Can Merewyn overcome her natural fear of the mighty Viking warlord who has invaded her Celtic home? She's encountered his kind before and has first hand experience of the brutality of these ferocious Nordic raiders. Why should this blond invader be any different?
His voice had hardened, the shift almost imperceptible but enough to impel Merewyn to obedience. She tilted her head back for his ministrations, acutely conscious of the cooling air which now caressed her naked breasts. Her nipples swelled and hardened in the draught. Merewyn prayed that he might not notice, though she knew he would.
This Viking missed nothing.
He poured the clean water over her hair, lifting the long tresses to dunk them in the water before applying the soap. He massaged the lather into her scalp, his fingers working large, firm circles on her sensitised flesh. Despite the embarrassing state of her nipples, not to mention the peculiar clenching at her core which she was quite unable to control, Merewyn was mortified when she let out an involuntary moan.
"I am sorry, I did not mean--"
"It is not a problem. Please, relax, make such sounds as you wish."
"I would not wish you to think that I... I..."
"That you are enjoying this?"
"I know that you are, but we need not dwell upon that fact if you prefer not to."
"Thank you," she whispered.
"And this? Do you like this also?" He shifted his fingers to the nape of her neck just as he had done before, and proceeded to caress the delicate skin there.
Merewyn opted not to respond, though her nipples tightened even more and heat furled at her core.
She should have protested when his fingers once again crept over her shoulders, kneading and squeezing until she believed she might expire with the sheer pleasure of it. Her muscles stretched and loosened, the stress of recent days falling away. There was something almost magical in his touch, a knowing, practised ease. He seemed to understand her body's needs better than she did.
Merewyn lay still as he continued his exploration, his clever fingers moving lower, across her chest to find her puckered nipples.
She gasped, tried to find the words to beg him to stop but this time they would not come. He rolled the pebbled nubs between his fingers and thumbs, his touch gentle but firming as she writhed in the water. He squeezed, almost to the point of pain, then relaxed his grip and circled the sensitive peaks with his fingertips.
"Does this feel good, little Celt?"
Merewyn closed her eyes, and nodded. Heat furled within her belly, spreading and blooming. She ached, deep down, between her thighs in that secret place which only she knew of. She fought the urge to reach down, as she did occasionally in the warm privacy of her bed, to seek out that exact spot where pleasure was to be found.
It was as though he was somehow privy to her most secret thoughts, her most intimate yearnings. His right hand ceased to tease and tantalise her nipple and instead he reached down into the water, between her legs to find that precise place. He was unerring, it was as though he knew exactly what would arouse her and drive her wild with desire. His fingers parted her folds and settled on the small nub which lay concealed there.
He rubbed. He flicked it with his finger tip. He slid his digits on either side and traced the outline, then he explored lower, found the entrance to her body and dipped the tip of one finger inside.
Never, when she had touched herself, had she felt like this. Not even remotely. Utterly wanton in her response, Merewyn bucked in his embrace. She lifted her arm from the water to drape it back and around his neck as though to anchor herself. He murmured something in her ear, incomprehensible words in his native tongue. She did not understand but her arousal built and bloomed anyway. It was as though her body were no longer her own but his to control. He stroked her again, caressed that sensitive bundle of nerves until she could bear it no more.
"Please..." her voice was ragged, her breath shallow. "Please do not..."
"Do you wish me to stop, little Celt?"
Yes. No. She could find no words, so merely hung on as her inner muscles contracted and clenched.Mathios placed his thumb over her pleasure bud at the same time as he plunged his fingers into her cunny. It was too much. Her senses were totally overwhelmed, her body weightless, floating as white light exploded behind her eyes. She shook with the power of her body's response. Wave after wave of carnal pleasure washed though her, starting at her core where his fingers still worked their sorcery and flowing right out to the ends of her fingers and toes.
Eighteen-year-old orphan Merewyn has seen enough of Vikings to know she hates them, so she is furious when a band of shipwrecked Norsemen force their way into her home. Despite her best efforts to drive them away, their leader makes it clear they intend to stay for the winter. To her surprise, he also takes an interest in her well-being, and when Merewyn attempts to run off and fend for herself the battle-hardened warrior strips her bare for a painful, humiliating switching.
Despite his willingness to chastise her so shamefully, Merewyn cannot deny that these men are not the savage barbarians she expected, and she does not object when the huge, handsome brute who so recently punished her takes her in his arms and claims her hard and thoroughly. As the weeks pass, Merewyn's uninvited guest masters both her body and her heart ever more completely, but does he plan to truly make her his or will she be left behind when he sails home?
Publisher’s Note: Conquered by the Viking includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
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About the Author:
USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.
Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.
Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel.
At the last count Ashe had around seventy titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.
Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.
Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:
Or you can email her direct on firstname.lastname@example.org