Highland Desire by Nia Farrell writing as Erinn Ellender Quinn
Length: 7,632 words. Release Date December 20, 2017
In 1602 Scotland, a young widow traveling alone with her three-year-old daughter finds herself indebted to her clan’s enemy after he saves her child.
A steamy historical Highland romance novelette, written for Ages 18+.
“Ye look better,” he murmured, sounding as if the mere act of speaking was all that he could manage.
“As do ye,” she replied. If she were judging by looks alone, she would have deemed him fit for travel. But his voice betrayed his weakness. They would be here at least one night, possibly two.
The last time she was on Rannoch Moor, she was a frightened fifteen-year-old, headed for a marriage that her stepfather had arranged. Now, she was a woman grown and had a choice—to stay with Niall or go. Wounded though he was, she still felt safer with him than alone. Too, she owed him her daughter’s life. Saving his seemed the least that she could do.
She gathered berries and wood sorrel, shaved more meat, and made tea. Eventually, she helped him up when the water she’d been pushing in him demanded to be let out. Judging the hour, she gathered bits of wood and dried dung, anything that would burn to help ward off the chill of night. They spend it hunkered by the fire, trying to stay warm, with her child tethered to her so she could not wander off.
In the morning, Muirgheal steeped more sorrel and shaved meat for him, and fed Phee and herself. Niall was quiet. She wished that he would speak. Even if he was not up for conversation, he could at least tell her exactly where he lived. She prayed that it was close. Hopefully, it was within a day’s ride. Surely he would not range far from his home to hunt, but with men, one never knew.
By the time the three of them finished breaking their fast, Niall deemed himself ready to try riding.
Muirgheal said nothing. She nodded, keeping her doubts to herself. Willpower alone might get him in the saddle and keep him there. But he would be seated alone this time. He could barely handle himself. There was no way that he could handle Phee and her.
She tied their bags behind his saddle. At least that much of her burden would be lighter. The two of them walked beside him, or she walked and Phee rode her hip. They traveled until they entered Gleann Dubh—the Black Glen, which lay west of Loch Rannoch, about eleven miles east of where they had been on Rannoch Moor. It was almost as pretty a place as where she was born. The stone cottage they finally reached looked cozy and well-made.
Approaching it, Muirgheal noted a small garden out back. The door in the side of a hill marked where a root cellar had been dug into it. The barn behind the house had a paddock. From beyond the barn, she thought she heard the laugh of a stream as it tumbled over rocks and rills.
The trip had taken most of Niall’s strength. “Ye need to rest,” she said. “I’ll take care of yer horse if ye will tell me what ye want.”
There was a long, awkward pause.
He had to clear his throat to answer her.
She listened to his words, but more than that, she searched his eyes, wishing to rewind the clock and read again what she thought they were saying.
Tell me what ye want.
He wanted her.
She had begun to suspect it, the way that he tried, so very hard, to not look at her. He was a quiet one, except for the occasional tune he hummed or sang before a bullet had nearly felled him. He didn’t feel the need to fill the air with idle chatter, and in that, they were alike. She would rather listen to his breath and to his heartbeat and know that when he did say something, his words had weight and meaning.
Niall rode the horse into the barn and managed to dismount. While Phee jumped on a rick of straw, Muirgheal helped him with the saddle and pad. He took off the bridle and turned the stallion out into the paddock to graze on lush, green grass.
The inside of the house was cooler than outside, thanks to the thickness of the stone walls and windows that faced east. It was a typical one-room Highland cottage, with a bed downstairs and a sleeping loft above. Niall lived here with his ghosts, in the framed silhouette of a woman on the wall, the abandoned spinning wheel near the hearth, and the empty cradle in the corner.
“Nap!” Phee gave it a push and giggled, wanting to lie in it.
“Nay, lassie. Ye willnae fit.” Even if she did, her climbing in the cradle might violate his sacred space, and Niall was already hurting.
“Sit,” she insisted when Niall stopped beside a pair of wooden buckets. “Tell me where tae fill them, and I shall.”
“The burn,” he said, pointing in the direction of the barn.
Taking a bucket in each hand, Muirgheal ordered Phee to come and set out to find water. The burn was close by. In the summer heat, the spring-fed water was blessedly cold and clear. She walked to a point above where the horse drank and brought the wooden pails back full.
