Jennifer Skully, Jasmine Haynes -- NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
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Take Your Pleasure -- Jasmine Haynes

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Take Your Pleasure

Night Owl Top Pick! “scorching”
Night Owl Romance

“the reader can almost feel the heat from the flames with this story!”
The Romance Studio

A naughty little story with a bit of bondage and a very good spanking!

Natalie Beaumonde’s life turns upside down the day she walks in on her boyfriend, Van, playing submissive to a beautiful dominatrix. Not only has she been betrayed, but Natalie loses her belief in herself as a desirable woman. When she starts making mistakes at work, her career being the one thing she’s always excelled at, she’s in danger of losing her self-worth and her job.

Lincoln Masters isn’t like most bosses. Instead of issuing a reprimand, he decides his sexy executive assistant needs a good spanking, something he’s been dying to deliver for almost a year. And afterward, he hatches a plan to help Natalie rebuild her self-confidence and show her wandering man the error of his ways; become the sexy dominatrix her boyfriend is looking for. Being a Master himself, Lincoln’s the perfect dom to help her execute the delectable punishment.

Lincoln’s terms for helping her? He wants a piece of Natalie, too. Suddenly, Natalie finds herself with a growing fascination for her boss and all the exciting, deliciously naughty things he can do for her. When Van’s punishment is complete, can she go back to being just Mr. Masters’ assistant?

 

Read Excerpt

Chapter One

Lincoln Masters was the epitome of his surname, the master of his domain.

“Miss Beaumonde, in my office, now.”

Striding by her desk, he crooked his finger. Natalie had no choice but to follow, her stomach sinking. Usually she was Natalie to him. The Miss Beaumonde didn’t bode well.

She stood before his massive desk ready for her dressing down. Mr. Masters didn’t suffer stupidity, sloppiness, or negligence in his employees. She was guilty of all three. All because of a man.

On the opposite side of his desk, his back to her, he closed his blinds on the magnificent view of Alcatraz and the early afternoon sun sparkling on the bay waters. It was unusually warm, even for a summer day in San Francisco, and there wasn’t a puff of fog on the horizon.

It would have been more fitting if a few storm clouds could be seen rolling in. The walls were a dark paneling, the furniture a deep mahogany, and the carpeting a matching brown. Shutting out the light made the closed-door office that much more intimidating. And intimate.

She gulped back her nerves. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Masters.”

He held up his hand, shushing her. “We have several issues here, Miss Beaumonde. Let me enumerate them,” he said in a clipped tone.

Oh God. She was going to lose her job for being such an idiot. How would she make the mortgage payment?

“First” -- he raised one finger -- “you failed to tell me Jacobson cancelled the lunch appointment.”

Since Mr. Masters had gone out, she’d left a few minutes early for lunch. She didn’t even know Mr. Jacobson had called -- at the last minute, mind you, but that was an excuse. If she’d checked her messages before she left… But she hadn’t.

“Second, I couldn’t get hold of you to find out if he’d called with a change of plans.”

She’d returned from her lunchtime walk through the San Francisco streets all hot and sticky. It took her forever to cool off in the ladies’ room where she’d ended up removing her pantyhose. So she didn’t get Mr. Masters’ calls either.

He didn’t raise his voice. He was simply stern and forbidding. The way he always was. The way one would expect a strong-willed CEO of forty-three to handle his executive assistant when she’d made a big mistake. With black hair, dark eyes, swarthy skin, and a deep voice that resonated inside her, Mr. Masters could cut a woman -- or any man -- for that matter, down to size with just a look. He wore command like a tailored suit.

He made her quake in her high heels, yet oddly, he always made her pulse race, too, and that had nothing to do with fearing his wrath. “Mr. Masters, really, I --”

He shushed her again, this time with just a narrowing of his eyes. “When you finally called me back, I had to wait on hold for five minutes while you searched your incoming messages.”

She wanted to gag. It had been such a shitty week. He was right about everything. She’d failed miserably. He was a hard taskmaster, but she’d always measured up, always delivered more than required. Until last weekend, when she’d walked in on Van with that woman. Now she couldn’t stop replaying those images in her mind, and they seemed to eclipse everything else she was supposed to be doing.

She’d been with Van for two years. At thirty years old with her own home and a solid job, Natalie had even considered taking the next step with him, moving in together. How could he do that to her? And how could he do that with some horrible woman dressed head to toe in skintight leather?

There wasn’t a single bulge on her lithe form.

