This is WIPItUp, the blog hop where authors share excerpts from their works in progress. And please feel free to comment – we authors love feedback.
I find myself in the unusual (for me) position of having two WIPs on the go. This week I’m sharing a teaser from my newest one, which is a historical, with sexy Vikings, naturally. The tentative title is Merewyn’s Viking Master, but that may not emerge unscathed from the editing process.
Oh, and here’s picture of my inspiration for the hero, Mathios
Check out this short snippet…
“Should… should I remove my clothes?”
“You may if you wish, though it will suffice for you to merely lift the back of your gown up out of the way.”
“Very well. I… shall I do it now?”
His grin widened. “I would appreciate it, my sweet Celt. Do you need my assistance?”
She shook her head. “I do not think so.” She shuffled around until she knelt before the bench, then leaned forward to rest her elbows upon it. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Like this?”
He inclined his head, then raised an eyebrow, “The dress?”
“Yes, I know.” Merewyn reached behind her to grab a handful of the woollen fabric and pulled it forward. That did not work, merely drew the gown tightly across her bottom. She tried again, this time drawing it up the backs of her thighs. The whisper of cool air over her exposed buttocks signalled her success. “Is this better?”
“Much. Now, if we just…” Mathios arranged the fabric in a bunch and laid it over her back in such a manner that she did not have to hold it in place. “There. Perfect.”
Merewyn watched, her anxiety mounting as he poured a little of the oil onto his fingers. He regarded her under his lowered brows. “Are you intending to assist me?”
“I am not sure. I…”
“Face forward, Merewyn.” His tone was soft, and achingly gentle. “Reach back as I told you and part the cheeks of your bottom for me. Then just close your eyes and hold still. You can do that.”
He was right, she could. Surely she could. Merewyn balanced her shoulders on the edge of the bench and stretched her arms back. She sank her fingers into the soft flesh of her bottom and pulled the two globes apart. She believed she might actually die of embarrassment when Mathios moved to kneel directly behind her. The light had strengthened now and cast bright beams to illuminate the interior of the boathouse. He had a perfect view of her exposed arsehole, that private, secret place which even she had never seen.
Merewyn was expecting him to touch her, but even so she flinched when his slick fingers circled her tight ring of muscle
Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus. She remained in place by sheer force of will.
Mathios continued to swirl his finger tip around her anus, then started to press on the centre. He was gentle, as he had promised he would be, but insistent also. Her instinctive response was to tighten, to clench and prevent his entry. Mathios tapped her lightly on her upturned buttock.
“Do not fight me, little Celt.”
“I do not mean to. This is difficult…”
“Not so difficult. You have but to obey me. Am I hurting you?”
“You are embarrassed?”
“You will get past that, and find the pleasure beyond.”
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