Conquered by the Viking

Her Celtic Masters by Ashe Barker

Merry Christmas! If anyone knows can deliver a rollicking romance well told, Ashe Barker is that person. She’s here today with another exciting novel you won’t want to miss: Her Celtic Masters.

Two fierce Celtic Warriors with a thirst for vengeance, and the proud Viking lady with the strength to submit.

Blurb:
Left penniless and without a home by a sudden, tragic turn of events, twenty-year-old Kristin Lofnsdottir plans to start a new life as a seafaring trader. If she is going to have any chance at surviving, however, let alone succeeding, she'll need money and capable men to protect her. A partnership with a pair of Celts offers both, but Kristin quickly realizes that the arrangement will mean sharing much more than just her profits. The two stern, handsome brothers intend to make her theirs, demanding obedience, punishing defiance, and mastering her beautiful body together.
Though Nyle and Bowdyn have been given plenty of reason to hate Vikings over the years, conquering the feisty, headstrong Kristin proves even more satisfying than they had anticipated. As they claim her ever more thoroughly and shamefully, her need for them only grows more intense, but can they be firm enough to tame her recklessness before it puts them all in danger?

Publisher's Note: Her Celtic Masters is a stand-alone sequel to Conquered by the Viking. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book.

Buy link: Amazon

Excerpt:

“Open your legs, little Viking.” The command was softly spoken, yet firm. Nyle expected her to obey.
So, she did. She planted her feet on the mattress between Nyle’s long legs and parted her knees.
Bowdyn chuckled. “A tolerable effort, but we can do better.” He took her left ankle and lifted it over Nyle’s leg then set it down on the outside of his brother’s thigh. He repeated the action with her other ankle, then set his hands at her waist to ease her further up Nyle’s body. Thus positioned, Nyle had ample access to her breasts. He could toy with her, torture her nipples as he pleased, whilst at the same time her thighs were spread wide for his brother. “Ah, yes,” Bowdyn confirmed, “much better.”
“Is she wet?” enquired Nyle pleasantly enough.
Bowdyn drew the flat of his palm between her legs, pausing to part the lips of her pussy as though to particularly examine that spot, then rubbed the heel of his hand on the sensitive nubbin at the front.
Kristin stifled a squeal. She knew of that place, had discovered it for herself whilst bathing, but no hand apart from hers had ever ventured there. Baldvin Ryggiason had shown not the slightest interest in exploring his bride’s more sensual desires. Until these last few minutes she, herself, had been largely unaware such urges existed. Certainly, the powerful nature of her own arousal had been a mystery to her. These Celts were a revelation indeed.
“Yes, she is wet.” Bowdyn raised his hand to show his brother.
“Did I not tell you it would be so? It takes but a gentle tug on her nipples,” Nyle paused to squeeze and twist again by way of demonstration, “and she gushes like a waterfall. I believe the staid, proper, and very stern Kristin Lofnsdottir is nothing more than a wanton at heart. Is this not so, little Viking?”
Wanton? The very word sent her senses reeling. Could he be right? Oh, she most sincerely hoped so though the words became lodged in her throat. She could not answer. She could only feel.
“Open the lips of her cunny and put your fingers inside her. I believe this is what she would like. Am I right, my Viking?”
Freya, help me… The silent plea went unanswered. Kristin had to shift for herself in this matter. So, she did. She nodded.
“There, it is as I thought. But be gentle, brother. I get the impression our Viking is unaccustomed to such treatment.”
Kristin could have blessed Nyle for his perceptiveness. It was as though he had somehow crawled into her mind and knew all her secrets, her desires as well as her fears.
Her brief interlude of clarity and coherence shattered the moment Bowdyn spread her nether lips with his fingers and inserted one long digit into her tight channel. She expected to flinch, to hurt. Her previous experience of this act, though infrequent, had been sufficient for her to know she found it uncomfortable, painful even. And oddly disappointing.
All those doubts and uncertainties were swept aside in the surge of pleasure that threatened to engulf her. Bowdyn withdrew his finger then drove it deep again, harder this time, faster.
“If this hurts, you may tell us,” whispered Nyle.
“It… it does not hurt,” she managed. “Oh. Oh!”
Bowdyn increased the speed of his thrusts and added a second finger. The friction was unbearably sweet yet still not enough. Kristin squeezed her inner walls around his long digits and circled her hips.
“I believe our Viking is rather enjoying this. Is that not also correct, Kristin?”
Must she answer? Could she? Was she truly enjoying what was happening to her or was it some other compulsion that drove her to thrust her hips forward and consider begging for more?

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.

Conquered by the Viking by Ashe Barker

Ashe Barker is back with a brand new book, Conquered by the Viking. You know what that means! A hot new story.

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 link: Amazon

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.

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 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.

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