Setting them by the door, she found Niall asleep on the floor by the hearth, choosing to lie there rather than dirty his sheets or climb to the sleeping loft. To let him rest, she took Phee with her and visited the root cellar, taking stock of what was there in crocks, baskets, bottles, and kegs. Niall clearly needed more variety in his diet. There was dried meat aplenty but little in the way of vegetables, and his garden was too small to meet more than the moment’s need.
Next year, she thought, then stopped herself. So close to home, she was. So near to her mother, her family, her friends. Try as she might to picture herself on the far side of the pass, she could as easily see herself here, sewing by the hearth, mending stockings and making clothes for her growing little girl who was more comfortable with Niall than she’d ever been with the man who wished only for a son.
Did she want to stay? Dare she ask? And if she did, would he let her? She knew next to nothing about the man who lived here. How did he earn his living? Was he wealthy? Was he happy? If he wasn’t, could she be the one to ease his sadness and make him so?
She’d only known him three days, and already she could envision a future with him. In her heart, she was willing to risk it. Whatever happened now, he would be the one to decide.
Replay Book 9: Gladiator by Nia Farrell
Length 23,793 words. Release date February 1, 2018.
MMFMM BDSM Erotic Romance, interracial, international
Greek-born Leda Giannopoulis is a wardrobe assistant at Replay BDSM theme resort where patrons roleplay in the past. Work interferes with participating in scenes, but it doesn’t stop her from fantasizing about being kidnapped. She never expected to be taken, let alone by the international, interracial cadre of four gladiators who live and train at Replay’s new Roman villa.
Sir Djiman is a bisexual Ethiopian personal trainer. Sir Marcus is an Italian photographer. German-born Lukas Arik Haas is a fitness model and aspiring author. Sir Antony, the bisexual Spanish swordmaster and leader of the group, warns her that life with them will be very demanding. Leda will be submitting to four Dominants with very different personalities. Two of them already seem at odds with each other. Leda hopes to be the tie that will bind them, but her kidnapping fantasy might prove to be the very thing that tears them apart.
This book deals with subjects that include bullying and unsolved murder and may contain triggers. An interracial, multicultural MMFMM BDSM ménage a cinco, written for Ages 18+.
“Does it turn you on, to imagine being taken against your will?”
“And what about this?”
Quick as a ninja, Lukas shot up from the chaise, grabbed her forearms, and threw Leda onto it, following her down and pinning her in place with his body. He pulled her wrists above her head and manacled them in one hand. Thrusting his other five fingers under her skirt, he felt just how turned on she was. Her pussy lips were swollen. The crotch of her panties was sopping wet.
She moaned when he pressed against her clit.
God damn if that wasn’t one of the sexiest things he’d ever heard.
That voice of hers was like an aphrodisiac. Normally, he’d have her give him fellatio to take the edge off and fuck her longer. But if hard and fast got her off, he had no problem with that.
He slammed his mouth down on hers. Forcing her lips apart, he shoved his tongue inside to duel with hers, claiming her orifice above as thoroughly as he planned to claim those below. She whimpered into his mouth. He groaned, relishing the sound.
She tasted of citrus and spice and smelled like heaven, with the soft scent of peaches rising from her skin. Her body writhed beneath his, grinding against him in silent invitation.
Hooking his fingers in her panties, he ripped them off of her and tossed them aside. He managed to work the buttons of his Victorian-inspired steampunk pants open and freed his erection. It thumped against her belly. She twisted towards him, wanting more.
He gave it to her. Prying her legs apart with his knees, he wedged himself between her creamy thighs and sank his length inside her in one long, hard, meaty thrust that had her begging for more. Once he knew what she could handle, he cut loose, driving into her with the precision of a well-oiled machine, his body slamming into hers, again, and again, and again.
The She-Wolf on the Twentieth Floor (Unbillable Hours #1)
by Ree L. Diehl
Length 9,273 words. Release date January 15, 2018.
A neglected mistress teases the wrong window washer and gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.
Randy Jackson is usually pushing a pencil, managing the family window-washing business. When his twin’s wife goes into labor, Randy must take his place on the crew. Andy doesn’t trust anyone else with the she-wolf on the twentieth floor.
