assistance of a private investigator. Little does she know the man she hires is none other than Braxton Cannon, the high-handed dominant who gave her the hottest one-night stand of her life.
With her assailants in hot pursuit, Zoe is forced to seek refuge in Club Verge, where she finds way more than she’s bargained for...
There comes a point in any combat scenario where you know you’re losing. You know your only chance of overcoming your opponent is gone. In a staged scenario, like the training sessions at the academy, you might get hit a few times but admitting defeat will usually end the session, unless you’re at the mercy of an asshole who has a bone to pick with you. In a real life situation, you know you’re going down. It’s rare that someone will actually take a fight to the death. Even the most hardened criminals often have trouble pulling the trigger, finishing the job. Most of the time it just means you’re getting a beating.
I have no idea what Brax will do. All I know is he restrained me once and that didn’t end up so well for him, so the likelihood of him upping his game is pretty damn strong. He’s gonna win this one. There’s no denying that, But I’m not going down without a fight.
I struggle and try to push away, but I find that he’s taking a weird position. He’s like kneeling or something instead of trying to pin me down again. He lifts me straight up in the air like I’m a rag doll, and hauls me straight across his knees. It takes me a second to register the position I’m in before his palm smacks against my ass. I don’t even react at first, I’m so shocked at what he’s doing.
I’ve been wrestled and beaten and subdued. But hell. No one’s ever… spanked me before.
“What the fuck!” I protest, as a second vicious smack of his palm on my ass pushes the breath right out of me. “What the hell are you doing?
He doesn’t say anything. He just sorta shifts his position so that now my head is lower on the floor and my ass is higher up in the air, giving him what I’d imagine is a very clear target.
In silence, he pins me down and gives me two, three, four wicked spanks.
This feels weird. I’m not sure what to do. It hurts, I can’t deny it, and I would have expected I’d feel like a kid or something, being spanked like this. He spanks me again, and again, and I can’t even fight him now. I’ve tried that and it got me nowhere. I’ve got to try another tactic.
“I’m sorry!” I manage to squeak out in between whacks of his brutal palm. “Ok, I’m sorry!”
He pauses and rests his hand on my scorched ass. He’s heaving with the effort of restraining and spanking me, and for a moment the only sound in the kitchen is both of us panting.
“Seriously. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” I say. Weirdly, the desire to beat the shit out of him is now gone, and I have to admit I’m actually feeling pretty subdued. What the hell happened there? “Please let me up and we can talk.”
To my surprise, I feel his hand fisting at the nape of my neck, my hair all tangled up in his fingers. He pulls my head back and his mouth is at my ear. Warm breath tickles my skin, but it’s what he says that makes me tingle. “You ever fucking pull something like that again, you’ll lose your pants and I’ll spank your bare ass. You understand me?”
USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. She writes what she loves to read: kink with a tender touch. Jane is a hopeless romantic who lives on the East Coast.