Emily Tilton – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Emily Tilton – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:10:05 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.2 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Emily Tilton – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Trained at the Office – Corporate Correction Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/trained-at-the-office-corporate-correction-read-online-emily-tilton Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:10:05 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/trained-at-the-office-corporate-correction-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)

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As the sternly sexy man who already pulled my pant!es down for a spanking now bends me over for an even more humiliating reminder of what naughty girls get, it’s not just his gaze wandering over my bare, about to be thoroughly used body that has me blushing crimson with shame.

It’s the fact that everyone at the office who isn’t watching yet will be soon.
Because as I beg and m*an and come like a bad girl, I’m not just being punished.

I’m being trained.

Publisher’s Note: Trained at the Office is a stand-alone book in the Corporate Correction series. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Anne

I didn’t know how to feel. Standing in my tiny apartment that morning, buttoning the modest cream blouse Yolanda had called perfect, I’d tried to push down the tangle of feelings that had knotted themselves somewhere between my stomach and my throat ever since I’d signed the employment contract three days ago.

Selecta. Or, as they usually wrote it, SELECTA. The megacorp’s name alone carried weight, a gravity I could feel even from outside the gleaming tower downtown. Everyone knew what Selecta was. Everyone had heard the stories. My mother, before she’d stopped returning my calls entirely, had said only, “Well, Anne, I suppose you’ll learn,” in that flat voice that meant she’d already decided I was lost.

But my friend Yolanda… bright, laughing Yolanda, whom I’d known since freshman orientation and who had landed in Selecta’s marketing division six months before me… she’d waved it all away over drinks at our favorite wine bar the week before.

“Annie, stop,” she’d said, pressing her manicured fingers over mine. “I know what you’ve read. I know you’ve heard about the… you know… the paddling thing. Everyone’s heard about the paddling thing.”

She’d rolled her dark eyes with theatrical exasperation. “It’s like saying every Catholic school nun carries a ruler. Is there a paddle hanging on the wall in some room in human resources? Sure. Are there stories? Definitely. No one’s ever used one on me—and I can’t say I’m the most diligent girl in the office.”

She’d taken a long sip of her Pinot Grigio.

“You show up. You answer the phone. You get coffee. You set up meetings. Maybe you write a memo now and then. That’s it. That’s the whole job. The pay is incredible, the benefits are insane, and the worst thing that happens to you is some executive asks you to collate something and you have to Google what collate means.” She’d grinned. “Which I did, by the way. Week one.”

I’d laughed. The knot in my tummy had loosened, and I’d told myself Yolanda was right. She’d always been right about practical things.

Now, stepping out of the elevator on the thirty-second floor of Selecta HQ, I tried to hold onto that feeling.

The lobby featured pale marble and soft lighting, with the Selecta logo rendered in brushed steel in giant letters behind the curved reception desk. Everything smelled faintly of something floral I couldn’t name. The air itself felt expensive, filtered and temperature-controlled to a precise coolness that made my skin prickle under my blouse.

A woman at the reception desk looked up as I approached. She looked perhaps thirty, with dark hair pulled into a sleek chignon and a smile that seemed calibrated to be welcoming without being warm.

“Anne Chamberlain?” she said before I could speak.

“Yes. I’m… it’s my first day. I was told to report to⁠—”

“You’ve been assigned to Penelope Gallagher.” The receptionist was already standing, smoothing her fitted charcoal skirt. “She’s expecting you. I’ll walk you back.”

I followed her through a set of frosted glass doors and down a corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly, the carpet so thick my low heels made no sound at all. Offices flanked us on both sides, their doors mostly closed, and through the ones that were open I caught glimpses of sleek desks, multiple monitors, women in tailored clothing typing or speaking into headsets.

Everything looked immaculate. Everything was quiet, but the quiet seemed to hum with… well, with power. I swallowed hard.

We stopped before an office at the far end of the corridor. The nameplate on the door read Penelope Gallagher, Director of New Modesty Program Integration in clean, formal-looking lettering, like in an old-fashioned newspaper.

The receptionist knocked twice and opened the door without waiting for a response.

The woman behind the desk rose immediately, and I understood at once why Yolanda had told me, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and your boss is going to make you feel like you’ve been dressing wrong your entire life. Don’t take it personally.”

Penelope Gallagher was the kind of woman who seemed born to wear a charcoal suit. She stood tall—taller than me, and I was five-seven—with chestnut hair swept back from a face that was beautiful without being pretty. She wore a blouse of ivory silk, open one button further than mine, and a single strand of pearls rested against her collarbone. She moved around the desk with the controlled grace of someone who had an awareness of every inch of space her body occupied.

“Anne,” she said, and her voice sounded genuinely warm, with a richness that made my name come across, oddly, like something particularly worth saying. She took both my hands in hers and held them for a moment, studying me with gray eyes that seemed to miss nothing. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve needed someone in this role for weeks, and when I saw your application, I told HR not to let you slip away.”

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Advertisement Their Bad Girl – The Institute Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/their-bad-girl-the-institute-read-online-emily-tilton Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:15:11 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/their-bad-girl-the-institute-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Erotic Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)

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When she makes an enemy of the ruthless, powerful megacorporation that all but runs the country, Pamela Nelson’s hacking and cyber espionage abilities will be put to the test

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Pam

I looked down at Leo’s lap, his erection obvious through his pants as he sat in the tired office chair he had pulled up to ‘look at my work.’ I hated this part. I always hated this part. He had no idea what I was actually doing, but he would ask stupid questions until I gave him what he truly wanted, though would never admit to wanting.

And I needed him distracted, compliant, and too satisfied to interfere with my hacking of the Houseworks server architecture. So I slid off my chair and moved between his knees, keeping my face carefully neutral.

“You’re tense,” I said, reaching for his belt. “Let me help.”

Leo’s hand came to rest on top of my head, fingers threading through my hair in that possessive way he thought was affectionate. “You’re so good to me, Pam.”

