Our stop on the Never-ending Blog Tour this week is Viking Surrender – Brandr by Ashe Barker!!
Forced to wed the fierce Viking warlord in order to save her people, Eithne has no choice but to surrender to her powerful and terrifying husband. She submits to his stern discipline, but his tenderness takes her breath away. A man of his word, Brandr means to keep his side of their bargain and will see her village safe and protected from their enemies. But what of Eithne? Who will protect her as she learns to care for this ferocious man who now leads her people and holds her heart in his mighty hands?
Here is a steamy excerpt from the book:
She lay still and allowed his teasing, his gentle knowing, but she flinched and let out a sharp hiss when he pinched her nipple. The bud had hardened under his ministrations, poking against the fabric of her shift, begging to be squeezed.
He leaned over her, his weight on one elbow.
“Take this off,” he commanded.
“Take it off. I would have you naked in our bed. Always.”
“Yes, Viking,” she murmured and knelt to draw the garment over her head. She clutched it, briefly, in front of her breasts, then tossed it to one side and raised her chin to meet his gaze.
Odin’s teeth, but she is beautiful. Brandr bit back a groan, then cupped her face between both his hands. He brushed his mouth over hers and was rewarded when she parted her lips for him. Slowly, cautiously, she raised her hands to rest them on his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. His tongue dived deep, curling, dancing with hers. Her hair was loose and fell across his hands in silky, ebony waves, then spread over the mattress as he eased her back onto the pallet.
Brandr supported his own weight on his elbows and continued to kiss her. Eithne writhed under him. She tunnelled her elegant fingers through his loosened locks and twisted the strands around her small fist as though she was afraid to let go. He broke the kiss, but only for a moment before shifting to fasten his lips around one pebbled nipple.
Eithne arched and let out a cry. Brandr sucked, scraped the sensitive bud with his teeth, then sucked harder. She wriggled and squirmed against him so, encouraged, he shifted to the other breast, at the same time using his fingers to roll and squeeze the slick, swollen nub he had abandoned.
“Viking,” she muttered, then, “Brandr.” Her voice rose as she cried out his given name.
Her arousal built, stoked as much by her fear and anxiety, her relief, perhaps, at having found a protector, and the sensation long denied since the loss of her husband. Brandr cared not what lay at the root of her surrender, but he would exploit the factors at his disposal. He reached down with his hand, stroking the soft mound of her stomach, then parting the soft wisps of hair which guarded her entrance.
Despite her obvious pleasure in his touch, she stiffened. He paused, but only for a moment, enough to allow her to accept, to comply.
He would not force her, though she was not to know that. She relaxed, her muscles softening and she spread her thighs for him.
“Beautiful, little Pict,” he whispered into the shell of her ear. “Trust me. I will not hurt you.”
“Y-you mean to take a switch to me,” she murmured back.
“Not tonight. Tonight, I shall hear your cries for an entirely different reason.”