Bred by the Viking (reluctant historical breeding erotica)
When a rampaging band of marauders sets the small village of Aventine-on-Thames afire, virginal Leta is roused by her brother and sent scampering into the nearby woods for safety. Apparently out of harm’s way, she beds down under a shrub and weathers the night. As dawn breaks, Leta is torn from her cubby by Ragnar, the leader of a rowdy gang of Vikings. 10,000+ words. More
When a rampaging band of marauders sets the small village of Aventine-on-Thames afire, virginal Leta is roused by her brother and sent scampering into the nearby woods for safety. Apparently out of harm’s way, she beds down under a shrub and weathers the night. As dawn breaks, Leta is torn from her cubby by Ragnar, the leader of a rowdy gang of Vikings. At once, he terrifies her, but Leta cannot deny the excitement – forbidden excitement – that this man from the North makes her feel.
Will she run? Will she hide? Or will she give up her purity, give up her innocence, and be BRED BY THE VIKING?
Warning: This 10,000+ word wild, erotic sizzler features forbidden pleasures, danger, excitement, a reluctant maid, defloration, a first time sexual experience, a Viking warrior with a gruff exterior and a heart of gold, rough sex play, hair pulling, deep throating, explicit sexual situations, a huge internal finish, and the promise of something Leta has always wanted.
“Finn, Hrolfgar, Tyr, Vorix,” he barked, “go. Go ahead. We’ll catch up.”
He turned back to me and his hands immediately went to either side of my face. Hard, callused and hot, his fingers traced lines down my slender face.
Despite myself, despite what he had done, or not done to my village, I couldn’t help but be taken with Ragnar. The way he towered above me, how he spoke softly, but with tremendous force, in his curious accent. And of course, those eyes that drew me in and refused to let me go.
“Turn,” he said.
As he watched, I slowly turned in a circle, becoming very aware of exactly how tattered my clothing was. Not much left of it after my run through the forest. A tatter of my underclothes remained, little more than a rag. Along with a shred of cloth that approximated half a cloak around my shoulders and my torso, that all I had shielding me from the elements, and from the Viking’s penetrating gaze.
When I returned to face him, the coldness of his stare had gone, replaced by something wilder, almost unhinged. The left corner of Ragnar’s mouth curled in a grin and he took a step closer to me. His hand warmed my side where all the cloth had been ripped away. He touched the side of my face with the other, then my neck.
Shivers wracked my body. Never in my life had a man seen me in such a state. Never had I felt such a hungry, powerful touch. And never before had I wanted anything as badly as I wanted this huge warrior to rip away the rest, push me face down and ravish me.