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?
Excerpt:
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?"
"Yes."
"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.
Blurb:
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.
Buy Links:
Amazon
(free to read on Kindle Unlimited)
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:
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