Fanning the Flames of Romance

Have you read Billionaire Auction?

Billionaire Auction by Brynn Paulin and Tia Fanning
After her father is caught embezzling millions, Moriah Cabraro agrees to sell herself in a Billionaire’s Auction – one weekend and her virginity awarded to the highest bidder. She’ll use the money she earns to help pay off her father’s debt. While she might appear as the doting daughter wishing to keep her father out of prison, Moriah has much more at stake than securing the freedom of a parent she despises. She’ll do whatever she has to do to keep her sister safe.


     
#billionaire #virgin #auction #lovestory
When Kendrick Bergana gave Moriah’s father three days to return the stolen money, he never imagined the scoundrel would set up some twisted “virginity auction” and sell his daughter to one of their perverted billionaire clients.

He’ll be damned if he’s going to let Moriah prostitute herself for her greedy father. It’s not going to happen. Not if he can help it. And being a billionaire himself, he intends to make sure it doesn’t.

Billionaire Auction by Tia Fanning & Brynn Paulin

He has a paddle. Maybe he’ll bid…

After her father is caught embezzling millions, Moriah Cabraro agrees to sell herself in a Billionaire’s Auction – one weekend and her virginity awarded to the highest bidder. She’ll use the money she earns to help pay off her father’s debt. While she might appear as the doting daughter wishing to keep her father out of prison, Moriah has much more at stake than securing the freedom of a parent she despises. She’ll do whatever she has to do to keep her sister safe.

Her first time should be for love, not for sacrifice…

When Kendrick Bergana gave Moriah’s father three days to return the stolen money, he never imagined the scoundrel would set up some twisted “virginity auction” and sell his daughter off to one of their perverted billionaire clients. He’ll be damned if he’s going to let Moriah prostitute herself for her greedy father. It’s not going to happen. Not if he can help it. And being a billionaire himself, he intends to make sure it doesn’t.

FANTASTIC is now available!

What had she agreed to?
Dear Reader, This morning, my fantastic husband of only six months bailed my sorry ass out of jail. I am grateful for that and for him. But now that we’re home, he wants to bring the broadside of a wooden paddle down on said ass as punishment for my behavior. And I’m not having it!
Seriously? A spanking? Oh, hell no. Needless to say, the fight is on.
Look, I love my husband more than words can express, but I don’t understand all this Domestic Discipline stuff. I’m trying to get my hubby to see reason, but he’s not budging, and I don’t know if I can let him correct me. I’m beside myself with heartache. What should I do?
Do I let our wonderful love story end here and now? Or should I buck up and bend over?
Distraught with Discipline

Fantastic Blurb Just for You!

“Fuck,” I muttered, crumbling the contract in my fist. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I really should have read the damn thing better.

“Language,” he warned.

“Gah!” I stomped my foot. “What else am I supposed to say? I’m the one on the receiving end of this!”

“Damn right,” he exclaimed. “You were the one arrested for reckless driving.”

“It was an accident.”

“Forty miles over the speed limit in an active school zone is not an accident. It’s negligence.”

“It was five minutes before the restriction ended!” I explained for the zillionth time. “There were no kids!”

“Thankfully.”

“Okay, that cop was being a total ass.” I tossed the ball-o’-contract onto the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to look at the clock before I entered the area. Like I said, I didn’t see any kids. And it was literally five minutes before 15 turned back into 45 miles per hour.”

In true “Head-of-Household” fashion, or what I imagined a “HoH” to be since I was new to all this, my husband crossed his arms and shook his head. “Not a valid excuse. Especially since you were clocked at 56. That’s still eleven miles over the regular speed limit.”

Ah, the tone. He gave me the tone. The “this is final and I will not be deterred”authoritarian tone.

Swallowing my exasperation, I flicked my gaze to the wood paddle he held in his hand. “Really? You’re really going to beat me for this?”

Though he masked his expression, I saw the hurt flash in his eyes all the same. It was a low blow on my part, I know, but I couldn’t help it. This all seemed so unfair.

“Discipline would be the proper term,” he said with admirable restraint. “Correction would also work. And yes, I believe a paddling is in order.”

Unbelievable.

Mimicking him, I crossed my arms and glared back. “Me going to jail wasn’t punishment enough, huh?”

Silence. It was the ultimate stare-down.

Looking at him holding that instrument of pain—a weapon, if I wanted to be nasty about it—was affecting me more than I cared to admit. My day had been horrible enough without this added to it. Arrested, booked, a few hours in jail, a court date…

Funny, a therapist had once told me that when we stress, we regress. So if the sudden stinging in my eyes and the nearly overwhelming urge to stomp my foot and sling cruel, careless words were any indication of that datum, I was losing maturity at an alarming rate. And the lingering silence only encouraged the relapse.

