When the choice is prison or marriage to the handsome lawman, Marshal Chase Storm, is it really much of a choice?

Summer Rain is about to find out that one is harder to escape than the other – and it’s not the one with bars.

Publisher’s Note: This steamy Old West romance contains elements of power exchange.


“You son of a bitch,” she yelled, trying to twist away. “I’m not going with you. I’m not.”

Chased sighed, tossed her gun to the ground, and then shifted his hold so he had her around the waist. He planted his feet and bent her over his hip. “Stop,” he said, bringing his hand down on her ass. “Acting…” a second smack. “Like a child,” he finished, punctuating each of those words with a blow from his hand.

“You dirty, stinking pole cat,” she screeched, flaying her arms and legs. “Yellow bellied snake.”

Chase was prepared to let her go after those first few swats, all she needed was to show a smidgen of contriteness. Rather, she continued to cuss him. With a shake of his head, he jostled her into a better position and put some force behind the next spank he landed. The gasp breaking up her stream of foul words said he’d made an impact, and without hesitation, he began a steady barrage of spanks, covering her entire ass with the same or a bit more force.

Her fight couldn’t outlast his will, and after he was sure he’d covered the whole span of her seat at least three times, the curses changed to demands to stop and then to pleas of the same. He aimed the next few lower, knowing she’d feel them worse every time she used her legs to direct the horse.

“Stop,” she choked out. “Stop, please. I’m sorry.”

Two more pointed spanks and he dropped her to her feet. He took the time to steady her, but her knees buckled and she landed in the dirt. Standing there, he wasn’t sure exactly what to do. She might have surrendered, but everything about her said she was still madder than a wet hen. The ache to gather her in his arms was superseded by the desire to hold on to his balls for a while longer. Chase stood there and waited. Sobs and gasps became sniffs and then silence. She wiped her nose on her shoulder then used the back of her hand to wipe the tears.

Chase knew the exact moment she set her focus on her gun. And given her proximity and angle, she’d likely win, as he’d either have to shoot through his holster or draw first. “Next time you think to draw on me, Summer, my belt comes off and your pants come down,” he warned. “Think about it. Is that really how you want to start this off?”

She didn’t move, didn’t lift her focus from the revolver, didn’t say anything.

“Go on,” he said and not as a challenge. “Pick it up.” She gave him a sideways look. “Go on; pick it up.” She reached out, hesitated, then used her fingers to pull it close enough that she could take a grip on it. Her finger stayed well off the trigger as she shifted enough to expose the holster. “No,” Chase said, keeping his voice soft. “Give it to me.” He held out his hand, again waiting to see what choice she made. With a sigh, she gave it a little toss, catching it so the butt was toward him and held out. “Thank you,” Chase said as he reached down and pulled her to her feet. “You can have it back after we talk.” He turned and made his way to his horse, tucking it in his saddle bag. He knew she had both the repeater and a Derringer; it wasn’t like he was leaving her defenseless.

When he turned back, he caught her rubbing at her ass, and he bit his cheek not to suggest he could rub it for her, though he couldn’t stop his cock from straining at the idea. He bent and snatched up her hat, holding it out until she noticed he was.