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About the author:
Named Eroticon USA’s Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, Renee Rose is a naughty wordsmith who writes romance novels centered around her favorite kink: spanking. She has won Spanking Romance Reviews’ Best Historical Romance, is often found on the list of Amazon’s Top 100 Erotic Authors and is a regular columnist for Write Sex Right. She also pens BDSM stories under the name Darling Adams.
What inspired you to write your book?
I love the Romancing the Stone sort of scenario of the guy who can handle the wilderness trying to protect the stubborn, difficult woman. Setting it on another planet made it possible for him to apply a little discipline to back up his demands for obedience.
Here is a short sample from the book:
“Are you going to keep your arms tucked under you like that, or shall I tie your wrists?”
She hadn’t even realized she’d pulled her forearms underneath her torso, as if to hug herself for comfort.
She licked her lips to moisten them. “I’ll keep them tucked.” Her voice sounded hoarse.
“If you reach back, I’ll double your punishment. It’s for your own safety. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
It was silly, but she took a little satisfaction in the fact that he still cared about her hands even now that the surgery on his people’s president had been completed. “I won’t reach.” She cared about her fingers, too.
Even so, she found herself grasping her own wrists when the first swish of the reed came down to keep her hands from flying back. The cane left a line of fire burning across her buttocks. It hurt. It hurt so badly, it made her want to run from the room. It took a solid three seconds before she could exhale the breath she’d gasped. Blade seemed to be waiting for her to recover, because he didn’t deliver the next stroke until she had.
The next one came down below the first, just as excruciating. She panted into the fine-fibered bedcover, wishing the punishment were over. How many strokes would he give her? Could she take it?
The swish of the reed slicing through the air again reached her ears a split second before the third line of pain erupted across her backside. Her brain began to fog.
He struck her with the crop again. On the fifth stroke, without any conscious thought, she surged up, crawling onto the bed, away from him.
“Back in position.”
She froze in place, the room silent save for the rasping of her breath. He wanted her to willingly place herself back in position. She couldn’t seem to move—she didn’t want to go back there, didn’t want to be whipped any more. She should have opted to be tied up—it would have been easier that way.
Now he was asking her to go back of her own volition, just as she’d stripped and bent over the bed and offered her ass up for his caning of her own accord.
He didn’t speak, but she felt something from him. Some deep emotion—not anger. Something else. Anguish, perhaps. His breath sounded raspy now, too. When he still didn’t answer, she found herself backing up, putting her feet back on the ground and presenting her welted, quivering cheeks for further punishment.
“Is it too late to ask you to tie me up?”
He didn’t speak, but grasped one wrist, then the other, bending them into the small of her back. He held them caged in his large palm, his touch gentle but firm.