The Master by Ashe Barker and Katy Swann.

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The deal settled, Dylan glanced about and spotted a vacant spanking bench a few yards away. He offered her his hand, and she took it.

“House safewords, okay?” He gestured to Jodie to assume the position on the bench.

“Red, yellow, green. Yes, that’s fine, Master Dylan. Do… do you want me to undress?”

Dylan seriously doubted that, once out of that dress, she’d be going back into it any time soon. “What do you have on under it?”

“Just a thong, Sir.”

“That’ll be fine.” He was already pushing the boundaries. He had no intention of touching her. A thong would preserve some sliver of modesty whilst offering no protection from his paddle.

He waited until she was draped across the top of the bench, then crouched to secure the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Given that she wanted this spanking, the restraints weren’t needed for practical purposes, but she’d mentioned she enjoyed being tied up, so why not?

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, Master Dylan. Thank you.”

He peeled back the scrap of red latex that purported to make up the skirt of her dress and rolled it up to her waist. The thong beneath was made of bright red satin and disappeared between the rounded cheeks of her delectable ass. He could just make out the darker patch between her thighs that betrayed her arousal.

Good. That makes two of us.

A selection of spanking implements was displayed on the wall behind the bench. Dylan already had a good idea what he intended to use but took his time over making his choice. His little newbie sub would benefit from the wait. Eventually, he lifted down a paddle made of polished wood. It was of medium weight and would deliver a resounding, heavy stroke, more of a thud than a slap really. It would make plenty of noise, and he knew that would add considerably to the experience for Jodie.

“This is going to smart, but you’ll be fine for practice on Monday. That’s almost three days away.”

“Th-thank you.” She clenched her buttocks in anticipation as he took up position behind her.

“Ten strokes. You can count them if you like.”

“Only ten?” She shifted on the bench. “I usually manage more than that.”

Was that a note of disappointment in her voice? Dylan grinned. She’ll learn.

“We’re dealing in quality here, not quantity. Ten will be ample, I assure you.”

“Oh, but—”

“Are you ready, Jodie?” He tapped her upturned buttock with the flat of the paddle.

“Yes, Sir. I’m ready. I… Oh!”

She let out a satisfying squeal when he dropped the first stroke across her right cheek. The outline of the paddle bloomed in bright red across her creamy skin.

Pretty as a picture, he thought.

“Are you counting, Jodie?”

“What? Oh, yes. One, Sir.” Her voice was considerably less even now, her breath coming in short, quick pants. Oh, yes, she would most certainly learn.

He shifted slightly and raised the paddle again. Jodie yelped, shrieked, writhed in the restraints. This will be a memorable lesson, he reflected as she counted out the next three strokes, whimpering between each one.

He spread the spanks evenly across her buttocks. Each cheek now bloomed beautifully, her gorgeous globes clenching and quivering as he selected his spot for the next slap.

The sound made by the paddle was sublime. A swift whistle as it whooshed through the air, then a deep, resonating thud when it connected with her flesh. From her squeals and grunts it was obvious Jodie appreciated the finer qualities of the implement; in particular, its ability to deliver a serious and memorable lesson with little in the way of aftereffects.

Buy Link -->>https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GL62KKG/



Life can’t get any better, can it?

Jodie Price has landed a hot new taekwondo coach and the offer of sponsorship to get her to the Tokyo Olympics. She needs to be at peak physical fitness for the qualifying championships so she’s more than willing to promise there’ll be no more drinking or partying until after the selection is over. But she can’t resist one last fling before the work starts in earnest. After all, one night at her favourite BDSM club won’t do any harm…

But she hadn’t bargained on her sexy new coach being a dom, and when she literally bumps into Dylan Atkins at the club he’s determined to show her that he’s her master, in the dungeon as well as in the dojang. A hard spanking settles the matter.

Jodie and Dylan agree to put their relationship on hold and concentrate on their sport, but they can’t keep their hands off each other. It’s not long before Jodie ends up in his bed with her ass burning from another punishment. Their relationship deepens, and Jodie’s life seems perfect as she sets her sights firmly on making it to Tokyo with Team GB.