Natalie shuddered to think of her own body packed into all that leather. But the worst was the noises he’d made, the sighs, the moans, the cries, the groans of pleasure. He’d never sounded like that with Natalie, never gone utterly wild when she touched him. Not even in the beginning.

“Miss Beaumonde, are you listening to me?”

Oh God. “Of course, sir.” What had he said?

She certainly couldn’t tell Mr. Masters all her personal problems. First of all, she wouldn’t receive an ounce of sympathy. Second, he didn’t believe personal issues should ever get in the way of work. Honestly, neither did she.

He rounded the end of his desk and paced behind her in a semicircle. She didn’t dare turn her head to look at him despite the itch along her spine. You never wanted Mr. Masters at your back when he was pissed at you. Though when he was on your side, there was no greater ally.

“I’m very displeased, Miss Beaumonde, and, quite frankly, shocked.” His breath was at her ear. “This isn’t like you.”

She’d worked for the company for five years and as his executive assistant for a year. She’d always done an exceptional job for him.

“So…” Coming to rest beside her, he lowered his voice to an almost seductive pitch. With his tall form only in her peripheral vision, feeling him next to her rather than seeing him clearly enhanced the effect; his tone, like warm maple syrup, drizzled down her spine and licked all the way back up. “You have a decision, my dear,” he finished softly.

She suppressed the urge to shiver. It wasn’t the thing to get turned on by your boss’s voice, especially when you were on the rebound from catching your boyfriend with another woman. “Yes, sir,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

“You most certainly will, Miss Beaumonde.” Facing her, he leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now here’s your choice.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You can tell me what issue has put your job second on your list of priorities.” Then, after a pause, he added, “In detail.”

Oh no no no. She stared at the desktop rather than meet his gaze. Even now, remembering Van’s wild abandon and his total pleasure at the hands of another woman was demoralizing. Natalie had suddenly had it slammed in her face that she wasn’t woman enough for him. And she certainly wouldn’t describe what she’d seen.

So, uh, no, not gonna tell Mr. Masters a thing.

“Or,” her boss went on inexorably when she said nothing, “you can bend over my desk, lift your skirt, and take the spanking you so richly deserve.”

Natalie blinked. She couldn’t have heard that right. Lifting her head, she locked gazes with him.

He smiled. It wasn’t sweet or nice or even offhand. It was completely devilish. “Yes, my dear, you heard me correctly.”

She was five six with three-inch heels, yet Mr. Masters towered over her at six two and all that bulk. She’d always admired his powerfully built form, muscles honed to perfection. But with his dark eyebrows knitted together in a glower, he was actually quite frightening. And terrifyingly sexy.

She mustered the nerve to say, “That’s a bit inappropriate, sir.”

He rewarded her temerity with a throaty chuckle. “Very.” He waited long enough to let that sink in.

Good Lord. Mr. Masters wanted to touch her. Here. Now. In his office. Her. His silly little assistant.

He tipped his head, gave her a cocky half smile. “Feel free to accept my other choice and tell me what’s going on that took your mind off your job.”

He had never, not once, made a sexual comment. If she did say so herself, she had large, firm breasts, and while her body was nowhere near worthy of stepping into tight leather, she did believe she had decent legs. Mr. Masters had looked at neither her breasts nor her legs. At least not that she knew of, though, in view of his demand, maybe she needed to rethink that.

“Does my job depend on whether I accept your spanking?”

“No,” he said softly, waiting a long two seconds before he added, “your job depends on how well you perform your work and whether or not you can assure me that what happened today won’t happen again.” He lowered his voice to a bare mouthing of words. “The spanking is just for my pleasure.”

A fire she’d never seen before burned in his eyes.

Beneath her silk blouse, her nipples burgeoned. His gaze dropped for half a second and half a second only. But he’d seen. Deep inside, her body started to hum. Despite herself, even after Van’s betrayal, her libido began to rise. Between her legs, she grew wet. Her breath felt shallow, her skin hot. What was wrong with her? Perhaps it was because of Van’s perfidy and a need to prove she was sexy and desirable.

Whatever the reason, she suddenly saw Mr. Masters in a whole new light. Though he’d never been married, she knew he liked women, hitting the society pages regularly with a different lady every time. But he never messed with his employees. She’d never heard even a whisper of that.

But he sure was messing now.

“It doesn’t matter which choice you make” -- he seduced her with that deep, dark voice -- “but you must choose.”

Her own body’s reactions to him were her undoing. She wanted this. More importantly, she needed the affirmation.

Natalie leaned forward, placed one palm flat on the desk for balance, then slowly raised her skirt.

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