Sure enough, she starts dancing for him in a blatant invitation. His twin might be immune to her charms, but come quitting time, he plans to make the she-wolf howl. If he’s lucky, his friend-with-benefits will join them.
Welcome to the Unbillable Hours Series, where the best things happen off the clock. The She-Wolf on the Twentieth Floor is an erotic romantic comedy HEA ménage and the debut novelette for Ree L. Diehl.
Romantic Comedy Erotica, written for ages 18+.
Her greeting for Jerry died on her lips.
She had looked up, expecting to see silver hair perfectly groomed in a hundred-dollar haircut. Instead, she saw a thick thatch of tawny hair pulled back in a ponytail. It was him. Wash. Her window washer. The man she envisioned every time her toys came out and a session of self-gratification ensued.
He didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside, a coil of rope in his hand and clear intent on his face. Pushing the door shut with his foot, he swept her with his gaze and eyed her speculatively. Blue was supposed to be a cool color, but the heat in his eyes was searing.
She stepped away rather than risk getting burned.
“Just so you know,” he began, his voice as sexy as his rugged good looks, “you teased the wrong twin. I’m Randy.”
Her gaze dropped to the impressive package shaping the front of his pants. “So I see.”
“Well,” he drawled, “that, too. I can’t say it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, but it turns out, I’m aptly named. My brother Andy is currently at the hospital, helping his wife breathe through contractions. I’m usually pushing pencils, but he didn’t trust any of our crew with you. It just goes to show how little he knows about me, for all that we’re twins.”
He sauntered to where she stood, smelling of sweat and sun and pure, male lust.
She wet her lips.
Randy tapped the rope against his thigh. Desire made his nostrils flare. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent. “Unless you want your neighbors across the way to watch me fuck you against that pristine window, you need to either show me the door or lock it and lead the way to your bedroom. By way of full disclosure, you can expect things to start with a spanking.”
Just that fast, her pussy was gushing.
“Well,” she breathed, “when you put it that way….”
Brushing past him, Lauren flipped the lock, reset the alarm, and headed for her bedroom. Hers, not Jerry’s. Booted footsteps followed.
Randy tossed the rope on her pillows and sat on the end of the bed. Meeting her gaze, he patted his thigh. “Lose the clothes and assume the position, sweetheart. Head to my left, ass to my right.”
Lauren felt anticipation course through her veins and pool in her belly, swelling her pussy lips and making her even wetter.
Light sparked in his appreciative gaze. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she hedged. “I don’t know that one spanking will be enough. I may need more. I’ve been a bad girl. A very, very bad girl. Fucking a married man. Teasing a married man. About to let a total stranger fuck me.”
She dropped her gaze to his naked ring finger. “Are you married?”
He cocked his head. “Does it matter?”
“No,” she said. “I just like to know where I stand.”
“I’m more interested in where you’re going to kneel when you suck my cock. But I digress. Spanking first. I won’t tell you again. Strip—what’s your name?”
She shook her head and reached for the hem of her shirt. “Ralph. My mother swore that she couldn’t resist a man who wore Polo. One of them played it. She would never tell me his name, but I heard that he could ride like nobody’s business.”
REPLAY REUNION 1: NAUGHTY NEW YEAR
by Nia Farrell
Length 6,154 words. Release date January 1, 2018.
The cast of Replay BDSM theme resort reunites for a very special New Year celebration, held in the latest expansion where future Steampunk weekends will be held. Sir Piers built the Steamroom complex for his wife Eleanor. Its design was inspired by the books that she enjoys as an adult and a board game that she loved in her youth.
It’s a rare evening out for Replay’s owner and his wife. Time away from their daughter Adrienne creates problems for Eleanor, who’s still breastfeeding. But Sir Piers is more than her husband. He’s her Dominant. When the pain becomes acute, he whisks her into the conservatory and gives her the relief that she needs.
It’s a brand New Year, and a very different Replay. Written for ages 18+.
The moon was nearly full tonight, and the sky was clear. The ambient lighting in the conservatory made it harder to see the stars, but it enhanced the inner beauty of the space. The stained concrete floor mimicked flagstones but the illusion of texture was far easier to clean. Potted trees and plants formed a maze of pathways. A mix of wicker, wood, and metal furniture was scattered throughout.
