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Rugged Daddy by Ava Sinclair

When I stole money to get even with my despicable, lying boss, I didn’t expect to end up trapped in the cabin of a mountain man who has decided I need a daddy to teach me right from wrong.

My plan seemed simple enough. Take the cash, hike through the woods to get out of town, and then start a new life somewhere far away. But things didn’t go as I’d hoped. I fell on the trail and nearly died, and then I made an even bigger mistake. I lied to Zane Tyler, the rough, handsome woodsman who found me in the snow and nursed me back to health.

Now my rescuer believes I’m too irresponsible to be treated like an adult, and I soon learn the hard way what happens to bad girls under his roof. But a painful, humiliating spanking is just the beginning, and as Zane strips me bare, bathes me like a little girl, and teases me until I ache for him to claim me, I find myself starting to wonder if I’ll ever want to leave my rugged daddy…

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

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Book Trailer from Ava Sinclair

Author: Ava Sinclair

eBook Price: $3.95

Length: 33,000 Words

Excerpt

“I am not going to stay in your stupid fucking cabin playing housewife, got it?”

His stance softens, and he sighs, shaking his head as he turns away. Zane is silent for a moment before turning back. “You’re right,” he says. “I can’t treat you like a housewife. A housewife is an adult role. You don’t act like an adult. You act like a spoiled little girl. So that’s how I’m going to treat you.”

What happens next occurs so quickly I don’t even have time to react. Zane Tyler grabs my arm and sits down, simultaneously jerking me over his lap.

I’m being assaulted. This is my first thought as I feel him pulling at my blue jeans. I’ve lost weight since arriving, so he doesn’t need to even unbutton them. I feel his huge hand jerking them down, first over one hip and then the other. He pushes them until they are wadded just above my boots. I’m not wearing panties. My ass is bare and still cold from my time outside. I reflexively squeeze my thighs together, sure now that he’s going to push his fingers between them to touch my pussy.

How wrong I am. The cabin fills with the sound of my scream as his massive hand crashes down in a shockingly painful smack across the crest of my backside. The cold of my skin magnifies the burn.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The question comes out half-sobbed, half-shouted. But it’s a rhetorical question. I know what he’s doing. He’s spanking me. I’ve never been spanked, and it’s an awful experience made worse by his complete silence.

The only sound filling the cabin is that of his hard, callused hand striking my soft bottom. Each blow drives heat deep into the skin of my buttocks. There’s no recovery from one punishing spank before the next one falls. At first, they are centered on the crest of my upturned cheeks, but soon he’s targeting the unpunished skin just above the tops of thighs I’d squeezed together when he started. I’m no longer doing that. I’m past modesty, past dignity. I lose count of how many times his huge hand has impacted my bottom. I can only thrash and wail and beg as Zane Tyler methodically reddens a backside now pulsing with hurt. I can feel sweat under my shirt as I expend energy in a fruitless struggle to escape. He’s strong—stronger than I had even imagined. The arm locked around my waist might as well be an iron band. All I can do is wiggle my bottom back and forth and kick my legs to the extent the pants hobbling my shins will allow. I’m literally crying like a baby, my wails helpless and infantile. I try to cover my bottom with his hand, but he catches it as he continues to spank, moving now from my hot, throbbing bottom to launch a painfully cruel finale. Zane Tyler shifts me to the right and tips me forward so that my upper body is no longer supported by the sofa. I’m now hanging face down over his knee, my ass jutting up. I feel his lower leg hook around the backs of my knees. I can’t move my legs. Nor can I shift to avoid the pain of his hand as he begins to target my lower buttocks just where they meet the top of my thighs.

I thought I was out of tears and cries. I was wrong. I’m blinded by pain. I can’t even kick. I can’t shield myself. I tried that already. So I just pound the floor with my fists, crying, “Please, please, please,” over and over until he stops spanking me, not because he’s taken pity, but because he’s done.

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