His Domain

His Domain

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781786511218
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group Ltd
Publication date: 11/29/2016
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 233
Sales rank: 711,535
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

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.


Katy Swann is in her forties and lives near London, UK with her husband, three children and two cats.

Katy writes BDSM romance with an emphasis on D/s. She finds the D/s dynamic the most exciting and erotic aspect of BDSM although a good spanking or flogging comes a close second. Her books are first and foremost love stories with a large dose of D/s and kinky sex.

The Boundaries Trilogy (To Love and Submit, To Love and Trust & To Love and Obey) was published in December 2013 and was her first release. She is currently working on a new series of standalone BDSM romance novels called Dominion.

Coffee, chocolate and cats are her favourite things and are often close by when she sits down to write.


Rosalie Stanton is an award winning erotic romance author in the paranormal and contemporary genres. A lifelong enthusiast of larger than life characters, Rosalie enjoys building worlds filled with strong heroes and heroines of all backgrounds.

Rosalie lives in Missouri with her husband. At an early age, she discovered a talent for creating worlds, which evolved into a love of words and storytelling. Rosalie graduated with a degree in English. As the granddaughter of an evangelical minister, Rosalie applied herself equally in school in the creative writing and religious studies departments, which had an interesting impact on her writing. When her attention is not engaged by writing or editing, she enjoys spending time with close friends and family.

Read an Excerpt

Copyright © Ashe Barker, Katy Swann, Rosalie Stanton, Lucy Felthouse, Anarie Brady and Rose C. Carole 2016. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.

Excerpt from 'The Prize'

I swallow hard as I regard the polished oak door before me. The steps leading up to it are a distinguished dark granite, gleaming and austere yet stately, separating the mysteries to be discovered beyond that portal from the understated grandeur of this quiet West London suburb.

I glance from my left to my right, scanning the wide, well-lit, tree-lined avenue on either side, the pleasant-lawned gardens, the gated driveways. There can’t be a property on this street that would sell for less than two million pounds. I wouldn’t mind betting that the well-heeled inhabitants lucky enough to reside here have not the slightest idea of the kinky fun and games to be enjoyed right at the heart of their peaceful little slice of middle England.

Or perhaps they do. Perhaps it’s no accident that this gracious mansion should be located here, catering to the kinkier tastes of the city elite. Certainly the fees charged by the Vivant Club suggest a seriously wealthy clientele. It’s only by pure, dumb luck that such a lowly individual as me should be so much as flirting with the notion of climbing those steps and pressing the doorbell.

I won a competition. Not even a competition, not really. A raffle would better describe it. First prize—one month’s complimentary membership of the prestigious Vivant Club, and an evening’s kinky entertainment courtesy of not one but two of the establishment’s most experienced Doms. So here I stand, my calf-length faux leather trench coat concealing the fetish wear beneath as I consider spinning on one of my five-inch spike heels and making a run for it.

I abandon that notion. Running is simply not an option in these shoes and, in any case, I want to claim my prize. Painfully shy as a rule, quiet, unassuming, every inch the staid legal secretary the world normally sees, it is only when I slip into my latex or leather gear and leave my second-floor apartment to totter down to my car in heels that scream ‘fuck me’ that I can let my usual inhibitions slide from my shoulders.

I love it all—the smell of leather and the heady arousal that aroma always evokes for me, the sound of a decent spanking being administered across a crowded dungeon, the hum of voices, the squeals and moans of submissive joy. Better still, the sting and burn on those occasions when it’s my own bottom bared for the attention of a Dom with a gloriously firm hand. The magical sensation of release as pain builds, grows and blooms to eventually penetrate every nerve ending as I go limp on the bench, a vessel to simply absorb sensation, to receive, to accept, to submit.

Excerpt from 'Devious Tactics'

“Is that him?”

Don sat back in his chair and nodded. “Yep. So what do you think?”

I stared at the photograph Don had handed me and frowned. Jet Whitely was gorgeous. Shame. “What kind of name is Jet, anyway?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at the handsome face before me.

“His real name is David Whitely, but apparently he earned the name Jet while he was in the Air Force. He was a fighter pilot, I believe.”

“Hmm.” Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen him before. “Tell me about him.”

Don shrugged. “There’s nothing suspicious about him at first glance. He’s in his early forties, born and bred in Hampshire. Started a software company when he left the Air Force and sold it eight years later for over five million pounds. He’s a bit of a daredevil, from what I understand. He flies vintage planes at air displays now. You know, aerobatics or whatever it’s called. He’s single, extravagant and a womanizer.”

I scowled at the image in front of me. Jet Whitely’s steely gray eyes seemed to jump out of the picture and command my attention. Everything about him was beautiful, from his rugged, stubble-covered jaw to his dark, cropped hair and muscular body. My skin prickled with dislike.