Piers had built the entire Steamroom complex just for her, inspired by the books she enjoyed as an adult and the game that she had loved when she was younger.
It was the first time that she had been included on a project from the initial concept to the completed design. She’d thought that cutting back her hours of counseling at the community resource center would allow more time with Adrienne. Instead, she’d found herself working with Piers and loving every minute of it.
The man was a visionary. A genius, really. And so very humble, considering his gifts. He’d taken a dream and turned it into reality. Every weekend, he made fantasies come true.
If she could be certain that she wouldn’t add to any guilt or embarrassment that Ashley might be feeling, she’d slide from her chair, crawl over to her husband, and show her appreciation. Later, she promised herself. Their first obligation was to others. And denying herself now would only heighten her pleasure later.
She finished her snails and sipped at her wine, watching Piers eat. For so large a man, he was incredibly graceful. He had nearly finished when the orchestra began playing the song that they’d first danced to, dressed as the White Queen and King in Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland.
“I am sorry.” He sighed. “I expected us to be finished inside and ready to dance, if we were not already.”
“Oh, no! Don’t be sorry. It’s fine, Piers. Really. This whole night. This place. The food. The wine. The music. Everything is perfect—or will be, if we can get Ashley’s stomach settled. Maybe some clear soda, or crackers. I went through boxes of saltines and graham crackers with Adrienne.”
“Indeed.” At least he was able to smile about it now. At the time, he’d been extremely concerned, and rightly so. “Hopefully, next time will be better.”
“Hopefully,” she agreed. “With Adrienne, the only thing easy was the delivery. Two hours, and there she was.”
Piers dropped his gaze. “The doctor said that your hips were made for birthing babies.”
He put his napkin on the table. Rose. Stalked over to her like a large jungle cat, took hold of her chair, and turned it to face him. Kneeling, he slid his hands down her thighs and spread her legs, opening her, letting him smell the musk of her arousal.
“So responsive,” he crooned, cupping her sex and feeling how wet he’d made her. “But these are in the way of enjoying my dessert. Knickers off, princess.”
A WICKED CHRISTMAS 1869
by Nia Farrell
Release Date December 1, 2017. Length: 6,442 words.
In this sizzling short story, Elena Davenport Wainwright gets ready to celebrate her second Christmas with her husbands Edward Wainwright and Daniel O’Flaherty. Suffering from “soldier’s heart” (PTSD) from her service in the Civil War, Elena looks to the Dominant Edward for shelter from the storms of life. But on the anniversary of her kidnapping, it’s the Master who needs reassurance.
Although written as a standalone, your enjoyment will be enhanced if you have read As Wicked as You Want, named one of The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016, voted #1 erotica and #10 overall.
Historical MMF ménage erotic romance, a short story written for Ages 18+.
Edward had been quiet at supper. Introspective, rather than troubled or morose. Indeed, he was not given to nostalgia, nor to the dark nights of the soul that had plagued me since the war. Daniel understood what it meant to have “soldier’s heart.” He had one, too, although to a much lesser degree. Mine was crippling. The first time Edward witnessed it, he had served as my anchor, offering safe harbor when Fourth of July gunfire had triggered an episode that left me puddled on the floor.
Then, and now, he provided shelter from every storm. Tonight, though, he was in need of reassurance.
Disregarding the ache in my thigh, I knelt between his and Daniel’s feet and rested my cheek against the fine wool covering Edward’s muscled thigh, welcoming the feel of his hand upon my head. My hair had grown out considerably since I’d met him. It pleased him to free it from its net and pins, winnow his fingers through my ebony locks, arrange them over my shoulders, and smooth my hair with his hand.
I sighed, content with my station.
“My boy,” Edward rumbled after a time. Even before he used his pet name for Daniel, I could feel the shift in his energy. Whatever had made him quiet before had given way to burgeoning passion. The proof of it was straining his seams and testing the buttons of his pants. “Lock the door.”
Not that the servants would bother us. His staff had been with him long enough to understand the way of things. A closed door meant that we wished for privacy. Only an emergency that demanded the master’s attention was cause enough for their interruption.
No sooner had Daniel turned the key than Edward had his fly open and his erection in hand. Fisting himself, he watched watching Daniel’s approach with keen interest, his deviant’s mind alive with possibilities.