I wasn’t good to him. I was using him. But he was too stupid and too arrogant to see it, which made him perfect.

I pulled his cock free and wrapped my fingers around the base. At least a blowjob was better than actual sex—less invasive, less vulnerable, less of myself given away. I could control the pace, control the angle, control when it ended. There was a kind of power in that, even if it came at the cost of having his dick in my mouth.

I took him in, letting my tongue work along the underside while my mind wandered to the code waiting on my screen. Three more hours. That’s all I needed. Three more hours to finish the final authentication bypass, and the ransomware would be ready to deploy. Leo thought we were launching it together next week, following his careful timeline, his risk assessments, his need to feel like the mastermind.

He had no idea I was going to activate it tonight; that I had decided I couldn’t risk him fucking it up, so I would move things ahead and make Leo feel like this was what he had planned all along.

His breathing quickened above me, and I increased the suction, hollowing my cheeks. Get him there faster. Get back to work.

“Fuck, Pam,” he groaned, his hips jerking slightly. “Just like that.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Men were so predictable. A few well-practiced movements and they thought you were a goddess. I kept working him, my hand moving in rhythm with my mouth, watching for the telltale signs—the tension in his thighs, the way his fingers tightened in my hair.

He came with a low grunt, and I grabbed the towel I’d strategically placed on his desk earlier, pulling back just in time and directing his semen into the terrycloth. At least he had the decency not to demand to be allowed to make a mess I’d have to deal with. He slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, that satisfied smirk on his face that made me want to punch him.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re incredible.”

I wiped my mouth and stood, already turning back toward my workstation. “I know.”

“Come here.” His hand reached for me, but I was already moving away.

“Can’t. Need to finish the subnet routing before the security sweep at midnight.” I dropped back into my chair and pulled up the terminal window, my fingers flying across the keyboard. The authentication bypass was downright elegant in its simplicity—three nested functions that would give me root access to every Houseworks facility in the world. Selecta’s little experiment in dominating the domestic services sector would pay off big time—for me… and for Leo, I guessed, grudgingly. He’d footed the bill for my insane computer needs, after all.

Behind me, Leo was zipping up, post-orgasm contentment making him docile. Perfect. I had maybe twenty minutes before his brain started working again and he’d want to ‘collaborate’ on something, which really meant looking over my shoulder and suggesting idiotic changes.

“You work too hard,” he said, his voice lazy.

“Someone has to.” I kept my eyes on the screen, watching the progress bar creep forward as my script compiled. Seventy-three percent. “Besides, I thought you wanted this done right.”

“I do. I just—” His phone buzzed on the desk. He picked it up, and I heard him swipe to answer. “Hey, Marcus. Yeah, man, what’s up?”

My shoulders tensed, but I didn’t turn around. Marcus was one of Leo’s college buddies, another wannabe player who thought he was smarter than he was. Just keep it short, I thought. Just keep it short and hang up.

“Oh, you know,” Leo said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, that pride that came before the fall. “Just putting the finishing touches on something big. Really big.”

No. Don’t.

“Can’t say much, but let’s just say Houseworks is about to learn what happens when they⁠—”

I spun in my chair. “Leo.”

He glanced at me, held up one finger. Wait. “Yeah, ransomware. Custom job. Pam’s a fucking genius with⁠—”

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Advertisement Her Shameful Correction – The Institute – Shameful Arrangements Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/her-shameful-correction-the-institute-shameful-arrangements-read-online-emily-tilton Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:14:55 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/her-shameful-correction-the-institute-shameful-arrangements-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >81

Bare, blushing, and strapped to an examination table, her helpless arousal on humiliating display as she is thoroughly and intimately inspected, Laura Martindale isn’t just thinking about how foolish it was to get herself expelled from college in the first place. She’s also envisioning all the shameful things that lie ahead once her billionaire sponsor takes full control of her virgin body.
Starting with a bare bottom spanking.
But as she kneels at his feet to thank him for her punishment, it isn’t just her bright red ass compelling Laura to show the man who now all but owns her what a good girl she can be.
It’s the arousal dripping down her thighs at the thought that she belongs to him now.

Publisher’s Note: Her Shameful Correction is a stand-alone book which is the seventh entry in the series The Institute: Shameful Arrangements. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t read this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Laura

It represented the faintest—and most embarrassing—possible glimmer of hope, I thought, but the special promotion I found on the internet at the end of the worst day of my life nevertheless sent a surge of optimism rising in my chest.

Just for you… the girl who waited!

Selecta Arrangements has the answer for young women with a very special asset! If you’re verified as intact where it counts the most, you’re eligible for our premium placement program. Top-tier sponsors are looking for you!

I stared at the words on my phone screen, my thumb hovering over the link. Premium placement. Top-tier sponsors. The sizzling language somehow made it feel less sordid, more like a simple, efficient business transaction.

Which was exactly what it would be, I reminded myself. A business transaction.

“Ms. Martindale, I’m sorry to tell you that you’ve been expelled, effective immediately.”

The dean’s words from that morning still echoed in my ears. I’d sat in his office, hands clenched in my lap, watching my entire future disintegrate. One stupid mistake—okay, several stupid mistakes—and suddenly my scholarship was gone, my dorm access revoked, my distant, elderly parents’ disappointment inevitable and crushing.

“You have until five o’clock to vacate campus housing,” he’d said, not even looking at me as he signed the paperwork.

I’d stumbled out of his office in a daze, my mind racing through impossible options. My parents couldn’t afford to send me anywhere else—I had already had to take out two loans without telling them. I had no job, no prospects, and now no degree. I’d wandered to the student union, collapsing at a corner table while other students chatted and laughed around me, oblivious to my catastrophe.

That’s when I’d overheard them.

“She’s making like ten thousand a month,” one girl had whispered to her friend. “Just for being with him.”

“But doesn’t he, like, own her?” the friend had responded. “And… you know… being with him? Like…”

She had giggled nervously, then continued in an even lower whisper.

