I am so excited about this re-release. Some of you know that I wrote a 15k story for the USA Today bestselling Bound, Spanked, Loved.
Well, I am happy to announce 10k more words added, and it’s going live this Friday (depending on Amazon 🙂 )
More sex. More delicious spankings. More romance. More, more, more!!
To get everyone ready for this big re-release, I am sharing the first scene. I’ll keep you posted when it officially goes live. 🙂
(a huge thank you to Morganna Williams for the romantic graphic!)
“Are you sure you want to do this?” My best friend, Jodi, trailed behind me, trying to keep up with my determined steps. “You have never ballroom danced in your life. You said so yourself.”
“I know.” I waited for her to catch up, and we entered the mall together. “Two left feet.” And the rest of me was what you would call hourglass. Huge hips, an even bigger ass, boobs with a mind of their own—especially when left to their own devices—like the first few minutes after getting out of bed braless. I called it fat. Men don’t like size fourteen. They want size two or four, like Jodi. Perfect, petite, curves—not mountains.
We got into the long line for potential dancers. Who would have thought there would be so much interest in a televised “dance off”? This show was going live on a little known cable station on Valentine’s Day. Everyone else would be home cozying up with a loved one, talking about stuff like romance, flowers, chocolates, and true love. Disgusting. There was no such thing as true love. At least not for someone like me.
What had Derek said last year when I found him fucking not one, but two other women? Oh yeah. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe. Sorry, but I needed someone warm in my bed this time.”
I lost my job the next day. It wouldn’t have been a huge deal if I still had a husband and a home. But the timing? Holy crap, Mercury must have been in retrograde or something. Either that, or I had pissed off the wrong guardian angel. The timing sucked.
Jodi was a big help. Her husband’s a lawyer. He got me divorced and set up in their guest room, until I could find a new apartment. Jodi brought me extra-hot Mickey D’s french fries, Chubby Hubby ice cream, and red wine. It helped. For a few weeks, I snuggled in bed, ate, and slept. I called it my hibernation slash recovery time. Jodi called it bullshit. Even though she weighs at least forty pounds less than me, she can get me off my ass quicker than a buy-one-get-two-free sale on peppermint-mocha creamer. She said I had wallowed enough. Hey, I wasn’t wallowing. I was recov-er-ing. She told me Derek was laughing and enjoying single life, screwing every woman he met. She’s a real friend. And she was right. I had wallowed enough. So I got off my tired ass, updated my resume, and signed up at the temp place downtown. Then I started looking for new, adventurous things to do. Anything that was opposite to the “married to the jerk” me. Like skydiving, bungee jumping…or dancing.
Now, I stood at the back of a long line of hopefuls, all vying for ten spots. A chance to ballroom dance our way to television stardom. For me, a chance to tell Derek to fuck off and that I had moved on. And to be busy—very, very busy—all the way up to and through the most horrible of all holidays. Valen-fricking-tines Day.
“Okay, here are the forms.” Jodi furrowed her brows as she read them. “Are you up-to-date on all your shots? And do you have a will?” Laughing, she stuffed the forms along with the cheap black pen into my palm. “I’m kidding about the last one. But, seriously, try not to trip, ’kay?”
“I’m not going to trip,” I muttered under my breath as we inched our way up to the stage. I was going to be beautiful, stunning, poised, and graceful. Well, at least beautiful in a sort of retro jeans, loose T-shirt combination paired with funky high heels. I couldn’t find anything else to wear, since I had tossed everything into boxes and taken to living as a hobo in my friend’s guest room. I would make that show if it killed me.
I tripped walking up the steps to the stage.
To this day, I’m still not sure which is more embarrassing.
Being left by your husband who says you are fat, overbearing, and frigid in bed.
Or having to change partners midway through a season of televised dancing—because your partner can’t lift you.
Both hurt. A lot. The first made me want to curl up into a little ball and hibernate. Since I had plenty of fat to store away for the winter, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.
The second left me so angry, I waltzed the man through his own set of moves—straight up to the full mirror. Then I lifted him. Luckily, he didn’t get hurt. And I didn’t get sued.
But that’s how I ended up over the knee of the hottest man I have ever met.
After he spanked me, he became my new partner.
Coming soon to Amazon!
Thanks for stopping by 🙂
Hugs and spanks ❤