What he would ask of us was anyone’s guess.
Replay Book 8: The Dark Side
by Nia Farrell
Length: 26,421 words. Release Date November 1, 2017.
Blurb: Actress Ashley Slade once filmed in Replay’s Versailles Room, and she’s been invited back for Cinema Classics weekend at the BDSM theme resort. Nursing old wounds and fresh hurts, she can justify the expense as research for an upcoming audition. Based on a true story, it’s a role that she desperately needs to salvage her career and save her home.
Ashley invested nearly all of her savings into her first movie as a producer. The film failed, as did her relationship with costar Cade Madden. The only thing that’s constant in her life is the chronic pain from a severe back injury. She refuses to use the prescription drugs that landed her in rehab.
Master Sorin (Sebastian Moldovan) is the Romanian Dominant who portrays a vampire Dom on the RACK side of the resort. A doctor who now teaches, Sebastian is assigned to guide Ashley throughout the weekend and keep her safe during play.
In the outside world, they can never be a couple. Keeping his job means maintaining his anonymity. But there’s no denying their elemental attraction to each other. When her 1930s Hollywood vamp meets his vampire, the chemistry is off the charts. What will happen in the harsh light of day? Can this star-crossed couple write their own happy ending, or will the circumstances force them to go their separate ways?
This story includes more extreme elements of BDSM and may contain triggers. Written for Ages 18+.
He led her to the St. Andrew’s cross in the corner. A small table nearby held four leather cuffs, a flogger, lubricant, two sizes of anal plugs, and condoms.
Just thinking about the possibility of his possession made her soaking wet. He fastened the cuffs on her wrists and ankles and had her stand, facing the cross. When he ordered her to spread her legs so that he could secure them, there was no hiding the scent of her arousal.
He drew his fingers up her leg as he rose, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. He palmed her ass and slid his hand up her spine, past the scar on her low back to the base of her neck. Tracing the line of her shoulders and arms, he grasped her wrists, put them where he wanted them, and fastened them to the cross, too. Gathering her hair, he twisted it into a rope, brought it to her front, and tucked it between her breasts to help keep it there.
“Before we begin, I need your safewords. One to slow the play, another to stop it. What are your safewords, dragă?”
“I don’t know,” she said, feeling slightly panicked. She should have chosen them before coming. Now it was too late to be creative or clever. “I can’t think of any.”
“Then let’s make it simple. Yellow to slow, red to stop. Just like driving.”
“Okay,” she breathed, glad that he wasn’t going to make her come up with something more exotic. Her mind was too full of other things, like lube, anal plugs, condoms, and the hot, hard, and very sizeable erection that she felt pressed against her.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Master Sorin went into her bedroom’s en-suite and returned with wet washcloths and towels. “Now, we can begin. Have you ever worn a plug?” he asked.
“Have you had anal sex?”
“Did you like it?”
She’d only done it with Cade, and he had to be persuaded to go there. “It was okay.”
He grunted. “We’ll start with the plug for now. I’m going to check you. I need to see how tight you are and what size plug you can handle.”
Lubricating his finger, he circled the ruched ring of her ass and pressed against it, gentle but insistent, until half of his finger was inside her.
“Give me a word,” he rumbled, testing her opening, judging how much he could give her, seeing how much more she could take.
“Green. I’m good, Master Sorin.”
He pushed in deeper, penetrating her with one lubed finger, then two. Stopping there, he oiled the larger anal plug and inserted it into her rectum. “Color?” he asked, tapping on the plug.
“Lime,” she wheezed. “Just…give me a minute, please, Master? I need to relax my muscles, and the plug isn’t helping.”
Wiping his fingers clean on one of the washcloths, he started massaging the tension from her with those gifted hands of his. Hands that helped. Hands that healed. Hands that had held countless lives in the balance and done their best to bring them through to the other side.
She wondered, when he’d lost a battle, had he cried?
“That’s it, dragă. Relax. Let go. Trust me to take care of you. Trust me to give you what you need.”
Ashley exhaled a deep, cleansing breath and put herself fully into Master Sorin’s hands.
“And now, the flogger, for your pleasure and mine. Keep your muscles relaxed and welcome it. Here we go.”
He stepped back. Immediately, her body missed his warmth, and she shivered.