“If you’re afraid, sweetheart, just say so,” he offered.

“Scared?” I felt an enraged flush rise to my cheeks and my vision blurred with welling tears. “I’m not scared, and I’m definitely not scared of you—” Fuck. My throat tightened. I blinked back the brimming moisture and locked my jaw. I would not cry. I would not cry. I would not cry—

I inhaled a shaky breath and covered my eyes so I wouldn’t give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing me lose it. Damn him. He would not break me. I wouldn’t let him.

Fantastic by Tia Fanning

Available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, iBooks, and Google Books

COMING SOON!


The Start of a Serious Relationship...


“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked with all seriousness. “Are you prepared to commit to a Domestic Discipline relationship?”

“Yes,” she replied simply.

“If you are sure this is what you want, I promise to always be fair. However, you should know that I am a stern disciplinarian. I must admit that last week I went fairly easy on you. I want you to think about last week, but rather than my hand, try to imagine a belt or strap, or a hairbrush or paddle, or a switch. If I think the transgression warrants it, I have been known to cane.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to imagine that.

The shock must have registered on her face because he chuckled. “You look a little anxious, love.”

He sat down on the bed again, but this time, he drew her into his lap. Once settled, he smoothed his palm where her thigh met her hip. “I will love you whether we pursue a serious relationship or not, and my offer for you to move in and finish school still stands no matter what you decide. I do not want you to enter a relationship you’re not ready for, or change who you are to fit my lifestyle, or worse, force yourself to accommodate me because you think it’s what I want. I want you to be happy. That is what I want, and that is what is most important to me.”

Jessa closed her eyes. The vulnerable good girl within desperately craved the stability and security Wil offered physically, mentally and emotionally. While strict, Wil was even-tempered and consistent. A good person—no, a great person. She knew she would thrive under his firm hand. Jessa was good at following instructions and well-behaved by nature, so Wil would not be disciplining her often, she reasoned.

However, the strong, recklessly independent woman she’d become (out of sheer necessity) wasn’t sure she wanted that type of structure despite her very real need for it. Granted, more often than not, she felt like an exhausted swimmer treading water while waiting for rescue, but she had been in “sink or swim” mode for so long, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be saved. She’d grown determined and proud to make it alone.

Carelessly determined and proud to a fault. Even self-destructive at times.

Should she let him rescue her before she drowned herself?

And if so, at what price?

She found Wil’s alpha male strength titillating, but as a mature woman living in a modern world, any form of thrashing seemed excessive to her, even for a domestic disciplinarian. Spanking with the hand was one thing, but… a switching? A strapping? A caning?

Let the Discipline Begin...

  

Pinned across Dr. Stieran’s lap, Jessa was forced to endure her world with striking clarity—striking being the key word. Dr. Stieran knew exactly what he was doing. There was no escape from the sharp, stinging smacks he laid across her upper thighs and nether cheeks. She struggled. She begged. She pleaded. She swore and apologized, then struggled some more. He was relentless.

Finally, just when she’d gone limp with exhaustion, he stopped. From start to finish, the spanking lasted maybe thirty seconds. But God help her, it was the longest thirty seconds of her life, and a thirty seconds she would not soon forget.

Dr. Stieran pulled her up and gathered her close, positioning her so that she straddled his lap, shifting her weight off her tender bottom. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, pouring out all her emotion while he quietly rocked her back and forth. When she had regained composure, he stopped rocking and simply held her, rubbing her back while she dwelled on how nice he smelled.

Once the stinging burn on her ass gave way to warm throbbing, she cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.


New Publisher and New Cover for AllSPANC!


AllSPANC: A Love Story by Tia Fanning  The perfect assistant, Jessalyn Palmer is proud to work for Dr. Wilbur Stieran, a brilliant mechatronic scientist and world-renowned inventor. However, when her two years of flawless service is ruined by an unfortunate spelling error, Jessa finds herself over the boss’ knee. A week later, Jessa is still trying to come to terms with the spanking and the conflicting feelings the punishment invoked. Embarrassed by her response to his loving discipline, she has avoided her boss as much as possible. Then the apprentices beg her to test drive Stern Stieran’s latest invention—his precious prototype, AllSPANC. By the end of the journey, Jessa (the no-longer-perfect assistant) discovers that some mistakes are worth making, and that some lessons are worth learning the hard way.