But when she discovers that the very person she thought of as her saviour is out to destroy her career with blackmail and threats she doesn’t know where to turn. Worse, the repercussions are affecting her relationship with Dylan. Suddenly, she has a lot more to lose than just her dreams of Olympic gold.

Buy Link -->>https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GL62KKG/

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About Ashe Barker

USA Today Bestselling author Ashe Barker writes erotic romance and spanking romance in a variety of genres including contemporary, BDSM, paranormal, historical. ménage, gay romance and time travel. She is a #1 Amazon Bestseller and all her stories feature hot alpha males and sassy submissives, often with a lot to learn. Kink abounds, and there’s enough dirty talk to satisfy the most demanding smut lover. However dark and dirty the setting, love always emerges triumphant, and her stories never fail to deliver a satisfying happy ever after.

About Katy Swann

Katy lives in Kent, UK with her husband, three children and three cats. She writes erotic BDSM romance with a strong emphasis on Dominance and submission. Katy explores both the emotional and sexual elements of D/s, with Doms that are firm but caring and submissives that are strong and feisty.

She loves the 4 C’s: cats, chocolate, champagne and coffee. When she’s not writing she spends her time as a glorified taxi driver for her children and even finds time now and then to indulge in her interests, which include Tai Chi, dance, music, aviation and reading.



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“Corinne Michaels and Melanie Harlow are a match made in heaven. Five-Sweet-Stars for this unforgettable collaboration!” --A.L. Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

Hold You Close, an all-new second chance standalone romance by New York Times bestselling author Corinne Michaels and USA Today bestselling author Melanie Harlow, is available now!

