Spanked by the Bad Boy
Bad Boy Fever Series
London Saint James
Cover Art by Mina Carter
57 pgs, 49k words
Contemporary Erotic Romance (Spanking),
Suspense, Thriller, Heat level 5
As the personal assistant to the owner of one of the top engineering firms in Denver, Tiffany Brooks has worked hard at maintaining a professional façade, intent on ridding herself of terrible habits—like her attraction to bad boys. But when the owner of DC Construction rides his chopper into her world two years after their one-time anonymous sexual encounter, everything turns upside down.
Declan Cage is the type of guy who makes a lasting impression, especially with women, yet the gorgeous assistant at Stoub Engineering never remembers his name—or does she? Intrigued by her game, her sexier than sin body, and an infuriating prissy attitude, Ms. Brooks is begging to be taken into hand, and he’s the man to do it.
Armed with the knowledge Declan doesn’t recognize her, will Tiffany give in to her desire for him yet again, or will her past come back to haunt them both and ruin their chance at something real?
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When a commotion broke out somewhere not too far behind Declan’s table, he
twisted in his chair to see what was going on. His brow crinkled.
“I’ll be back,” he said without looking at his employees.
Declan stood and made a beeline for the hallway leading to the restrooms, stopping
when he came to a guy in a suit and a woman he recognized.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked.
The woman spun around to see him, shock and perhaps a little fear written all over
her features. “Mr. Cage?”
“I see we’ve made progress, Ms. Brooks. You’ve remembered my name twice today.”
“There’s no problem, buddy,” the man said, puffing his chest out, reminiscent of a
peacock. “You need to go back to your table and mind your own damn business.”
“The lady is my business.” He hooked his fingers around Tiffany’s elbow and
maneuvered her beside him. “Are you all right? Is this guy bothering you?”
She gazed up at him with large blue eyes. “I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”
“It didn’t look that way to me.”
The guy she was with squared his shoulders. “Listen, asshole.” The distinct smell of
alcohol rolled from his breath. Obviously, The Suit couldn’t hold his liquor and falsely
thought he was some sort of tough guy when he drank. “The lady said everything is
“You’ve had one too many,” Declan said. “You should probably go home before you
do something you’ll regret.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what to do?” The man stupidly poked
his finger into Declan’s chest. “Besides, I won’t have any regrets about beating you like a
The dude was a walking cliché. What a douchebag.
“I haven’t had a beating since I was nine, and I doubt you’re going to change my track record, but you’re more than welcome to try.” He tucked Tiffany behind him in a purely protective move. “I’ll even let you take the first swing.”
Tiffany tugged the back of his shirt and said, “There’s no need to make a scene.”
“No scene here, sugar. I’m only giving the guy what he wants.”
The man in the dark suit took a horrible roundhouse swing. Declan didn’t put any
real effort behind his counter move. He ducked to the right. The guy missed, spun
around, and stumbled away. He figured Mr. Fancypants had had enough, but no. It took
The Suit a second, then he straightened and came toward Declan, all wild-eyed and
doing a boogedy-boo, I’m-crazy-scary motion with his arms.
Declan waited until he came close again then punched the man in the nose.
Immediately, the guy’s own blood soiled his silver-white shirt and tie. He staggered
back, dazed, before he cupped his hands over his nose. Blood dripped from his fingers,
dribbled down his wrist, and trickled over the expensive watch he wore.
“I think you broke my nose,” he mumbled in a nasal sound from behind his hands.
Declan’s men had flanked him—feet spread, arms at their sides. He ignored them and nodded. “Yep. It’s broken.”
“Hey! Hey,” the manager of The Last Inning sputtered, waggling his bony finger at
them as he came over. “I’m not having this kind of thing going on in my establishment.”
The Suit kept his nose covered, but aimed his pinky at Declan. “He started it by—”
“No,” the manager said. “I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t give a rat’s ass who
started what.” He turned to glower at Declan. “Pay your bill then all of you, get out.”
“This ought to cover it.” Jett handed the manager a hundred.
He practically ripped the money from Jett’s hand.
“Fine. Now, go,” he said, shooing them away.
“No problem. We’re leaving,” Declan said and took Tiffany by the hand. She trailed
behind him while they headed for the door then, suddenly, she resisted. He stopped and
studied her, unsure what the holdup was. She held her right foot out. His gaze started at
the pointed toe of her black shoe, skimmed up her shapely leg, hip, small nipped waist,
bountiful breasts, slender neck, nose, and then finally looked into her eyes. “What?”
“Shoes,” she said in an exasperated tone. “You’re pulling me too hard, and I’m
walking too fast on a tile floor. I’m stumbling.”
He glanced at the spiked heels and shook his head. “I’ll slow down.”
He slowed their pace but didn’t let go of her until they made their way outside and
into the cool night air.
Standing beneath the covered porch of the sports bar, he observed his workers come
out, their expressions serious.
“What’s going on, DC?” Jett asked.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He motioned with his hand. “Guys, this is Tiffany
Brooks, by the way. Tiffany, that’s Jett, one of my foremen, and over there is Chris. Chris
is my concrete guy.”