“Like, you know… being with him?”

“I mean, yeah, kind of. Sex. But still. Ten thousand.”

Selecta Arrangements. I’d heard the name before, whispered in dorm rooms late at night. Girls trading rumors about classmates who’d dropped out to join the program. Some spoke of it with scandalized disgust. Others with barely concealed envy.

Now, sitting in the cramped studio apartment I could barely afford even for one month, I clicked the link.

The application loaded immediately. Name. Age. Contact information. The questions grew more personal. Sexual experience—I checked ‘none.’ The box expanded with a notice that the intact status of my hymen would be verified with a medical exam. My face blazed like the sun, but I clicked the box that meant I consented. Then came the waiver, page after page of dense legal text.

I scrolled past it all, my heart pounding. What did it matter what the fine print said? I had no other options. My thumb hit the ‘Accept and Submit’ button before I could think better of it.

The confirmation appeared instantly: Application received. You will be contacted within twenty-four hours.

The email arrived the next morning.

Dear Miss Martindale,

Congratulations! Your preliminary application has been approved for consideration for our premium placement program. Please report to Selecta West Headquarters, 2400 Dune Hill Road, Edison Park, California, tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. for your verification examination and orientation. The receptionist at the building’s main information desk will direct you to the appropriate office.

A shuttle is available from the Palo Alto Caltrain station. It leaves every fifteen minutes from the bus area and the ride to Selecta West takes five to ten minutes depending on traffic. Please be punctual. Failure to comply with stated instructions constitutes grounds for denying your application.

Sincerely,

Rhonda Havers

Communications

Selecta Arrangements

I must have checked the Caltrain schedule at least fifty times. I left my apartment two hours before I needed to, taking the earliest train that wouldn’t leave me sitting at the station or, worse, at Selecta, for an hour. The shuttle from Palo Alto was sleek and modern, emblazoned with the Selecta logo—a stylized red S that looked both elegant and vaguely predatory. I sat in the back, clutching my purse, watching Silicon Valley’s corporate campuses slide past the window.

The Selecta West building sprawled like a testament to the megacorp’s global footprint, its glass and steel dominating the campus’s artificially green environs. I walked through the revolving doors at exactly 1:45 p.m., my sneakers squeaking softly on the polished marble floor.

The receptionist looked up from her desk with a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her nameplate read Joann.

“Hi?” I said, and immediately had to swallow hard to clear my mouth. “I’m… Laura Martindale,” I said, my voice still coming out smaller than I’d intended. “I have a two o’clock appointment.”

Something flickered in Joann’s expression—was it pity? Contempt? I couldn’t tell. She picked up her phone without a word.

“Hank? The two o’clock SA girl is here.” A pause. She looked up at me. “Yes, Laura.”

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Advertisement Her Viking Lord (Bound For Training #2) Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/her-viking-lord-bound-for-training-2-read-online-emily-tilton Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:08:05 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/her-viking-lord-bound-for-training-2-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Authors: Emily Tilton Series: Bound For Training Series by Emily Tilton
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)

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First he made me call him master. Then he made me come like I meant it.

When Aksel Bergstrom ordered me to undress and put myself on display for him the first time, his instruction was sent by text, and he merely observed as I blushed and begged and climaxed.

But now this bearded brute is here in person, stripping me bare and spanking my ass red for the slightest hint of defiance before tying me down and using my helplessly bound body shamefully.

Because the bastard ravaging me like a Viking of old isn't some mysterious stalker.

He's one of the Sons of Odin.

And I belong to them now.

Publisher's Her Viking Lord is the second book in the Bound for Training series but can be read as a standalone. It includes spankings, sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, and strong D/s themes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Lorna

I honestly wanted to kill my husband. The fact that he was the prime minister of Jagland made the potential crime seem more serious, but I didn’t think I’d get any more prison time for killing Takken than I would for killing any other fucking asshole. Maybe less, with the right magistrates sitting on the bench.

The thought should have horrified me—Fru Norquist, the perfect political wife, contemplating murder—but instead I found myself mentally cataloging the opportunities. The state dinner next week, perhaps. A tragic choking incident. Or maybe something more poetic: a fall from our residence’s balcony, the modernist architect’s glass barriers he’d insisted on installing proving, alas, inadequate.

I smoothed my ash-blonde hair, checking my reflection in the hallway mirror as Takken’s voice drifted from his study. Another late-night call with his ‘advisors.’ The same advisors who’d been pushing him to sign away Jagland’s energy independence to foreign interests, no doubt. My fingers tightened on my clutch until my knuckles went white.

“Darling?” His voice cut through my violent fantasies. “Could you come here a moment?”

I straightened my spine—an automatic response drilled into me by years of public appearances—and walked to his study. He sat behind his pretentious glass desk, his gray eyes calculating as always. The carefully maintained blond of his hair caught the light from the desk lamp.

“We need to discuss the Synergy Group reception tomorrow,” he said, not looking up from his tablet. “You’ll wear the blue Valentino. And for God’s sake, try to look interested when Monsieur Brenteuil discusses the partnership opportunities.”

“Of course,” I replied, my voice perfectly measured, perfectly diplomatic. Inside, my anger stirred again. It felt somehow primal… ancient. As if what I had inside came from a different time, and I had chosen myself to be the protector of my country’s traditional, truly conservative values: the sea and the land, the whisper of wind through pine forests, the crash of waves against fjord walls. Something that predated his progressive buzzwords and foreign deals by centuries.

This nation, carved so recently from the no-longer-quite-so-frozen north where the Vikings had held sway, needed a better government than Takken Norquist, the man who had scarcely touched me since our wedding night two years ago, could provide. Short of throwing him off a high building, I had no idea how to make that happen, but I thought I probably had to try.

