He wants her body, but will she surrender her soul too? Despite her fears, is submission her only choice?
As their relationship deepens, Ashley is terrified and fascinated by her enigmatic lover, and drawn towards the seductive promise of surrender to him. But she’s escaped one abusive relationship, and it cost her dearly. How can she be sure that the exquisite pain promised by her dominant, masterful partner will be any more acceptable? And will the pleasure be worth the price? Can she take a risk? Will the reward be there for her?
He wants her, but he wants her surrender too. And Tom Shore knows just how to get it. He uses his sensual expertise and talent to arouse her desire, but can he win back her trust? Sure mastery leads to absolute surrender—or does it?
As Ashley reaches tentatively for happiness, will it be brutally snatched away? Can she find a way to forgive Tom and move on? Despite their past, can they build a future together, or even just settle for here and now? As her Master strengthens his sensual hold on her, Ashley has to make her choice.
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of anal play, anal intercourse, and a ménage scene. There are also mentions of miscarriage, rape and domestic violence.
Publisher's Note: This book is best read in sequence as part of a serial. Some of the characters in this book also appear in Ashe Barker’s other serials. These serials can all standalone, but are best enjoyed in order: The Dark Side, Sure Mastery, The Hardest Word, A Richness of Swallows.
General Release Date: 27th December 2013
“No, keep still, Barney.” I try to grab hold of the huge dog’s collar, force him to remain curled up next to me. But he’s wriggling, determined suddenly to be up. To be off. He’s leaving me. Leaving me here on my own.
“No, Barney, please come back. Please stay.” My voice is no more than a whisper. I should try to summon up some sort of commanding presence, sufficient to make the dog obey me, but that’s well beyond my powers just now. Well beyond my powers even on a good day, probably. And he weighs at least three times what I do, there’s no way I can make him stay if he’s decided he’s had enough of shivering out here in the snow. And it seems he has.
The huge dog is standing a few feet away, alert, staring into the darkness. I can just make out his outline, a massive black shadow against the midnight-blue inky sky. He looks as though he’s about to charge after something, something I can’t see. Leaving me alone, to freeze to death, out here on the moors. I hunch up, squeezing myself back into a tiny ball in some sort of puny attempt to ward off the cold permeating every part of me now that the warmth of the huge dog has gone.
My head almost shatters at the loud, booming bark. He doesn’t make much noise, as a rule, for such a large beast, but when he decides to let rip Barney has a decent pair of lungs on him. He barks again and I cover my ears, trying to prevent the top of my head erupting.
“Barney! Barney! Where are you, lad?”
The dog barks again, loud, booming, ear-splitting.
“Barney! Barney!” Not my voice, but familiar.
Who…? How…?
Then a flash of light. I realise my eyes are open and I slam them shut, feeling rather than seeing Barney suddenly take off into the gloom. His frantic barks are more distant now, and the other voice is out there too. Nearby. Coming nearer.
“Good lad, good boy. Where is she then. Show me.”
What? Who? Tom!
It’s Tom, he’s found me. I hear the rumble of an engine, the sharp, searing flash of blinding light bouncing everywhere as the Land Rover comes over the crest of a nearby mound, just ahead of me and to my right. The lights circle, sweeping the hillside until I’m caught in them. Caught between joy and relief and absolute agony as my eyes scream and threaten to melt in their sockets. I turn to the wall beside me, press my face against it. Seconds later strong hands are on my shoulders, turning me.
I spin towards him, grabbing his sweatshirt in my cold fists, keeping my eyes screwed up tight as I try to crawl inside his unzipped waxed jacket, seeking both warmth and darkness. And I’m so desperately, pathetically glad he’s here.
“It’s okay, babe, I’ve got you.” His arms are around me, holding me, his hands running up and down my back as if to rub warmth into me. For a few seconds we just cling to each other. Then Tom seems to recall the business in hand. “What’s happened? Why are you still up here so late? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head briefly. And moan with the pain even that slight movement causes me. His hands tighten around me. “Ashley, tell me, babe, tell me what’s wrong.” The relief has gone from his tone, to be replaced by anxiety.