“Hi,” she said in a small voice.
Jett and Chris nodded. “Ma’am,” they said, almost in unison.
“You guys go on home,” Declan said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Are you sure you don’t need us to stick around?” Jett asked.
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” Declan pulled his wallet from his back pocket and plucked a stack of
twenties out. “Here, Jett.”
Jett waved. “You don’t need to pay me back for the bill.”
“I do,” said Declan. Jett reluctantly took the money. “Go on home, and get some rest.”
He shoved his wallet into the pocket he’d pulled it from.
Once his workers left, he gave Tiffany his undivided attention. “I want you to tell me
why the man you were with was shaking you, maraca style?”
“Straddle me, sugar,” he said in a sandpaper voice, all grit.
Willing to go where she knew she shouldn’t tread, she did what he asked, throwing
one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the leather cushion on either side of his denim
clad thighs. His hands went to her hips. Slid down farther, where he stopped. His
fingertips touched her flesh. Using his thumbs, he stroked the front of her thighs,
undoing her. Shivers traversed her arms and legs. Her sex pulsed.
He inched her skirt up, working until the fabric bunched around her waist. When cool
air struck the back of her thighs, one side of his mouth quirked up. He appeared pleased
with himself for exposing her panties.
“I’ll give you exactly what you crave,” he said and ripped the thong from her body.
Tiffany sucked in a breath. He threw the tattered silk to the floor with his right hand
while flicking her clit ring with the forefinger of his left. “Nice adornment.” He tugged on
her piercing, giving her the right amount of pressure. “But you need me to scratch your
itch, don’t you, baby?”
She’d come too far to lie about what she needed now. Nodding, she whispered,
He chuckled, and the sound was a flashpoint of sensation added to the slow stroke of
the fingers he’d slipped between her crease.
She leaned forward, hand resting on the top of the sofa by his head, and kissed him.
While their tongues tangled, he rubbed her, his other hand going to her hair where he
tugged the clip, releasing the long strands. They tumbled down her back in time with his
palm curling around the base of her neck, claiming her.
Oh, she liked the way he took possession. Everything feminine inside her needed the
pure maleness of him.
Tiffany nibbled at his bottom lip, pulling scant inches from his mouth. “You make me
burn,” she admitted.
“The feeling is mutual,” he said and plunged a finger inside of her.
“Ahh, yeah,” she uttered her approval.
He shoved his finger deeper. “You’re so wet.”
Her hand went to his bulging crotch. She squeezed him through his jeans. He
groaned. With nimble fingers, she unbuttoned his fly, freeing his thick cock from the
denim. When the heavy head rested in her palm, she smiled. He was fantastic, and she’d
known from past experience he’d be commando.
Wrapping her fingers around the base of his superb erection, she began to pump him.
“Hell, yes,” he said and fingered her in earnest, inserting another. His thumb pressed
hard against her clitoris, sending heated spikes of sensation through her body.
She moaned, spreading the silken pre-cum leaking from him with her fingertip and
licking her lips. Tiffany wanted to taste him. Put her lips over the crown. Skim her
mouth along his shaft. Take him down the back of her throat. She swallowed, knowing
the feeling when she took him inside her pussy would be even better. She needed to
experience her sex stretched over the head of his dick again. The fiery invasion. The
awareness of being totally filled when he pressed into her tight channel.
Her chest heaving, she mumbled, “Condom.”
“Sorry, sugar. We’ll have to settle for this,” he said. Declan removed his fingers from
her body and tugged her hips down on him before he placed his steel between her
feminine folds. “Slide your sweetness along the length of my cock.”
Oh, God. She was so slick, she easily made the glide up and down, her chest rubbing
In the next instant, he splayed his large hands across her ass, pulling her against him
even tighter. This was good, sex without penetration, something she’d never done
before, and the delicious sensation had her nipples pebbled hard against the material of
her bra, but when he flicked out his tongue, everything got better. She moaned and gave
him access to her neck, where he wasted no time and tickled the hollow of her throat
before he nipped at the soft flesh with his teeth. She shivered.
“There you go.” The vibration of his deep voice sent a wave of pleasure across the
canvas of her flesh. Every part of her body hungered for his touch. He slapped her ass.
She jumped and lost her rhythm—taken aback. “Faster,” he demanded, and she didn’t
have time to consider if she liked the swat or not. He spanked her again. “Move your fine
She complied, sliding herself up and down. He slapped her ass once more, but this
time the sensation sent a buzz to her already-stimulated clit. The joy spreading across
her caught— a wildfire.
“Again,” she uttered in a breathy voice.
“Like that, do you?”
God help her, she did.
Author Bio & Links:
London Saint James has lived in many places, but never felt “at home” until she met the real-life man of her dreams and settled down in the beautiful Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. London lives with her husband and their fat cat who thinks he owns them.
As an award-winning, bestselling, multi-published author, London is living her childhood dream. She knew all the scribbling she did, that big imagination of hers, and all those clamoring characters running around in her head would pay off someday.
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