He set down his tablet and leaned back, that familiar smugness settling over his features. “The Synergy Group is prepared to offer us very favorable terms. Twenty percent above market rate for our hydroelectric output, locked in for ten years.” His lips curved in what he probably thought was a conspiratorial smile. “Of course, the oversight committee will never see the full contract. The additional five percent will be directed to our Zurich account. Clean, simple, untraceable.”

I kept my expression neutral, though my stomach turned. After two years of marriage, I knew better than to protest his schemes. Any objection would be met with that cold stare, followed by a reminder of how easily accidents could happen to difficult wives. He’d never said it outright, but the implication hung between us like a blade.

“You understand the importance of this, don’t you?” He studied me with those calculating eyes. “Brenteuil needs to see a united front. A progressive couple ready to embrace the future.”

Progressive. The word tasted like ash. I thought of how differently he’d presented himself during our courtship—the passionate environmentalist, the defender of Nordic heritage. How skillfully he’d played that role until our honeymoon in the Seychelles, when the mask had finally slipped.

No… it hadn’t slipped. He’d simply taken it off. I could still remember the casual way he’d mentioned his ‘arrangements’ with Russian oligarchs while we’d sat on that pristine beach, his hand on my thigh, completely confident I’d be thrilled by the promise of wealth.

“I understand perfectly,” I said.

“Good.” He stood, adjusting his cufflinks. “I have a meeting tonight. Don’t wait up.”

A meeting. I knew exactly what kind of meeting required him to shower again and apply fresh cologne. The Maison de Joie, most likely—a discreet establishment on Storgata where the wealthy could indulge their appetites without fear of scandal. At least his complete lack of sexual interest in me meant I was spared the indignity of performing for him personally.

The memory of our wedding night rose unbidden. How naive I’d been, expecting the passionate lover who’d courted me so ardently. Instead, I’d gotten five minutes of mechanical thrusting, his eyes vacant, his hands perfunctory. He’d finished with a grunt, rolled off me, and checked his phone for messages. The tender, attentive man who’d written me poetry had evaporated like morning mist, leaving only this cold, corrupt stranger who saw me as nothing more than a political prop.

“Lorna?” His voice sharpened. “You’re wool-gathering again.”

“Just thinking about tomorrow’s reception,” I lied smoothly.

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Advertisement Punished and Trained – Galactic Discipline Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/punished-and-trained-galactic-discipline-read-online-emily-tilton Sun, 07 Dec 2025 21:05:59 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/punished-and-trained-galactic-discipline-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Erotic Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83

Wearing nothing but her collar as she's paraded before the elite of the world that conquered hers, the fallen ruler of Artemisa isn't contemplating how to defeat her enemies or regain her office.

She's too busy trying to keep from coming right then and there as she imagines her new owner bending her over, punished and sore, for the deeply shameful lesson he warned her about.

Because he's not just going to spank her ass red tonight.

He's going to claim it for the first time.

Publisher's Punished and Trained is a stand-alone entry in the Galactic Discipline series. The books of the Galactic Discipline series can be read in any order. Punished and Trained includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Viola

“Sire,” I said, as always hating how the word sounded in my ears and felt in my body, “please?”

Prince Hendren, the heir to the Magisterian throne and the man who for all intents and purposes owned me, looked down at me from his considerable height. The physical distance between us was greatly enhanced by my kneeling in front of him, but that disparity didn’t come close to the weight of the other difference: my master had his Magisterian uniform on, and I was naked.

“No, Viola. The fact that you were once the warmongering president of Artemisia makes it more important, rather than less, that your submission to me be fully visible at the reception. You will be naked except for your collar.”

I still couldn’t get used to it, the collar—probably, paradoxically, because of how slender and light it was. I could go long minutes without even remembering that Prince Hendren had marked me as his property that way, what I now wore at all times the sign of my precipitous fall from power.

“You still haven’t accepted your position, Viola,” Prince Hendren said, his voice carrying that aristocratic certainty that had from the beginning—even when Magisteria and Artemisia had negotiated the disastrous treaty—both captivated and terrified me. “You speak the words, you kneel, but in your mind, you still cling to the woman you thought you were.” He ran a finger along my jawline, tilting my face up. “This trip to Euporia will change that. By the time we return to Magisterian space, you will understand what it truly means to be my concubine.”

I lowered my eyes, feeling the familiar heat spreading through my core even as my cheeks burned with humiliation. That was the worst part—not the nakedness, not even the collar, but the way my body betrayed me at every turn. My nipples hardened at his touch, my sex grew wet at his commands. The transition from President Herranofar to royal plaything had been brutal, each day a new lesson in degradation. I had signed the surrender documents to save my world, but I hadn’t understood the personal price I would pay.

“Stand up and turn around,” he ordered suddenly. “Bend over and show me your anus.”

My breath caught. Something in me lurched forward, eager to please him, to earn his approval. My thighs trembled, my heart raced with the desire to obey—but my mind rebelled, locking my muscles in place. I couldn’t do it. Not this. The last vestige of presidential dignity screamed inside me.

“Please, Sire,” I whispered, hating the pleading tone that had replaced my once-commanding voice. “I’ll please you in other ways. Let me take you in my mouth, or—” I swallowed hard “—you could fuck me. Take me like… like that?”

His eyes hardened. “That isn’t what I commanded, Viola. Your body is mine to use as I see fit, and right now, I wish to see you display your sweet little bottom hole to me. Your continued resistance only proves my point.” He walked to the cabinet built into the stateroom wall and removed a leather whip. “You will show me your anus, and I will whip you for this reluctance, or you will be whipped until you obey, and then punished further afterward. The choice is yours, but there will be consequences either way, now.”

I stared at the whip, remembering the pain of my previous punishments, all given merely with the prince’s open hand. My right hand crept behind me almost unconsciously to clutch at my bottom cheeks, as if I could defend myself that way. The rational part of my brain—the part that had commanded the Artemisian defense force, negotiated interplanetary treaties, and managed economic crises—told me to simply obey and avoid the greater amount of pain. But something deeper, something I couldn’t explain even to myself, kept me frozen.