“Migraine,” I breathe the one word, my voice the barest whisper.
“Migraine? What the hell…?”
His exclamation resounds around my head like a bullet ricocheting. I whimper, actually whimper as I try to burrow deeper into his jacket.
“Please, no noise, no light. I can’t… I can’t…”
And the penny drops. His voice low, quiet and calm now, he starts to sort out what’s to be done. “Ah, right.” Then, “Can you stand, love?”
“No. And please, don’t make any noise. Please, just take me home. Please.”
Again, he has to strain to hear me, but he manages it. Somehow. And he understands. No more words are spoken as he lifts me easily, carries me to the Land Rover. I yelp as the slam of the door clatters through my fragile skull, then I lean back against the seat, my eyes still closed. The vicious din echoes again and I hear the clatter of large dog paws on the flatbed behind me as Barney leaps into the Land Rover too. Then comes the slam of Tom’s door as he slips into the driver’s seat. I brace for the sound of the engine firing up and I’m not disappointed. Groaning, I cover my face with my hands, curling back up into a foetal ball on the passenger seat.
Tom slips his arms out of his jacket and places it over me, pulling it right over my head to keep out light and muffle any noise. I hug it gratefully to me, finding some comfort in the musky Tom smell coming off the fleecy lining. And then I’m aware of the movement, the rocking and bumping as the Land Rover turns, making its way slowly and surely back down the hillside. The warm breeze of the heater fills the vehicle. Tom turns it up full to help thaw my frigid bones. Despite the sound of the fan I’m grateful for the comfort it offers.
Eventually the rolling and bumping gives way to the smooth purr of tyres on tarmac and I know we must have reached the road. Just a few more moments and I’ll be back at my cottage. I’ll be able to crawl, at last, into my bed. Hide under my duvet until my world levels out again, the lights stop flashing and my brain stops bouncing around inside my skull. Sure enough, the Land Rover soon rolls to a stop. Tom leaps out and comes round to my side to open my door, help me out. I hang onto him with one hand, the other maintaining my death grip on his jacket to protect my eyes from any chinks of light.
He doesn’t speak, just lifts me again, carries me effortlessly up the path and through the door. I note, idly, that he obviously still carries the key to my cottage on him, and these days I find that notion not so troubling at all. My near-panic of earlier as I relived the trauma of that spanking seems so long ago now—now that he’s here again, holding me and helping me. I feel Tom’s gait alter. He takes the stairs, a few more paces and I’m gently placed on the bed. I’m intending to just crawl under the covers fully dressed, but Tom is untying the laces of my walking shoes, then he eases them gently from my feet. He follows this by unrolling my socks, before reaching up to unfasten my jeans. I have a moment of unease, then lie still and let him slide the denims down my legs. Only then does he gently lift the jacket from over my head.
I let it go, my eyes remaining tight shut as he unzips my all-weather jacket and peels that off too. Apparently that’s enough because he reaches under me to pull back the duvet and I roll into the soft, warm, dark comfort of…his bed.
Not my bed. Not Smithy’s Forge. I’m at Greystones. Back here in Tom Shore’s huge bed. And it feels absolutely wonderful.
I roll over and promptly fall asleep.
No sooner does it seem I’ve sunk into the deep, silent blackness that I so desperately need, than I’m awakened by voices. And light. I struggle down under the duvet, try to hide, to bury myself.
Until 2010, Ashe was a director of a regeneration company before deciding there had to be more to life and leaving to pursue a lifetime goal of self-employment.
Ashe has been an avid reader of women's fiction for many years—erotic, historical, contemporary, fantasy, romance—you name it, as long as it's written by women, for women. Now, at last in control of her own time and working from her home in rural West Yorkshire, she has been able to realise her dream of writing erotic romance herself.
She draws on settings and anecdotes from her previous and current experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters, but her stories of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of her own imagination. She loves to craft strong, enigmatic men and bright, sassy women to give them a hard time—in every sense of the word.
When she's not writing, Ashe's time is divided between her role as resident taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, cats, rabbits, tortoises and a hamster.
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