“Don’t be deceived by his looks,” warned Don. “He may be handsome, but he’s dangerous. If you take this job, you’ll need to keep your wits about you. If we can get this scoop before the police catch him, our circulation will increase tenfold.”

I nodded. If I took this job and got the proof we needed, my career as a top investigative journalist would be secured. Jet Whitely was going to be the man to get me there.

I threw the photograph onto Don’s desk. “What do I need to do?”

“I’ve managed to get an invitation to a party he’s having on his yacht on Saturday. You’ll go undercover as a writer for a celebrity magazine. Tell him you’re writing a piece about the rich and famous if he asks. Get into his office and find something incriminating, anything. Nail the bastard, but be careful. If he catches you snooping, he’ll get suspicious.”

“Are you sure he’s guilty?” I asked, needing to be sure I wasn’t wasting my time.

Don handed me another photograph. It had been taken at night and showed a small boat bobbing next to Jet’s massive yacht. Someone on the yacht was dropping a parcel into the smaller boat, but it wasn’t clear who that person was because it was too dark. “Reliable sources assure me it’s drugs he’s dealing, we just need to prove it.”

I swallowed down the anger bubbling up inside me. Scum like that deserved to rot in hell. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Jet Whitely wasn’t going to know what had hit him by the time I was finished with him.

Excerpt from 'An Intimate Friendship'

The silence was killing her.

Sasha swallowed hard, concentrating every inch of her body on not wriggling. Which was difficult, because when she was nervous she liked to wriggle. And pace. What she wouldn’t give to pace. And make dramatic hand gestures—something to expunge her excess energy.

But this was not a time for wriggling, pacing or dramatic hand gestures. It was definitely not the time for the insecure, braces-wearing, acne-sporting geek to emerge in all her unsexy glory, because that would make this even worse.

By her count, a full sixty-three seconds had ticked by.

That was a long time to not say something.

Sasha inhaled deeply, counted to ten, then released. It didn’t help.

“It’s weird, right?” she blurted at last, unable to stem the way her insides kept twitching. Like her skeleton wanted to run away and leave her body behind. “It’s too weird. I’m too weird. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Walker held up a hand, and she immediately lost her confidence. Sasha slipped deeper into her seat.

Yeah, this had been dumb. Weird and dumb. And she might have driven a permanent wedge into the foundation of her most important relationship because of it.

At last, Walker seemed to return from whatever out-of-body experience her request had prompted. He cleared his throat and straightened, his skin regaining some of the color that had drained out of it.

“Do you understand what you’re asking?” he said finally, then resumed what he’d been doing before the question had so inelegantly sputtered from her mouth—that was, forking up a mouthful of lo mein.

Well, that was somewhat insulting.

“What do you mean, do I understand?” she snapped, perhaps more harshly than necessary, but she couldn’t help it.

Walker chewed thoughtfully, holding her gaze with that air of lethal control that had always unnerved her. She couldn’t maintain eye contact that long without blinking, flushing or finding something on the floor of immediate, intense interest. Not so with Walker. He possessed a state of calm assuredness through every interaction, giving nothing away and more often than not making her feel completely unglued.

Excerpt from 'Unconventional'

From the very second I laid eyes on him, it was clear he was unconventional. If I’m being truthful, I thought he looked like a complete nutter—someone I’d probably cross the road to avoid. Even in the daytime. He was tall and skinny, with a shock of black hair—still apparent under his hairnet—and pale skin. Kind of like Edward Scissorhands. Only—mercifully—without the scissors for hands part. A vine-looking tattoo began at his left wrist, worked its way up his arm, then snaked beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt…to who knew where?

Oddly, even though I mentally kicked myself for thinking it, I found myself wanting to find out. Did it stop at his upper arm, his shoulder? Did it continue over his back, his chest, twine its way around a pectoral, sneaking in toward the nipple? Or even farther south, perhaps?

Even if you took Mr. Unusual out of the equation, there was nothing normal about the situation I found myself in. After all, what recent graduate of law school finds themselves volunteering in a soup kitchen? A recent graduate who lost her head—and heart—over a bad boy, that’s who.

Most people seem to think that those who study law are smart. Super smart, actually. There’s a reason for that—folks who study law are smart. If they pass all the exams, that is. And I did—with distinction. Which makes me clever on paper, I suppose, but apparently lacking in common sense, or perhaps I just have severely poor judgment. Or both.

However you want to look at it, I fucked up. Big time. I fell for the wrong guy, trusted him, and ended up caught up in something that got me arrested.

It could have been the end of my law career. Before it had even started, and after all those years of education—not to mention a rather large chunk of my parents’ cash. Fortunately, they’ve got plenty of it, due to my daddy’s successful career. He works in law, too, which, luckily for me, means he’s got friends in high places.

So it was less voluntary work, more community service. Otherwise known as do-this-or-you’ll-get-a-criminal-record-and-kiss-your-career-goodbye.

