Title: Viking Thunder
Author: Emmanuelle de Maupassant
Release Date: June 9th, 2017
'We all struggle. We all desire.'
When the Northmen's ship is brought ashore in a storm, Elswyth is faced with the prowess of Eirik: a giant of a man who lets nothing stand in his way.
Elswyth struggles to remain independent, but cannot deny her sexual attraction and, ultimately, the satisfaction she finds in Eirik's bed.
Can Eirik offer her more, and what dark secrets await Elswyth, if she returns with the Northmen to their distant lands?
A 13,000 word novelette, featuring explicit sexual scenes.
Part One in the Viking Thunder series.
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2qYFDFK
Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2r3ZV4J
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2s6eHrY
Text Copyright © 2017 Emmanuelle de Maupassant
All Rights Reserved
I saw the power of his body. His head almost touching the cross beam of the ceiling, his shoulders double the width of most men. His abdomen was hard, muscled. Most striking of all, his upper body was thickly patterned in dark blue-green patterns, interlocking, covering all his arms, as if he wore sleeves upon his skin. Designs stretched across his upper chest, and continued up his neck.
I’d never seen such a thing, such a man.
He smiled to see me look, and his cock gave a small leap. When he laughed, it was not as before, to command the approval of a crowd, but because the amusement was his.
Faline wasted no time. With a toss of her head, she stripped herself and climbed into my bed, pulling the soft furs to her neck. There was malice and mischief in her defiance.
Outside, the thunder rolled closer and, when Eirik spoke, it was as if his voice were a continuance of its resonance.
I was drawn to the strength of him, to the force of his body and the power that I knew was his.
Once close enough, his fingers pulled at the laces of my costume, dexterous, despite their size. One by one, the garments dropped, or were pulled over my head.
I shivered in my nakedness, feeling the touch of his eyes upon me, their roaming of my skin, and the nearness of his body.
My husband had been a perfunctory lover, interested only in his own satisfaction, and as likely as not to give me a clout about the head as he entered me. Moreover, his bedding was a quick matter, over almost as soon as it had begun.
My grandmother had told me that I must be patient. Love would grow with time and, with it, pleasure, but it had not.
I’d loved a dog we kept from a puppy, and the lambs I’d raised one spring, when their mother had abandoned them. I’d felt more for those animals than I had for any man.
I’d heard the girls talk of the boys they liked best: the urgency of their kisses, of their own responding desire. I’d felt nothing similar for a man: not for my husband most certainly.
As for this Northman, his arrogance was insufferable. Yet, I burned for him.
He knelt, pressing his mouth first to one breast and then the other, taking not only my nipple but the whole orb into his mouth. His warm tongue worked with his teeth, to pull and tease, sending a spasm through my cunt. His hands grasped my buttocks and I felt a rush of desire. His warriors had raped and killed and stolen, and yet I could think only of my need to feel him inside me.
And then he was lifting me in his arms, to lay me upon the bed, pushing my legs apart. His cock loomed above, and his balls, large and heavy. The muscles of my sex contracted in anticipation.
I’d quite forgotten about Faline, but felt now her hands upon my shoulders, pulling me further up the bed. I struggled, indignant, but she pinned me at the upper arms, placing her weight upon me.
Faline’s legs were open behind my head, so that I smelt the fish-sourness of her.
She exchanged a look with Eirik, one of knowing, of encouragement. Whether I liked it or not, she was to be the third in my bed and take her share.
I’d expected Eirik to push himself into me, to begin the fucking he must intend. I knew the sex act well enough. Instead, he raised my hips to his waiting mouth.
I’d never felt a man’s tongue inside me. I would have twisted away, but that he held me tight. His laughter hummed against my sex, and then he ran his tongue through my slit, finding the nub I would press when I lay quietly at night.
I sighed in longing, wrapping my legs about his head, drawing him down further. His tongue gave me more pleasure than my husband’s member had ever done.
What a strange thing for a man to do, I thought. For what enjoyment is there in this for him?
But enjoyment there must have been, for his mouth ate me as ravenously as the wolf will take a goose, feathers and all. And I, the goose, was only too willing to be devoured.
When he raised his face, I caught a glimpse of something darker: the desire to pursue his lust.
Keeping my hips raised to him, he aligned his cock to my gaping wetness, holding me firm beneath my buttocks. I felt the first nudge of his swollen head, and then he entered, as smooth and easy as a knife through freshly set butter.
I looked up and saw Faline watching Eirik, watching the long thrusts, each of which brought a responding moan from me, from the new voice which was growing inside, stoked by the fuel of this man’s body.
Emmanuelle tells us, “This is my first foray into Viking territory and I can't begin to tell you how much fun it was. There are two things that turn me aflutter: one is brains (I've had a thing about clever old Sherlock since watching Basil Rathbone in the original black and white films); the other is pure physical brawn.
Give me Conan the Barbarian, give me Ragnar and Rollo in the Vikings series, give me Chris Helmsley as Thor in the Marvel Comic films.
There is something in me that responds, at the basest animal level, to physical, overpowering strength - the sort that comes from wielding an axe in battle. I want the throw down!
It was an utter joy to write my own Viking, Eirik. Of course, this being a romance, I've given him other qualities besides brute strength. My heroine discovers that he's not only a magnificent (and inventive) lover but is loyal to his men, and proud of his warrior heritage.
‘Viking Thunder’ is a story of sexual awakening, independence and identity.
What else can I say? It features a whole lot of Vikings, and some volcanic-level sex!”
Emmanuelle writes the glitteringly erotic, the Gothic, the comedic and the wry. Tales to enchant, delight and disturb. She lives with her husband (maker of tea and fruit cake) and her little haggis pudding terrier (connoisseur of bacon treats and squeaky toys).
Authors inspiring her writing include Fay Weldon, Angela Carter, Sarah Waters, Michel Faber, AS Byatt, and Donna Tartt.
Her 'Cautionary Tales' are inspired by the dark superstitions of Russia and Eastern Slavonic Europe.
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