“Five seconds to decide,” he said, uncoiling the whip with obvious relish. “Five… four…”

“I can’t,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.

His smile was cold. “Three… two… one.” He gestured toward the punishment bench that represented a constant fixture of a stateroom on a Magisterian vessel. “You know the position.”

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Advertisement Shameful Needs – Shamefully Courted Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/shameful-needs-shamefully-courted-read-online-emily-tilton Wed, 19 Nov 2025 18:27:19 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/shameful-needs-shamefully-courted-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >70

When her husband decides she's in need of a firmer hand than he's provided so far, nineteen-year-old Heather Montgomery finds herself being carried off to a Selecta training facility for young brides where she's promptly stripped naked, thoroughly examined, and soundly spanked.

But it won't be until her husband arrives to take charge of her that Heather truly learns what it means to come so hard she screams. Because he's not just going to paddle her bare ass bright red and then use and enjoy her in every way imaginable with a doctor and a trainer watching.

He's going to share her with them too.

Publisher's Shameful Needs is a stand-alone book in the Shamefully Courted series. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Heather

Part of me knew I shouldn’t be driving when I was so fucking angry. But the rest of me just wanted to get home and get the fuck out of this horrible training underwear. Ryan was at work, so he wouldn’t know. I could calm myself down, play with myself in the shower to soothe away the anger into a quick orgasm, then put the training underwear back on to welcome him home the way he liked. Even if I had turned out to be pretty much worthless at household chores like cleaning and laundry, I knew Ryan loved it when I looked nice and handed him a drink as he came through the door after a hard day at the construction site.

I pressed harder on the accelerator, my face burning as I remembered yesterday evening. Ryan had been standing by the kitchen counter, holding the awful garment in his hands like it might bite him. His voice had been so quiet when he’d explained what the New Modesty Authority website suggested, how wives who couldn’t manage their household duties sometimes needed ‘gentle reminders’ of their role.

“I think… I think maybe we should try this, Heather,” he’d said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Just for a day. To help you remember.”

God, the way my body had responded to that moment of authority—even as hesitant as it was—had been mortifying. I’d actually felt myself getting wet as he’d fumbled through the explanation, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But then I’d seen how his hands were shaking slightly, how he kept apologizing even as he asked me to put it on, and the spell had broken. How was I supposed to feel properly disciplined when he seemed more uncomfortable with the whole thing than I was?

At the grocery store this morning, I’d been hyperaware of every other woman in the aisles. Did Mrs. Patterson from down the street know what I was wearing under my sundress? Could the young mother with the screaming toddler somehow sense that I was being punished like a child myself? I’d caught myself walking differently, standing straighter, as if the constant reminder between my legs might somehow show on my face.

The speedometer crept past forty-five in the thirty-five zone, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get home and tear the damn things off, to prove to myself that I still had some control over my own body.

The worst part had been putting it on this morning. I’d stood in front of our bedroom mirror, staring at how the snug fabric clung to every curve, how it seemed designed to draw attention to the auburn curls between my legs that Ryan had never asked me to remove. The New Modesty Authority recommended that wives keep themselves bare down there—I’d read it in the pamphlets they’d sent after our wedding—but Ryan had never brought it up. Maybe he was too embarrassed, or maybe he actually liked me this way. Either way, the training underwear made those curls impossible to ignore, framing them like some kind of perverted display.

And the bra—God, the bra had been even worse. It pushed my breasts up and forward in a way that made me feel like I was presenting myself for inspection. At breakfast, I’d caught Ryan’s eyes drifting down repeatedly, his face flushing each time he realized I’d noticed. He’d tried to make normal conversation about his day, but I could see the effect the sight of me was having on him, could see him struggling between his natural gentleness and whatever new resolve the NMA materials had given him.

My phone buzzed against the passenger seat. A text from Salon Verde: “Confirming your appointment tomorrow at two p.m. with Jessica. Reply YES to confirm or call to reschedule.”

Perfect. At least I could get my hair done, maybe feel a little more like myself again. I reached for the phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard as I tried to type while keeping one eye on the road.

“Y-E-S,” I tapped out, then looked up just in time to see the telephone pole rushing toward my windshield.

The impact threw me forward against the seatbelt, my phone flying somewhere into the wreckage as metal screamed and glass exploded around me. Then everything went black.

I woke up in the hospital. The first thing I saw was Ryan’s face, handsome, serious, caring. The love that filled my heart and radiated out into my sore limbs brought first an irresistible happiness that I had somehow found this man I didn’t deserve, and then, an instant later, shame at how shitty a wife I had been to him so far.

“Hey,” he said softly, his blue eyes searching my face. “How are you feeling?”

I tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through my ribs. “I’m okay, I think. What happened? How long was I out?”

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Advertisement Innocence Tamed – The Institute Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/innocence-tamed-the-institute-read-online-emily-tilton Wed, 19 Nov 2025 18:27:17 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/innocence-tamed-the-institute-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Insta-Love Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >84

Last night started with Audrey's billionaire sponsor telling her to take off her dress or he'd tear it off, then spanking her bare ass red and making her come the way a naughty girl comes. It ended with her sore and utterly spent, his seed still dripping from her thoroughly used virgin body.

But he wants much more than that.

That's why today she's screaming her way through another brutal climax with him buried deep in her tightest hole, and why she'll be taking everything he gives her until she's well and truly tamed.

Publisher's Innocence Tamed is a stand-alone book which is the sixth entry in the series The Shameful Arrangements. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Audrey

I knew instantly, when I checked my email, that the worst day of my life had just begun. The lingering odor of my meager dinner of pasta with garlic and olive oil had already turned my stomach slightly as I awoke in my tiny, shabby apartment in the suburbs of Paris. The email with the subject ‘International Energy Partners Program Sunsetting’ finished the job, sending me into full nausea.

My heart sinking, I read the awful news.

