Book Title: Xavier’s School of Discipline
Cover Artist: Nadia
Polyakova and Chiara Monaco
Inner Book Artist: Artsy
Release Date: April 21,
Genre: Erotic M/M Romance
Themes: Belonging. Found Family. Spanking. Domestic Discipline.
Heat Rating: 4
Length: 83 539 words/306
This is book one in the series
but can be read as a standalone.
Buy Links – Available in Kindle
“… there’s something
tantalizing about trouble and me in it with him.”
Follow Your Heart’s Discipline Calling
Finnegan Brighton is twenty-seven, has never moved out of
Dad’s house, can’t keep a job and has to rely on his brother for continued food and shelter.
In a bold move, he ships himself off to one of those new, fangle-dangle, discipline schools
hoping to turn his life around. But it’s not just a whim, he’s finally answering a calling inside
of him, one he’s ignored until now. The school turns out to be more than he bargained for,
giving him a family of men just like him, who want to teach him that he can love himself
enough to have everything he’s ever wanted. He just has to do the one thing he’s never
been able to do: Surrender.
Xavier is the school’s unyielding headmaster and founder.
Oh, and he happens to be interested in the one Finnegan Brighton. Surely with the forces of
the strict headmaster and Finnegan’s affectionate, if overzealous domestic discipline family,
he can overcome himself, his own worst enemy, and surrender to who he is inside, right? Or
will his crushing self-doubt chain him to old patterns forever?
Either way, much spanking ensues! A polyamorous love
story with brats and Tops.
From Chapter 6
Dammit. I know what to do. I need to do it. As much as
Tops are drawn to soothe us … oh fine ‘brats’, us brats are drawn to soothe Tops. I’ve
watched Grayson do it a ton, Chris, Bellamy and Johnny too. Even Bray when he’s in the
mood. I swallow. “Oh, sir? One more thing. We can still have people over, right?” It’s not
against House rules for each of us to have one friend from another House over. If it’s more
than that, it turns into a party, which would require permission, but as the rules stand, that
means one for me and one for Grayson.
His eyes narrow. “Who?”’
I shrug. “Haven’t decided yet, but there is this hot Top,
Nikolage, from one of my harder classes. Maybe he can uh, help me with my homework?” I
waggle my eyebrows, suggesting that yes, fucking Nikolage is what I mean.
His chair slides out, he stands, hands flat on the desk and
my heart’s beating so damn fast. I have to take a stealthy breath. Maybe I should abandon
the whole thing—I’m poking at a fucking lion and I know it—but I also know in my bones it’s
the right thing to do.
“Why?” I dare to cross my arms at him—a,
God … a brat’s red flag, okay?
“Come here, my little Finnegan.” He flashes shark teeth at
me. He is predator, I am prey.
I want to buckle, I want to tell him I’m just kidding, but I’m
in too deep now. I commit. “So you can spank me? Forget it. It’s not against the rules. I was
kind enough to even run it by you. I’ll be leaving now.”
I went too far didn’t I? Yep. Too far.
Xavier clears his desk in a smooth, panther-like leap. I’m
quick to respond, gripping either side of the leather chair I was just sitting in, catapulting
myself over it. But I was a hockey player, not a gymnast and though my response is quick,
my catapulting skills aren’t graceful. I catch the chair and hit my knee, landing like a rock on
the other side. “Fuck!” I roll on the ground behind it, licking my wounds.
How is it I can take one helluva spanking, but this paralyzes
Xavier’s there fast, reminding me of Superman, with the
way his jacket flares. He crouches beside me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you
I laugh. “I’m fine. I wasn’t scared.”
“You were a bit, but … well I thought you wanted me to
chase you.” I’ve never seen the man blush, he does now. He can’t even look at me.
I wait until he braves my eyes again. “Xavier, I
want you to chase me.”
He stares frozen, my words sinking in, as my heart thumps
loud drumbeats into my ears. While I wait for him to come to, I rub my sore knee. It is fine,
but there’s gonna be a nice bruise I’ll have to explain to Ani later. I smile thinking of the
arnica he’ll insist he has to apply to it. Xavier notices my rubbing.
But it’s too late. He scoops me up and it’s fucking
embarrassing how easy it is for him to lift me. It’s not like I’m small. He’s got me bridal style
and he swings me around, placing me in the chair and bending down to inspect the knee. I
wore loose jeans, he’s able to roll them up to have a look. “Doesn’t look to be swelling, but
you’ll ice it anyway when you’re home. Understood?”
He’s holding my knee in both of his elegant hands, which
are hot against my skin. I have to look down at him. “I will, sir.”
I’m kicking myself now. This was a disaster. One point to me
on not being a brat, a real brat would have pulled this off, I end up injuring myself.
“Now that it’s established your knee will be fine, we will
address, Nikolage.” His nose wrinkles, his form takes up all the space in the room once
Shit. Already forgot about Nikolage. “There’s no Nikolage. I
just said that to—”
“—I know Nikolage.”
“I meant there’s no Nikolage for me, sir. I only said that to,
never mind. May I go?”
He’s staring at me for a new reason now, a smile spreads
slowly, reaching his eyes. He yanks me up. We’re close, my lips aren’t far from his. “I want to
spank you so badly right now.”
That was the goal. “You uh, you can, sir.” My voice is above
“I know. I can spank you whenever I want. But that would
not be a good idea. It’s day eight, Finnegan.”
“I am well aware of the day, Headmaster Harkness,” I say,
boldness returning. Two can play the game of cheek, but only one of us will win, we both
know it’s going to be him.
“All right, that’s quite enough cheek from you, brat.”
I light up everywhere. Maybe him calling me brat isn’t so
“I don’t date people, Mr. Brighton. I own them. Do you
want to be owned?”
About the Author
Some of you know her as
Mock, others as S. Legend, or Miss S. She welcomes all names but will often go by Mock, a
name given to her by her readers.
Mock is an ambitious
creative, weaving the most precious aspects of her soul into stories. She is an architect,
building fascinating worlds, designed from inquiry, rooted in worldly wonderings. It’s an
intuitive process where she is the scribe, the translator, the conduit.
It helped that storytelling was
the language spoken at home. One simply didn’t say, “We have an ant infestation. ” In
Mock’s family it was, “I was on my way to the living room, when a peculiar ant crossed my
path. I looked to my right, a suspicious line of them marched toward the pantry. In that
moment I knew; my kitchen was under siege.” The natural flow of conversation always took
When Mock wrote her first
novel, she didn’t plan it chapter by chapter, there was no outline, no “plotting” to speak of.
But she didn’t “pants” it either, she didn’t make it up as she went along. She knew how the
story felt, where it curved in places and hollowed in others; she knew the destination it
rushed toward. Instead of orchestrating, she let the world inspire her, and held space for
the words to come, trusting the characters knew what they were doing. All she had to do
was tell a story, as she always had done; like breathing.
This is her peace, her healing
and solace: Gifts better shared.
Mock’s works are the comfort
you seek when you need to come home. Her unique writing style will take you, wayfaring
reader, to unexpected destinations.
She always says, “I’m not in
the business of making up stories, I couldn’t if I tried. I’m lucky enough to get picked to
share someone else’s story when I ask a question to the universe. Someone answers; I write
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