Thank you for dropping in on my blog and welcome to a bottom-warming, kindle-melting selection of Saturday Spankings, the blog hop where spanking authors share snippets from something hot and sizzly to spice up the weekend.
This weekend I thought I’d share a few sentences from my latest book, out this weekend. Her Celtic Captor rounds off my series of erotic Viking romances.
Here’s the blurb…
Brynhild Freysson, sister of powerful Viking chief Ulfric Freysson has had enough tragedy and disappointments in her life to last for quite a while. But now she is content. Safe and secure in her brother’s longhouse she runs their home with the ruthless efficiency expected of a high-born Viking lady. But when Ulfric brings back captives from across the sea, she cannot help but be drawn to the tall, handsome Celtic warrior, Taranc.
Enslaved during a Viking raid on his home in Scotland and forced into hard labour, Taranc is determined to escape. He will not be a slave for long. Even so, he will wait until the time is right and he is certain of the wellbeing of those captured with him. In the meantime, he can admire the proud but lovely Viking woman who rules this Viking settlement although her sharp tongue and apparent meanness of spirit cause him to question his attraction to her.
When a near tragedy causes Ulfric to take drastic action, Taranc enters into a cruel bargain with the Viking chief. He will escape and return to his homeland and he will take the lovely but defiant Brynhild with him as his captive.
Bound, terrified, at the mercy of her stern Celtic captor and bitterly angry at those who have betrayed her, can Brynhild overcome her fears? Living in exile in Taranc’s village, her attraction to her Celtic captor grows by the day.
Can she leave her past behind? Can she every truly love someone she would only recently have considered her enemy?
And the snippet.
With his free hand he swept the length of her pale blonde hair back from her face and offered her a tight smile.
“Let me go. Do not touch me…” Her voice hitched, panic starting to bubble forth.
He had expected as much. Taranc softened his features. “You are safe, lady, apart from the whipping you have earned, naturally.”
Her eyes widened. “Wh-whipping. What do you intend to do?”
“We are at eight strokes, I believe, by my reckoning.” He glanced over his shoulder. “We shall use the mast, I think…”
“The mast? What? You cannot—”
It was time to be firm, to assert his authority if they were to have any peace on this voyage. “Lady, you do not command here. I do, and I have already warned you of the consequences if you disobey or otherwise vex me. Eight strokes. Now, get up.”
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