Jace:
They call me Vigilante because I make my own laws.
Because I get retribution when there’s none to be had.
Because my name is Jace Mercy... but I show none.
Freya:
Stood up at the altar, I ran from everything familiar... and straight into trouble.
Now I’m the lone witness to a backwoods execution.
A wanted woman with a price on my head.
I’m trapped in a cabin with the one man who can save me.
I’m under his protection.
I’m *in his bed*.
But there’s a price to pay for his protection.
Obedience.
Surrender.
Total submission.
And there’s nowhere left to run…
“We need to talk about this obedience thing,” she says.
I turn and face her. “Do we?”
So cute, how she thinks she controls this.
“We do,” she says, with an air of dignity. “It’s very... old-fashioned.”
“Your point?”
“I don’t... you’re very... I’m not okay with the concept.”
“And I’m not okay with disobedience. So where does that leave us?”
“Can’t we just get along like equals?”
“Of course we’re equals,” I tell her. “Me telling you to fuckin’ do what I say doesn’t mean I’m any better than you. It means this is my place. My home. My rules.”
“But I’m not a child,” she protests.
I scan her full breasts and flat belly, her hands anchored on those fine hips.
She most definitely is not.
“I’m well aware of that,” I tell her, enjoying the way she bites her lips and her cheeks color.
“Can you go into more specifics about what you mean by obeying you?”
“It’s not complicated, Freya,” I tell her. “If I tell you to do something, you do it. No talking back. No mouthing off. You speak to me with respect and obey my instructions.”
Shaking her head incredulously, as if she can’t even comprehend the very thought of what I’m demanding, she asks, “And if I don’t?”
I sincerely hope there are times she does not. How I’d love to put that feisty little girl over my lap.
“It’s simple. If you disobey me, I’ll punish you.”
Those pretty eyes widen, and she swallows. “How?”
“Depends,” I tell her. “But you’re right. I’m an old-fashioned man with old-fashioned notions. If you disobey me, you’ll find yourself over my knee.”
“What?” she sputters, coloring a fetching shade of pink.
“Keep it up,” I tell her. “And you’ll get a firsthand demonstration.”
“But I haven’t done anything... disobedient,” she says, but there’s a question in her voice. She might not admit it, but she’s curious. If ever a girl need a firm hand, she’s standing right in front of me.
“Yet,” I tell her. “But there’s not a thing about you that’s submitted. You’re pushing back with everything you’ve got, like you stand a damn chance.”
Her mouth drops open and she gapes at me, before she slams her lips together and glares. “Oh, now we’re really getting to the heart of this. Submission? You want me to submit to you?” She stands and places her fists on the table, palms down, as if she’s trying to get an advantage by being over me.
The sudden vision of her on her knees before me, my rope lashed about her delicate body, marked by my belt and primed to submit, makes my dick harden.
Christ, what I want to do to her.
“Don’t flatter yourself, darlin’,” I tell her, getting to my feet and scowling down at her. “You can forget whatever city notions you’ve got in your head about goddamn BDSM bullshit. This is no game to me. There are no safewords or roles. You do as you’re goddamned told or your ass feels my palm. Now get up and head to the shower.”
Maybe she needs to see I mean what I say. Maybe a little part of her wants to lose control. Or maybe she feels some sort of fucking allegiance to the female species, because she doesn’t do what I say but glares at me.
Daring.
Defying.
Silently begging.
Well didn’t she just make my fucking day.
USA Today Bestselling author Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.
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