Dear International Energy Partners Intern,

We write with what we’re sure will be distressing news. Due to the bipartisan budget agreement reached last night, all nonessential international programs have been suspended immediately. This includes the International Energy Partners Program.

Your stipend has been terminated as of today, and your visa sponsorship will expire in thirty days.

We regret any inconvenience this may cause.

Office of International Energy Cooperation,

Department of Energy

I read it three times, hoping the words would somehow rearrange themselves into something less catastrophic. They didn’t. I sank onto my lumpy mattress, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me up. The single window in my studio apartment let in a gray morning light that seemed to match my mood perfectly.

Thirty days.

After all my work, all my dreams, I had thirty days before I’d be illegal in France. The walls of my tiny apartment seemed to close in around me. I’d only been in Paris for two months. I’d barely gotten settled, had just started making progress on my research into behavioral interventions for energy efficiency.

“This can’t be happening,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice, in my own ears, thick with emotion.

I forced myself to get dressed, pulling on the one professional outfit I’d brought with me—a gray maxi skirt and blue blouse that had seemed so sophisticated back in Illinois. Now, after seeing the stylish Parisian women every day, it felt hopelessly provincial. But it was all I had.

The commute to my office was brutal—ninety minutes on three different trains, standing most of the way. Metro Line 4 was particularly crowded this morning, pressing me against strangers in that uncomfortable Parisian intimacy I still hadn’t gotten used to. A businessman’s briefcase dug into my hip while a woman’s perfume made my already unsettled stomach churn.

When I finally arrived at the International Energy Partners office, a sleek but modest space in the 8th arrondissement, I found my coworkers—all three of them—in similar states of shock.

“Audrey,” said Philippe, our French supervisor, his expression grim beneath his salt-and-pepper beard. “I’m afraid I have nothing to add beyond what you’ve already been told. The American side has pulled all funding without warning.”

“But… what about our work?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. “The behavioral intervention model is showing real promise. The data from the pilot program⁠—”

“Is excellent,” he finished for me, his accent thickening with frustration. “But without funding, without sponsorship…” He spread his hands in that quintessentially French gesture of elegant helplessness.

“What about my visa?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“We can provide a letter explaining the situation,” said Martine, the office administrator. Her normally warm eyes were sympathetic, but practical. “But without program sponsorship, your options are limited. You’ll need to find another position with visa sponsorship, or…”

“Or go home,” I finished.

“I’m afraid so,” Philippe confirmed.

I swallowed down the sob that threatened to rise as I understood that I would somehow have to pay my way back across the Atlantic, with money I didn’t have.

I walked out of the office in a daze, clutching the letter Martine had hastily printed for me like it was a lifeline rather than what it truly was—a formal documentation of disaster. The bright Parisian day seemed to mock my misery. Tourists strolled past, cameras clicking, while I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my entire future collapsing around me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Another email. Probably the official deportation notice, I thought bitterly. But when I pulled it out, the sender wasn’t a government agency.

Selecta Corporation.

I frowned. Everyone knew Selecta—the massive global conglomerate that seemed to have its sleek red logo on everything from energy infrastructure to pharmaceuticals. They had a European headquarters right here in Paris, their gleaming skyscraper dominating the skyline not far from where I stood.

The subject line made my breath catch: ‘Opportunity for Qualified Young Women: Selecta Arrangements Program.’

I opened it with shaking fingers.

Dear Ms. Campbell,

Our algorithms have identified you as a potential candidate for the prestigious Selecta Arrangements program. Based on your profile, education, and current circumstances (visa status: pending termination), we believe SA could provide you with the stability and advancement opportunities you seek.

The Selecta Arrangements program pairs promising young women with established business leaders who serve as sponsors and mentors. Benefits include:

• Immediate visa regularization

• Subsidized accommodations in central Paris

• Monthly stipend

• Networking with industry leaders

• Career advancement opportunities

Our preliminary assessment suggests you may also qualify for our substantial ‘First Intimacy’ bonus payment.

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Advertisement His to Enjoy – Corporate Correction Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/his-to-enjoy-corporate-correction-read-online-emily-tilton Wed, 19 Nov 2025 18:27:15 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/his-to-enjoy-corporate-correction-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >66

By the time my new boss told me to kneel and show him what a good girl I could be, I'd already been stripped bare and thoroughly paddled for just the slightest hint of defiance. But as he pulls me over his knee and yanks my panties down, it's not fear leaving me soaking wet for him.

It's knowing how hard I'm about to come right here and now, red-assed and desperate, bucking and writhing and screaming loudly enough for the whole building to hear every brutal climax.

Because I'm not just his to correct. I'm his to enjoy.

Publisher's His to Enjoy is a stand-alone book in the Corporate Correction series. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Grace

“You have to understand, Grace,” said the kind-faced woman at Selecta Solutions, “that it has nothing to do with you, or your worth as a wife, let alone as a person. This was unfortunately our fault—well, NMB’s fault. As you know, we keep very close watch on our NMB couples, but this slipped through the cracks at the assessment level. We should have caught Jacob’s tendency to shirk his responsibilities.”

N. M. B. New Modesty Blue. The division of the Selecta Corporation that had made money by streaming the most intimate, embarrassing moments of my marriage.

The ones where I got spanked. The ones where the husband—the gorgeous, dominant man who had just, it seemed, left me—used me for his pleasure exactly as he chose.

The ones where I helplessly demonstrated that I loved being used that way. I had stopped loving Jacob, at some point, but I had never stopped getting wet at the feeling of his hands on my body, controlling me—draping me across his knee or bending me over the bed. Or the feeling of his hardness inside me, demonstrating his mastery and my obedience as wealthy men, I knew very well, enjoyed watching me submit from the comfort of their mansions, or planes, or whatever billionaire accommodations they happened to occupy at that moment.

Any given moment when my husband had decided to punish and fuck me in front of the ever-present NMB cameras, for the vicarious enjoyment of the channel’s subscribers.

