He
has her body. Will she give him her heart?
Blurb
Though Fiona puts up a brave fight when
her village is raided by Vikings, she ends up being carried off over the broad
shoulders of Ulfric Freysson, the leader of the Norsemen. The stern, ruggedly
handsome warrior quickly makes it clear that she belongs to him now, and her
best efforts to escape merely earn Fiona a painful, humiliating switching on
her bare bottom.
Her captor’s bold dominance sets Fiona’s
passion ablaze, and when he brings her to his bed she cannot help begging for
him to claim her completely. As Ulfric begins training her to please him in any
way he demands, Fiona finds herself falling in love with her new master, but
she soon realizes that there are those among his people who still see her as an
enemy. When her life is threatened by a member of his own family, will he stand
ready to protect her no matter the cost?
Publisher’s Note: Her Rogue Viking includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such
material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
Buy
Links
Excerpt (18+)
Ulfric
resumed his sensual journey between her clenching buttocks, pausing when he
reached the tight rosette of her rear hole. He circled that with one fingertip
as she gasped and buried her face in the front of his woollen tunic.
“Am I
hurting you?”
She
shook her head quickly, though he had no illusions regarding her opinion of
such intimacies. He resumed his lazy play, pressing gently on that pursed ring
of muscle until she pleaded with him to
stop.
“Sir?
Ulfric? I have never… please, not there.”
“No, of
course not there, not this time. But soon…”
He moved
on, now slipping his fingers lower to explore between her soft folds. Her soft
and very moist folds.
Yes! He had known it. The Celtic wench
might well be embarrassed and apprehensive, her mind recoiling in aghast horror
at his bold and intrusive touch but her body was eager enough. She even parted
her thighs for him, perhaps not realising what she was doing.
Still
reaching around her, Ulfric spread her lower lips from behind and slid his
fingers along the length of her slit. He stroked gently, back and forth,
smearing the copious moisture on his fingers, then bringing it back to her
puckered anus. This time when he pressed, the tip of his finger entered her.
She squeaked, and he withdrew. It was enough.
He
reached around and beneath her with his other hand, this time seeking her most
sensitive little bud. He found it, already swelling and deliciously plump, and
started to draw his fingers back and forth across the very tip. His touch was
slow, lazy almost, but he knew exactly where to concentrate the sensation for
the most devastating effect. This was her first time, he was sure of it. He
would make sure she did not forget what he could do to her if he chose. If she
earned it.
Fiona
groaned, writhing against his hand. He did not believe she was even aware of
her actions as he built the pressure, his unerring caress drawing out a
response he was quite certain she had no idea might be lurking.
“Ulfric,
what is happening? What are you doing?”
“Am I
hurting you?”
“I do
not know,” she answered, her tone one of pure dejection. “It feels… strange.”
“Is it
unpleasant?”
“No,”
she conceded miserably.
“And do
you wish me to stop?” He had no intention of doing so, but was interested in
her answer even so.
She did
not offer a response at once, but wriggled her hips as she sought to angle her
clit for better access, more friction. Ulfric rolled the sensitive nubbin
between his finger and thumb before he repeated his question.
“Fiona,
do you wish me to stop?” He squeezed softly.
“Oh,
sweet Lord…”
“Fiona?”
Another squeeze, firmer now.
“No. No,
do not stop…” The words were wrung from her, a desperate, anguished moan as her
first climax coiled and unfurled deep within her. She grasped his tunic with
her still-bound hands and hung on to him as though afraid he might even now
slip away.
“Do not
fight me, little one.”
“I… I am
not. I want… I need…”
“Let it
go.” He rubbed her clit harder now, and using his spare hand slipped the tip of
his finger back into her rear hole.
“Oh! Oh,
I cannot… Ulfric, please…”
“Let it
happen,” he repeated. “Let me have your release. Now.”
He was
rewarded by her long, drawn-out moan of ecstasy as her body contracted and
convulsed. He was tempted to sink his finger deeper into her arse, but
resisted. He wanted her to be aware of every inch he would drive inside her
tight channel when he finally took her, so for now he concentrated on drawing
out her quivering response with his deft fingers playing her engorged clit.
At last
she was still, silent again, and lying limp in his arms. He withdrew his finger
from her arse and released her clit, then bent his head to kiss the top of her
head.
“Any more bruises, little Celt?”
A Message from Ashe Barker Herself!
I have always been fascinated by Vikings. Strong, sexy
warriors, ruthless, dominant and determined – what’s not to like? It was only a
matter of time before I wove a story around these fierce raiders who rampaged
through Scotland and England for over three centuries, eventually settling and
leaving their indelible mark on our history.
A Viking raid was indeed a ferocious affair. They
relied on what would nowadays probably be termed ‘shock and awe’ swooping in
from the sea on their fast dragon ships to attack with vicious and deadly
effect. The Nordic raiders would be gone almost as swiftly as they arrived,
leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. The modern equivalent would be a
helicopter attack on a sleepy rural village by SWAT teams armed with automatic
weapons– the local people would hardly know what hit them.
I have employed a certain amount of poetic license,
but I was determined to recreate the Viking era to the best of my ability –
their homes, their clothing, what they ate, how they lived. I hope readers will
be as entranced as I am by these creative and charismatic raiders, and perhaps
forgive them their more outrageous little foibles.
More
about Ashe Barker
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 over forty 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 ashe.barker1@gmail.com
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