“Breathe, dragă,” he reminded her.
Ashley drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled, feeling some of her tension leave with it. She remembered to inhale when the first blow fell, the soft leather falls striking her upper back. He swung it again, aiming for the other side this time, checking his strength and easing her into it. Gradually, his blows got harder, and closer together, until he was raining them down on her back, her hips, her thighs. One carefully placed swing caught the anal plug.
Ashley moaned her pleasure.
Master Sorin dropped the flogger. Behind her, she heard the crinkle of a foil packet, the jangle of a belt buckle, the snick of a zipper, then his breath, hot and harsh against her neck. “One word stops it,” he reminded her, as if she could. Weeks of masturbation had her primed and ready for him.
“Please. Oh, please,” she begged him. “Fuck me….”
He hadn’t meant for things to go this far, this fast.
Sebastian shoved aside the thought. Ashley wanted this. Wanted him. Sooner or later, what did it matter?
Wetting himself on her juices, he notched his glans in her opening and pushed inside, not stopping until he had worked most of his length into her tight,wet hole.
He smiled to feel it. Not every woman could handle nine inches.
He hadn’t been worried. If he couldn’t bury himself in her sex, there was always her ass. She’d taken his fingers and the plug beautifully. But he planned to save anal for later. They had all weekend. There were so many things he wanted to show her. So many kinks that he’d like her to try.
Grasping her hips in a bruising grip, he began to pound into her, setting off a series of tiny orgasms that made her pussy gush, until her juices were running down her legs. Keeping one hand on her hip, he wrapped his fingers around her shoulder and snapped his pelvis, driving into her and hitting her G-spot. She came, hard, drenching them both with her juices.
“Yessss,” he grated. Continuing to fuck her, he brought her up to her next orgasm and kept her there, hovering on the precipice, until she was begging for release and he was ready to join her. He bit the base of her neck, twisted her nipple, and heaved inside, ripping a climax from her. He came, filling the end of his condom while her deliciously snug walls spasmed around him, milking his length.
She was perfect.
Before they’d met, he’d had his doubts. When he had expressed them to Sir Piers, Replay’s Master Dom had assured him that he would find Ashley Slade a pleasant surprise.
Sir Piers was right, as always. She was intelligent, curious, and very, very guarded. She had old scars and fresher wounds that were far from healed. She was fractured—but not broken. A recovering addict with a back injury that would never go away, limiting her on what they could do.
He’d never had a fragile submissive. The women he usually paired with on the RACK side of the resort could handle anything that he gave them and more. Given her medical history, it was possible that Ashley could not support the weight of his body when he finally took her to bed.
He kissed the place where his teeth had marked her and licked the petal softness of her skin. Still impaled on his cock, she moaned and pressed back, grinding against him.
“Give me a color, dragă.”
“Green, Master Sorin. Better than green. That was amazing.”
Indeed, it was.
A glance at the clock told him what he already knew. There was no time for a bath. A quick shower, dress, then they’d head back to wardrobe.
Pulling free, he took care of his condom in the en-suite. He returned with a fresh, warm washcloth for Ashley, wiping the sweat from her back and cleaning her juices from her thighs. He removed the anal plug before washing between her legs. Tossing the used cloth aside, he unfastened her ankles and wrists, checking the color and circulation of each one.
Taking hold of her shoulders, he turned her towards him and kissed her temple. “Shower,” he said. “Then dress. If we don’t do anything else, we should make it to wardrobe with a few minutes to spare.”
Ashley rolled her shoulders and sighed. “Too bad,” she said, her voice still husky with arousal. “I love shower sex. And bathtub sex. Hot tub, swimming pool, ocean—just mention water, and I get wet. Better Pavlov’s dog than Schrödinger’s cat, I suppose.”
Sebastian smiled. If he wasn’t aware of her intelligence before, her casual use of scientific references would have clued him in.
Ashley Slade just became even more interesting.
He wasn’t looking for a permanent sub, and there was no way in hell that he could maintain anonymity with someone like her. He had agreed to be her Dominant, knowing that this weekend was all that they could ever have.
“Shower only,” he growled. “Tease me or try for more, and you’ll earn yourself a caning.”
“Yes, Master.” She said the right words, but he glimpsed the brat in her eyes, clearly itching to disobey.