I couldn’t look at the woman—Mrs. Chen, said the nameplate on her desk. My face had gotten hot and, I felt certain, very red. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. For crying in her office? For the failure of my marriage? For the shameful way my body still responded to memories of Jacob’s dominance even now, when he had abandoned me for another woman?

Mrs. Chen’s voice softened. “Grace, you have nothing to apologize for. The fault lies entirely with our screening process. As I said, we failed to identify Jacob’s… character deficiencies during the initial assessment phase.”

I finally managed to look up at her, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. “What happens to me now?” The question came out smaller than I’d intended, like a child asking what would become of her after her parents had decided they no longer wanted her.

“That’s why I asked you to come in today.” Mrs. Chen opened a folder on her desk, her movements precise and businesslike despite the gentleness in her tone. “Selecta takes full responsibility for this situation. We have several options available to you.”

My hands trembled slightly in my lap. Everything I had known, everything I had built my identity around for the past two years, had crumbled in the space of a single phone call from Jacob. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to tell me in person that he was leaving me for his secretary—a woman who, he’d informed me with clinical detachment, “better understood his needs.”

“The first option,” Mrs. Chen continued, “is financial compensation. A settlement that would allow you to start fresh, completely independent of the New Modesty program.”

Independent. The word sent a chill through me. I had never been independent, not really. I had gone from my father’s house to the New Modesty program to Jacob’s control. The thought of navigating the world entirely on my own felt both terrifying and oddly thrilling.

“Another option,” Mrs. Chen said, her fingers moving to another section of the folder, “would be to re-enter the courtship program. We have several highly suitable candidates who are looking for wives with your experience and training.”

A restless energy coursed through me at those words. The thought of going through it all again—the careful presentation of myself to another man, the evaluation period, the slow dance of submission and acceptance—made something inside me want to pace the small office. I shifted in my chair, my hands clenching and unclenching in my lap.

“And,” Mrs. Chen continued, studying my face with what seemed like professional interest, “there is a third option. One that might be particularly well suited to you, given your test scores when you first entered the New Modesty program.”

My restlessness stilled. “My test scores?”

“You demonstrated exceptionally high aptitude in analytical thinking and problem-solving. Far above average, actually.” She pulled out what looked like a standardized test report. “Have you ever heard of Selecta’s business education program?”

My heart began to beat faster, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. A business education program. Something that had nothing to do with marriage or courtship or presenting myself for another man’s approval.

“The biz ed program would require you to submit to a rigorous interview process,” Mrs. Chen said, her eyes never leaving my face. “It’s quite intensive.”

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Advertisement What Bad Girls Deserve – The Institute Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/what-bad-girls-deserve-the-institute-read-online-emily-tilton Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:25:47 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/what-bad-girls-deserve-the-institute-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Crime, Erotic, Novella Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >73

Just a few hours ago, nineteen-year-old Louisa Bell was sure nothing could possibly be more humiliating than having her bright red bottom spread open and her helpless arousal put on public display by the same stern, sexy bastard who just spanked her in front of a room full of people.

But that was before she was brought back to her new owner's penthouse with his seed still dripping down her cheeks, then bathed and bound to his bed wearing nothing but a diaper.

And before he made her call him daddy.

Publisher's What Bad Girls Deserve is the tenth entry in the series The Bad Girls. The books of this series are stand-alone novels which share the same near-future setting as The Institute Series. What Bad Girls Deserve includes spankings, sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, and strong D/s themes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Louisa

When Charlie told me about the party at his distributor’s—Walker’s—apartment that night, I knew something shitty would happen there. I felt my stomach twist as Charlie explained that Walker had specifically asked for me to come to the downtown penthouse for tonight’s gathering.

“I’m not going,” I said immediately, crossing my arms. “That creep is always touching me or whispering shit about what he wants to do with both of us. I hate being in the same room with him.”

Charlie’s face hardened in that way that always made me nervous. “Listen, Lou, Walker likes you. He asked for you specifically. You should be fucking grateful he wants to see your face at a party like this one. Most girls would kill to get inside that apartment tonight, with all the catering and shit.”

“Most girls don’t know what a predator he is,” I muttered, but I could already feel my resolve weakening. The reality was I didn’t have many options. Six months ago, I’d been a college freshman with scholarships and plans. Now I was sleeping in Charlie’s bed and selling molly to sorority girls to keep a roof over my head.

“Wear that black dress,” Charlie said, already scrolling through his phone as if the matter was settled. “The tight one.”

I stared at him, wondering how I’d ended up here. Charlie wasn’t even that cute—just another hustler with a crooked smile who’d seemed like a lifeline when my world was collapsing. We’d hooked up a few times in the beginning, but lately he barely touched me. Not that I missed it; sex with Charlie had always felt like a transaction, something I endured because it made him happy and kept me safe.

The irony was that I’d once thought sleeping with him gave me some kind of leverage. Now I realized he’d just moved on to using me in other ways.

“What time?” I asked finally, hating the defeat in my voice.

“Nine. And Lou?” He looked up from his phone. “Don’t embarrass me tonight. Walker’s been good to us, and there’ll be important people there.”

I nodded, already dreading whatever ‘important people’ meant in Charlie’s world. As I headed to the bathroom to shower, I tried to ignore a creeping feeling in my belly that tonight would change everything, and not in a way I would like.

At the party, Walker’s fingers dug into my ass the moment I reluctantly stepped forward for the obligatory greeting hug. His hand squeezed hard enough to make me flinch, his whiskey-soured breath hot against my ear.

“You look fucking delicious tonight, Lou,” he murmured, letting his hand linger far too long.

I shot a desperate glance at Charlie, hoping he’d intervene, but he was busy scanning the room like he needed to take inventory of everyone there. He didn’t even look my way. The betrayal stung worse than Walker’s wandering hands.

“Come with me,” Walker commanded, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. “Got someone special you need to meet.”