New Release! The Brat and the Bodyguard

Dear Reader,
What can I say? There’s not much time, so I’ll keep it short. I was engaged to man who turned out to be an international drug lord. I have fled to my father’s house to hide, only to have my ex fiancĂ© issue a very serious threat: I come home to him, or he’ll kill me and my father. Those are my two choices.
A New Release from Tia Fanning!
Do you believe in love at first spank?
So my father has hired a security firm to keep me safe, and he’s paid for personal protection in the form of tall, dark and handsome.
Mr. Bodyguard thinks my bad attitude is more brat than bitch, and he has a solution in mind to correct the problem: a spanking. I was not having any of that. However, when I seduce him on the rebound, I kinda agreed to let him dish out a little corporal punishment in exchange for guaranteed multiple orgasms.
So here’s my issue: He’s held his end of the bargain. Should I uphold mine (assuming we both live through the night)?
Please come armed with advice…and perhaps a weapon. ~Ms. Brat

Fantastic: Opening Story

That’s the thing about marrying a man you met while at a work conference in Las Vegas. You know, he tells you all the important stuff about himself, but your mind kind of glosses over it because your hormones are making you giddy, and the sex is freaking fantastic.

I mean, seriously, —Fan. Tas. Tic. I’m talking about sex so mind-blowingly good that it ruins you for all other men because the probability of finding another fella that talented is like reading the odds on the back of a Powerball ticket. Getting all of it right is like 1 in 200,000,000.

Anyway, you’re sloppy in love and this gifted man explains his important stuff to you yet again, but this time with a paper contract outlining his terms, because that important stuff is really, really important to him. And because you’re in love, you sign the contract and agree to abide by it, and you even repeated the word “obey” at the quickie walk-in-chapel wedding ceremony. After all, you can tell that he’s a good man, and he’s promised you everything you could ever want and/or need, and you know that he can deliver it—if only you can accept this one tenet in your relationship.

What’s a little spanking between husband and wife, right?

Domestic discipline is easy, right?

Behave, there’s no discipline. Misbehave, and hubby will bring on the discipline.

All fair and reasonable.

No problem.

Well, six months of blissful marriage passes before something bad happens, and you’re standing in your bedroom frantically scanning the terms of that signed contract, because earlier that day, you got yourself arrested. Your new husband bailed you out and now you’re both back at home, and he’s standing there—with a huge wooden paddle—demanding that you bend over so he can bring down the wrath of God upon your ass.

So much for fair and reasonable….

“Fuck.” I muttered, crumbling the contract in my fist. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I really should have read the damn thing better.

“Language,” he warned.

“Gah!” I stomped my foot. “What else am I supposed to say? I’m the one on the receiving end of this!”

“Damn right,” he exclaimed. “You were the one arrested for reckless driving.”

“It was an accident.”

“Forty miles over the speed limit in an active school zone is not an accident. It is negligence.”

“It was five minutes before the restriction ended!” I explained for the zillionth time. “There were no kids!”

“Thankfully.”

“Okay, that cop was being a total ass.” I tossed the ball-o’-contract onto the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to look at the clock before I entered the area. Like I said, I didn’t see any kids. And it was literally five minutes before 15 turned into 45 miles per hour.”

In true HoH fashion, or what I imagined that to be since I was new to this, my husband crossed his arms and shook his head. “Not a valid excuse. Especially since you were clocked at 56. That’s still eleven miles over the regular speed limit.”

Ah, the tone. He gave me the tone. The “this is final and I will not be deterred” authoritarian tone.

Swallowing my exasperation, I flicked my gaze to the wood paddle he held in his hand. “Really? You’re really going to beat me for this?”

Though he masked his expression, I saw the hurt flash in his eyes all the same. It was a low blow on my part, I know, but I couldn’t help it. This all seemed so unfair to me.

“Discipline would be the proper term,” he said with admirable restraint. “Correct would also work. And yes, I believe a paddling is in order.”

Unbelievable.

Mimicking him, I crossed my arms and glared back. “Me going to jail wasn’t punishment enough, huh?”

Silence. It was the ultimate stare-down.

Looking at him holding that instrument of pain—a weapon, if I wanted to be nasty about it—was affecting me more than I cared to admit. My day had been horrible enough without this added to it. Arrested, booked, a few hours in jail, a court date…

Funny, a therapist once told me that when we stress, we regress. So if the sudden stinging in my eyes and the nearly overwhelming urge to stomp my foot and sling cruel, careless words were any indication of that datum, I was losing maturity at an alarming rate. And the lingering silence was only encouraging the relapse.

“If you’re afraid, sweetheart, just say so,” he offered.

“Scared?” I felt the enraged flush rise to my cheeks and my vision blurred with welling tears. “I’m not scared, and I’m definitely not scared of you—” Fuck. My throat tightened. I blinked back the brimming moisture and locked my jaw. I would not cry. I would not cry. I would not cry—

I inhaled a shaky breath and pressed my closed eyes so I would not give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing me lose it. Damn him. He would not break me. I wouldn’t let him.