“Ian,” my bartender, Toby, calls with his hand out. “What’s up?” “You have a call.” He pushes the phone toward me. No one calls the club for me other than vendors, and it’s eleven-thirty at night, so whoever it is can wait. “I have to deal with something now, send them to my voicemail.” He shakes his head. “She’s called three times.” The annoyance in his voice is clear, even over the music. She? The only woman that would resort to calling the club is my ex-wife. God only knows what bullshit she wants now. For all I know she broke a nail, it’s my fault, and she thinks I should pay for her new manicure, or a hand replacement. She’s like the gift you’ve tried to return but can’t find the receipt for, so you’re stuck with it. I hate unwanted presents, and I hate Jolene. “Send the devil to my voicemail,” I say and walk away. I head out to the sidewalk. Drea wasn’t kidding, the line is nuts. “Hello, Officer,” I say to the pudgy cop standing next to the bouncer. “Mr. Chase, we’re getting complaints,” he says, looking down the sidewalk at the line. “I can’t help that we’re popular.” I shrug. “I’m at capacity, and can’t kick out the paying customers to take care of the line.” “You’re obstructing the entrances of other businesses because of the way your overflow lines are set up.” How the hell would they like me to handle it? We’re not inside the casino, there’s no way to control the line. I’m not about to turn away people when we hit the number ten. This is a business, and part of the free marketing I get is thanks to the line. “All right, I’ll figure something out.” I grip the back of my neck. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. If this is Jolene, I swear to God, I might lose my fucking mind. The name flashes across the screen, London Parish. For fuck’s sake. Like I need to deal with my sister’s uptight, irritating best friend right now. London would be incredibly hot if she wasn’t such a raging bitch. I look at my call log and see this is the third time she’s called. I walk down the strip a little, and after a few deep breaths, I call her back. “Ian, you need to come to my house.” I smirk. “Well, this is a first. Did you have the stick removed from your ass?” “Don’t. Not today, please. Just come here.” I hear her sniff and my protectiveness kicks in. Someone made her cry. We don’t get along at all—partly because we’re polar opposites and partly because of our history—but no one gets to make her cry. “Are you hurt?” I ask. “Not in the way you think.” Her voice hitches. I’ve known London for twenty-five years. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen or heard her cry—I was the reason one of those times. “What’s wrong? Is it an emergency? Because I’m at work and the club—” “Now, Ian. You need to come here now.” She also doesn’t play games. Fuck. I look at my watch and blow a deep breath through my nose. It’ll take me at least thirty minutes to get there. This is seriously a shitty night. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” “Just . . . hurry,” London says and hangs up. Dread pulls at my stomach, telling me there’s something going on. I don’t know what, but I know I need to get there. “Get rid of the line, no more get in,” I tell the bouncer, and then head inside. Drea is at the bar, and my anxiety is starting to grow. London needs me there, why? What happened? Did someone break into her house? Mine? Maybe it has to do with an ex, if she even has one, or it could be nothing like that. Regardless, her voice was shaky and I can’t waste time wondering. “I have to go,” I tell Drea. Her eyes widen. “Go? Go where? It’s a packed house.” “I’m aware of that, but something came up. I need you to handle things tonight.” I turn to Toby. “Stay until Drea is done closing and I want you to escort her to her car at the end of the night.” He nods. I never let her walk out of here alone. Even if I have someone coming home with me, Drea’s not going to be unescorted. Too many men get the wrong impression because she’s nice to them. Over my dead body will she be hurt as a result of working at my club. After I get in the car, my mind is racing. I drive faster than I should, telling myself that London is just being dramatic. And then I remember . . . she has my nephew and nieces at her house. My foot pushes down on the pedal of my Jaguar, making the engine howl with each mile. I turn into the development where we both live, pass my house, and head to hers. I still hate that our backyards touch. Every damn day I see her sitting out on her deck, reading her books, looking down at me with her disapproving attitude. When I get there, the flashing lights of a police car brighten the road. I don’t think. I don’t know if I even put the car in park before I’m out of the vehicle. “London!” I yell as I rush through the door. “Christopher? Morgan? Ruby?” I call out for the kids, praying it’s not one of them. When I get to the living room, I release a heavy sigh—they’re all there, not hurt. Then I see the tears streaming down Morgan’s face. London gets to her feet. Her eyes are red, puffy, and black mascara runs down her cheeks. “Ian.” She chokes on my name. “What’s wrong? What happened?” The girls start to cry again, and my nephew pulls them into his arms. London moves toward me, placing her hand on my chest. “They’re gone.” “Who?” I ask, confused. “Sabrina and David,” she whispers. Yeah, they went on a trip. Why the hell are they crying? “This is what you called me for? They’ll be home in a few days. Why are you crying too?” I ask. Her green eyes meet mine and her lips part. “No.” She shakes her head. “They won’t.” I look over at the kids again, and then to the muted television. My feet move closer, because I have to be sure the words flashing across the screen say what I think they say. “Flight 1184 crashes off the coast of Hawaii. Three hundred missing and presumed dead.” My sister was going to Hawaii. My sister is gone. I sink to my knees in front of the kids, unsure what to say. They just lost their parents, and my heart is breaking. My sister was my best friend. She was the one who pushed me to open Veil and do what I wanted. I’ve always had her support, and now she’s gone. Christopher lifts his head, his brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “They’ll find them,” he says with conviction. “Okay,” I reply. We both know it’s a lie, but it’s one he has to tell himself. I remember being fifteen; there was no telling me I was wrong. “Dad wouldn’t . . .” he starts, and then stops as his lip quivers. My own tears start to fall, as Morgan grabs my hand. “What do we do now?” I have no fucking clue. How do I tell these kids how to survive? I’m the last person in the world equipped to give this advice. I look to London. Her hand touches my shoulder and she wipes the tears that fall silently down her cheeks. “We hold each other close,” she says.
New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Corinne Michaels is the author of nine romance novels. She’s an emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun loving mom of two beautiful children. Corinne is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a former Navy wife. After spending months away from her husband while he was deployed, reading and writing was her escape from the loneliness. She enjoys putting her characters through intense heartbreak and finding a way to heal them through their struggles. Her stories are chock full of emotion, humor, and unrelenting love.


USA Today Bestselling Author Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty bits left in. When she's not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak. Melanie is the author of the AFTER WE FALL series, the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.