Fixing my potential glittering career in my mind, I took a deep breath and crossed the industrial-looking kitchen, heading toward him. He looked utterly at home chopping carrots—he was like one of those chefs you see on the telly, his hand and the knife he gripped moving so fast they were almost a blur. I cringed at the thought of trying such a thing. Never mind the end of my career, it’d be the end of my fingers.

Approaching cautiously—I didn’t want to startle him and cause a horrific accident—I waited until he’d finished his carrot before speaking. “Um, hi.”

Turning quickly, still with his knife in his hand, he smiled. “Ah, hello. You must be Penny.”

For a moment, I was so caught up in his eyes that I couldn’t reply. Fortunately, I managed to get a grip before I was the one who was a nutter. “Um, yes, that’s right. I’m here to help out.”

As though suddenly realizing he still held the knife, he glanced at it in his hand, then quickly put it down on the counter. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to greet you with a blade! I’m so used to using the things that it’s like they’re an extension of my arm.”

Hmm, so maybe he’s Edward Knifehands. I suppressed a shudder.

Excerpt from 'Maid'

“I began making and using cleaning agents from all-natural products when my son was quite young, sir.”

“Why is that?”

“He suffered from asthma and the harsh commercial cleaners added to his symptoms.”

“I see. And are you now going to tell me that the use of all-natural cleaners curing him?”

“Hardly, but I do think that by avoiding as many harsh chemicals as possible in the home, he had fewer flare-ups.”

Vincent Vanderson nodded, appreciating the honest answer. He’d had enough of housekeepers claiming that their natural regime would cure all ills.

“I am strict and demanding in my standards, you understand. Should you accept this job, you may live upstairs if you choose. You will be required to wear a uniform while on duty and refer to me as sir or Mr. Vanderson.”

“Yes, sir. I expect I will.”

“And what of your son now?”

“He is in his third year of college.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. This woman could be no more than thirty-five years old.

“I won’t go too far into your personal life, but will he be expecting to stay with you during breaks from school?”

“No, sir. We have a two-bedroom apartment which I have left to him. He sublets the second bedroom. He goes to school here in town, so I see him often.”

Alice Whitmore looked relieved that he had not asked too many questions regarding her past. While he couldn’t deny this piqued his curiosity, as her potential employer he really didn’t have a right to ask about details regarding her personal life.

Excerpt from 'The Auction'

Jenna stood looking at the scraps of fabric that were supposed to be her outfit for the evening and sighed. There was no way around it. David had been so excited when he’d spied the outfit on a mannequin in the flea market. But the mannequin had represented a size six, so when the elaborate scarves with the metal bells—which were supposed to go around the waist of a belly dancer so they jangled when she danced—had been draped around the figure like a bikini, one for the top and one for the bottom, it had looked beautiful. But Jenna wasn’t a size six—she was more like a sixteen. At least she had been able to convince David that she needed two scarves for each piece.

Jenna tied the first two scarves together and wrapped them around her waist. The front wasn’t too bad. Thankfully it came to the tops of her thighs and covered her completely. But the back allowed her ass cheeks to peek from below, and there was no way David was going to allow her panties, so she was going to be flaunting her backside. Oh well, of all her features to be exposed, she was more comfortable with that one.

The top was a bit tricky. Her ample breasts were hard to contain when she pulled the scarves from around her back up over her breasts and tied them like a halter top. This was not like a bra, holding her in securely. She would have to be careful that the top stayed in place or she would slip out for all to see. Ugh!

She wasn’t happy about this whole auction thing, anyway. It was common practice in BDSM dungeons to auction people off for play. It was a way for people to get to know one another in a fun environment, and the auctions always had a great turnout. But Jenna had never participated other than as a spectator, not wanting to put herself up there with all those cute young things who looked so tempting. It would be too embarrassing when no one bid on her. She was the type who was much better when you got to know her. It was how she’d gotten involved with David. They’d met at a munch, then for coffee a few times, and finally they’d played in the club.

Now David, who had collared her a year ago, was going to put her up for auction. She had tried to talk him out of it, but he was proud of her and wanted to show her off. He was the auctioneer so he had control over the situation. He would also be sure to supervise any play that happened after the auction—in fact, he planned to participate—and he would be careful to restrict what kind of play they would engage in. It would all be delineated on her auction application form. Despite her reluctance, he was her Dom, and as long as she wasn’t in danger of getting hurt or going against her hard limits, she would do what he wanted. Truth be told, she was torn between excitement and dread.

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His Domain 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
KnottyGirlReviews More than 1 year ago
This book is about as yummy of an anthology as I've read. The 6 ladies in this book are the tops in BDSM erotica and it shows. I'm not going to review each book, as they all were not only amazing, but I will be reviewing the individual stories on their own at a later date. Having Lucy Felthouse, Ashe Barker, Katy Swann and Rosalie Stanton in one book is a huge treat for me. This is truly one for the keeper files, and the other authors are now also on my radar as well!