He led us down a hallway away from the thumping bass and drunken laughter. Charlie followed without question, like an obedient dog. Walker pushed open a heavy door at the end of the corridor, revealing a wood-paneled room where a single man sat in a leather armchair, nursing what looked like an expensive scotch.

The stranger didn’t belong here. Among Walker’s crowd of drug dealers and party girls, this man was something else entirely. Tall, with military-precise posture even while seated, he wore a tailored suit that probably cost more than everything I owned. But it was his eyes that made my stomach clench—steel-gray and calculating, they assessed me with unsettling intensity.

“Lou, this is Jax,” Walker announced, his hand settling possessively on my lower back. “Jax, the girl I told you about.”

Jax nodded once, his expression unreadable.

Walker’s smile turned predatory as he looked between us. “Jax has been extremely helpful to our operation lately. Opened doors I could never have accessed otherwise.” Accessed. What an asshole. Walker always wanted to sound smart, and he always ended up sounding even stupider.

He gave me a little push forward, as he continued in a way that made the floor drop out from under me.

“And I promised him a token of my appreciation. Jax, Lou here is going to show you a good time with that pretty mouth of hers.”

My blood went cold. “What the fuck?” I hissed, whipping around to face Walker.

Jax didn’t move from his chair, just watched the scene unfold with those unnerving eyes.

“You heard me,” Walker said, all pretense of friendliness gone. “On your knees for my friend.”

I turned to Charlie, disbelief making my voice shake. “You’re okay with this?”

Charlie wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Just do what he says, Lou.”

“No,” I said, backing away. “I’m not some fucking party favor you can pass around.”

Walker’s face darkened. “You ungrateful little⁠—”

“Bring her here,” Jax said. “I think I can persuade her.”

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Advertisement Her Viking Master (Bound For Training #1) Read Online Emily Tilton http://www.books2020.com/her-viking-master-bound-for-training-1-read-online-emily-tilton Wed, 04 Jun 2025 21:18:32 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/her-viking-master-bound-for-training-1-read-online-emily-tilton Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic Authors: Emily Tilton Series: Bound For Training Series by Emily Tilton
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >138

First he's going to tame me. Then he's going to share me.

Vikings were nothing more to me than the burly barbarians from my Norse history class... until Professor Sven Hallstrom threw me over his shoulder and carried me off.

Before he even finished taking me captive, the infuriatingly sexy bastard had already gagged and spanked me, then made me come desperately hard for him right there over his knee.

Now, bare, bound, and helplessly on display for Sven and his fellow Sons of Odin, I'm so shamefully wet I can feel it dripping down my thighs as I wait for them to take turns with me.

But these brutes aren't just going to use me as thoroughly as they please.

They're going to make me beg for it first.

Publisher's Her Viking Master is the first book in the Bound for Training series but can be read as a standalone. It includes spankings, sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, and strong D/s themes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Mary

I looked at Professor Hallstrom with what I hoped came across as academic interest, but feared looked more like undisguised lust. His steel-blue eyes seemed to travel right through mine, into my mind, as he spoke, his deep voice resonating with authority and passion for the subject. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, acutely aware of the heat spreading through my body.

“The Icelandic sagas,” Professor Hallstrom continued, “offer us a unique window into Norse culture. They are not just historical records, but complex narratives filled with intrigue, violence, and yes, even explicit sexuality.”

At the mention of sexuality, I felt my cheeks flush hot. I tried to focus on taking notes, but my mind kept wandering to inappropriate places. What would those large, scholarly, but surely very strong hands feel like on my skin? How would his beard scratch against my neck if he…

I shook my head, trying to dispel the thoughts. This was ridiculous. I had made it through my freshman year at Selecta East without feeling anything like a schoolgirl crush. Here in my study abroad semester in Rouen, though, when I should have known so much better, I couldn’t stop thinking about a professor almost, I felt certain, twice my age. Something about Sven Hallstrom, though… it called to a part of me I couldn’t, or maybe didn’t want to, put my finger on.

It must just be how simply cool it felt to be here in Rouen, with my French good enough to understand every word of Professor Hallstrom’s lecture—even to the point that I could tell he had a slight, delightfully exotic Scandinavian accent. My own American accent still gave me away, of course, and every time I tried to follow my new friends’ conversations I tended to get lost after the second sentence. The sheer joy of being able to understand and to communicate complex ideas in the classroom, though, had probably caused me to think I had a crush on this admittedly gorgeous man.

As the lecture continued, I found myself hanging onto his every word, not just for the fascinating content, but for the rich timbre of his voice. When he described the brutal raids of the Vikings, I felt a forbidden thrill run through me. It was so very on the nose, but… what would it be like to be a captured young woman, at the mercy of such a powerful warrior?

A virgin, taken in a Viking raid. I shifted in my seat. I didn’t feel particularly happy about my virgin status, but the Selecta university system, with its return to traditional gender roles, hadn’t made it easy even for an eighteen-year-old like me to do much about it.

The class ended far too soon. As the other students filed out, I lingered, gathering my courage. My heart pounded as I approached his desk.

“Professor Hallstrom?” I managed, my voice sounding breathier than I intended. “I was wondering if I could speak with you about a potential topic for my final paper.”

He looked up at me, those piercing eyes seeming to see right through my flimsy excuse. “Miss O’Toole, is it? Of course. My office hours are tomorrow afternoon.”

“I was hoping…” I swallowed hard, hardly believing my own boldness. “I was hoping we could discuss it sooner. Perhaps… this evening?”

Something flashed in his eyes—surprise? Interest?—before his expression settled into careful neutrality. “I’ll be working late tonight. If you’d like to stop by my office around seven, we can discuss your ideas then.”

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my pulse raced at the thought of being alone with him. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll see you then.”

The hallway was eerily quiet as I approached Professor Hallstrom’s office, my footsteps echoing off the polished floors. A single beam of light spilled from beneath his door, a beacon in the darkness. My heart raced, a mix of anticipation and nerves whirling inside me. I raised my hand to knock, but before my knuckles could make contact, the door swung open.

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