Her family and future burned down in the flames of a Dragon…

Devastation and ruin surrounds what was once her home. Destroyed by warriors, the Dragonmasters, she has nowhere to go.

Until, Gresham shows up.

He’s mysterious and handsome with a stern hand for discipline, making her an offer she can’t refuse.

Five full-length romances and the prequel featuring: The Captured Maiden, The Dragonmaster, The Street Urchin, The Peasant Farmer, The Lost Princess, and The Queen.


I bent over the edge of the bed, my cheek sinking into the comforter that my hands gripped with fear.  The Dragon Master stood behind me.  I wondered how he could think to punish me, when his arm must be beyond pain.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Today was lesson enough,” he said.  He shifted the phallus within me, and I bit down on a cry.  “How long ago were you broken?”

My mouth felt as dry as the phallus. “Last night,” I croaked.  It had not been even a day since the phallus was inserted on the eve of my Choosing, but it felt like a lifetime ago.  I briefly imagined Haya’s incessant chatter when I braided her hair. I closed my eyes and longed for what had been my home.

I gasped, my eyes flying open as he pushed his fingers into the hair between my legs.  His hand grazed the knot of flesh between the folds of my skin, and something quivered in my belly.  I froze and held my breath.

“It’s my duty to remove this from you.”  He cleared his throat.  “If I don’t arouse you, it will hurt when I pull it out.”

I couldn’t breathe. He almost sounded as if he was asking my permission, but the sharp feeling he’d caused confused me. He did it again, and I gasped from the ache of it, the needy pull that tugged within me.

He cupped me, pushed his hand against me until I arched and cried out.  He gave my bottom a spank, and it felt good.  He spread my legs apart, pushed my knees under me so my bottom was lifted up and my thighs were parted.

I let him do with my limbs as he wanted.  My body seemed to be his to maneuver.

Then his hand cupped me again, while his other hand twisted the phallus within me. Gently, at first.  Then he pushed it a little. At first, it hurt. He pushed again, then again.  I strained towards the pleasure of his hand cupping me, and whimpered away from the push of the phallus within.

But gradually, he began pulling the rod in and out, twisting it then pushing it deep. Each thrust made me gasp, and each time he pulled it out, I strained to reach it. His fingers dug into the hair between my legs again, and his fingers worked at the knot of flesh.

Without conscious thought, my body moved and gyrated with his ministrations, arching often as I cried out from his torture.  He pumped the phallus within me, harder and harder with each stroke.  My body welcomed every invasion, opened more and more with each assault.

I half-cried and half-grunted as he manipulated me. Heat flashed through my skin and sweat broke out of every pore on my body. He thrust again, growling. I groaned from the massive wave of need that squeezed every muscle in my body, that drove me toward some impossible destination that my body strained for with every last ounce of effort.