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Goldie’s Surrender by Felicity Brandon

What if the fairy tale is real?

We all remember the story of Goldilocks, the young woman who stumbles across the three bears’ humble abode while wandering through the woods. You’d always thought the story was make-believe, designed to entertain small children, but what if I told you that you were wrong?

Goldie Locks is very real, a spoiled young woman living in a bubble of her father’s wealth and indulgence. It is this Goldie who makes her way into the forest, losing her way and eventually seeking sanctuary in the small cottage she finds there. But little does Goldie know who really lives in the deep, dark woods and what they will do when they find her asleep in their home…

In this intensely erotic tale, beautiful, headstrong Goldie is left blushing crimson as she is sternly punished and thoroughly claimed by the three strict, ruggedly handsome owners of the cottage in which she foolishly dared to trespass. To Goldie’s surprise, the bold dominance of her captors arouses her deeply, but will she run for her life when their shocking secret is finally revealed?

Publisher’s Note: Goldie’s Surrender includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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Author: Felicity Brandon

eBook Price: $4.95

Length: 83,000 Words

Excerpt

“Logan!” I whine, stamping my feet below me. “Let me up!”

“Not a chance,” he tells me. “You will be spanked right here, until you learn some manners! And when I am satisfied, then you will apologize to Ethan for your tone.”

“I will not!” I mutter, but even as I speak, his left hand has seized both of my wrists, pushing them down against my bare skin, and his right hand leaves my flesh.

I brace myself, squeezing my eyes shut, and no longer able to manage Ethan’s self-satisfied face. The weight of Logan’s palm cracks down over my vulnerable behind, and I draw in a loud gasp.

“Harder.” I hear Ethan’s command, but still I cannot bear to see the accompanying face. “Spank her harder, Logan.”

“All in good time, brother,” comes Logan’s reply, even as the next few swats rain down upon me.

These strikes hurt. They all land in different places, some catching my plump cheeks, and others making contact with my sensitive thighs.

“Ouch!” I squeak, shifting my legs underneath me. “Logan, please, stop—I’ll be good, I promise!”

“You have a lesson to learn, little fawn,” he purrs over me, as he lands the next three strikes in a new flurry of swats.

I yelp, utterly indignant at my treatment, but incapable of keeping still and yielding to it. This is not like the fun spanking Logan had delivered during the storm. This is clearly designed to teach me a lesson—one that I am already growing to resent. As his palm strikes the middle of my cheeks again, I’m aware of the familiar tingle in my clit. Unbelievably, my body is being turned on by Logan’s impromptu judgement, and I squirm inwardly at the reality of it. How on earth can this be arousing? This giant brute of a man is using his power and strength to overpower me. He is spanking me—reddening my bottom, like a naughty little child. It’s degrading to say the least, and it infuriates the hell out of me, and yet there’s no denying the insistent throb between my legs. Logan’s authoritative caveman routine makes me hot, and I’m guessing that he knows it.

My spanking continues, and eventually I resign myself to it. I settle against the wooden table, my face resting on my left cheek. I know Ethan is watching me, and now the notion just adds to the slick moisture between my thighs. I’m aware of the weight of his stare, and yet I do not meet his eye. Instead, I remain passive, feeling the impact of each strike as Logan lands his large palm against me.

At some point I notice that Heath has wandered to the other end of the table, and he too is witnessing my shame and embarrassment. “She seems calmer, Logan,” he says, drawing closer toward us as he speaks.

“Are you finally yielding, little fawn?” Logan asks, his hand coming to rest against my warmed skin.

I squirm against him, pushing my wet core onto his wrist. His chuckle is dark and rasping. “Oh, little fawn,” he murmurs, sliding one and then two long digits into my core. “You do so love to be corrected, don’t you?”

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