When I recaptured my composure, I dropped my hands, fisted them at my sides, and straightened my spine.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I continued. “—I might lose my driver’s license, my car insurance, and I might go to prison. I’ll lose my job. But you—all you can think about is spanking me with that stupid paddle! What the hell is wrong with you?” I swiped the angry tears off my cheeks before asking, “Do you not love me at all?”

He exhaled heavily, laid the paddle on the dresser and came toward me.

“Don’t,” I whispered, backing away and shaking my head. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

I retreated, not because I thought he was going to hit me or anything, but because I knew if he touched me, if he took me into his strong arms and enveloped me in that light cologne scent that I loved so much, I would bawl like a baby. That was the frustrating part. He could disarm me and crumble all my defenses with one good hug.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said, trying to gather me close despite my efforts to thwart him. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. I hate you.”

And poof, there went the rest of my maturity, along with the rest of my composure. He pulled me to him and, like an overtaxed dam, I ruptured, pouring all my turmoil into his chest while he held me tight and whispered that everything would be all right.

For the most part, I was blessedly numb, just content to indulge in the warmth and security of his embrace where I felt protected and loved and cherished. But as the sobbing quieted into the occasional hiccup, I knew I would have to return to the real world and face the problem at hand.

The discipline contract was very clear concerning our marriage. I either willingly submitted to his discipline, or I refused to submit to it. But that refusal came with a price: we would file for divorce as soon as feasible.

Asshole. While the two choices sucked balls, they were choices all the same. I didn’t have to let him hit me. I could just get up and walk out. He wouldn’t stop me.

The worse thing about the stupid contract was that he wasn’t trying to force me to endure anything that I hadn’t initially agreed upon in the first place—in front of a notary, as proven by my initials beside each paragraph indicating I read every word of the damn thing, and my legal signature at the bottom that claimed I would abide by it. He wasn’t trying to exercise any power over me that I hadn’t granted him.

I entered the contract, consented to the relationship. I guess I just didn’t get…

“Why you want to spank me so badly…?”

He exhaled heavily. “I don’t want to spank you.”

“Then don’t—”

“I’m going to because I have to.”

I pulled back. “No, you don’t. I’d rather you didn’t.”

He actually smiled at that, tenderly smoothing back the strands of hair that hung in my face. “Oh, sweetheart. I do. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t live up to my responsibilities and keep the promises I made to you? I love you too much to not spank you.”

“But—”

“No, love. What you did was wrong and dangerous. And as old-fashion and politically incorrect as it might be in this day and age, it is my duty as your loving, doting husband to make sure this never happens again.”

“I promise it will never happen again,” I rushed, wiping my wet cheeks.

“I know. And I will ensure it doesn’t.”

“I can ensure that on my own without you or your paddle.” I looked away, biting my lip to stop it from sticking out as if pouting.

“Listen,” he urged, capturing my chin and looking deep into my eyes. “I promised in our wedding vows to be true to you,” he whispered. “To love, honor and cherish you. To protect you and keep you…care for you. And by God, as long as we are married, I will keep everyone of those vows.”

I won’t lie, it was kind of hard not too swoon at his courtly chivalry despite being outdated and weird in this modern world. And yes, it was his way with words that got me to marry him so quickly in the first place. He was the first man I ever met that wanted to take care of me, not vice versa. He was a sweet, thoughtful, loyal, loving…

He had a sensitive way to him that always seemed at odds with his heavy-handed beliefs. A pure romantic, but a fucking stubborn spankophiliac. Who was like that?

“Hurting me doesn’t seem in line with those vows,” I finally said, resisting the lull of his pretty sentiments.

“I disagree. If my paddle descending upon your sexy derriere will ensure that, from this moment forth, you will pay attention to what you are doing when you are behind the wheel and not break another speed limit again for fear of having another round with this paddle, I will have honored my vows.”

“But it’s going to hurt.”

“I know. But it wouldn’t be a behavior modifier if it didn’t.”

It was then that I realized—I could try to debate and argue with reason, I could cry and plead my case, but he wasn’t going to back down. He wasn’t going to change his mind. This was who he was.

“No.” I pulled from his hold and stepped back, shaking my head.

“No?”

I paused, took a deep breath, then gazed down at hands worrying themselves against my queasy stomach, afraid to see his anger. “I’m sorry, but no. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I…I just can’t. You can’t spank me.”


A Sweet Domestic Discipline Erotic Romance Story featuring Spanking and Sex
New Release Now Available!