Her Dark Viking
By Ashe Barker
After she is captured by Viking raiders, twenty-five-year-old Mairead is left with no choice but to depend on Gunnar Freysson, the battle-hardened leader of the Norsemen, to protect her and her young children. Though he makes it clear that she is his property to do with as he pleases, Gunnar shows remarkable concern for Mairead’s wellbeing, and when she risks her life in a dangerous attempt at escape he does not hesitate to strip her bare and spank her soundly.
The strict punishment leaves Mairead thoroughly ashamed yet helplessly aroused, and when Gunnar takes her in his arms and claims her properly she cannot deny her body’s response to his dominant lovemaking. As the days pass, Mairead realizes that Gunnar cares for her deeply, and despite her situation she finds herself falling in love with the stern, handsome warrior. But can she truly give her heart to the man who took her from her home?
Publisher’s Note: Her Dark Viking is a stand-alone sequel to Her Rogue Viking. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
This is entirely optional, but if you want to make a more individual post, please feel free to select up to 6 Q&As to include – your choice which ones you use.
1. So, tell us a bit more about Gunnar. His appearance is fearsome, but is he a softie at heart?
I wouldn’t exactly call Gunnar soft, but he picks his battles and he is gentle with those weaker than himself. He is fascinated by Mairead from the moment he sets eyes on her but she doesn’t know that so she has every reason to fear him when he carries her off as a slave.
3. Why do you enjoy writing historical fiction?
History was my favourite lesson at school, though some periods are more fascinating to me than others. I always preferred the medieval or even earlier times, though the Victorians were an interesting bunch too. But the Viking era is my current favourite and Her Dark Viking is the second in a series the three linked novels set among these Nordic warriors and the sassy Celts who bring them to their knees.
In many ways life was simpler in the past, if a lot more brutal, and of course some of the moral issues we would have to deal with in a contemporary setting don’t apply. Inequality was the norm. Women were expected to obey – or else. A spanking author can have a field day.
4. What advice would you have for writers who decide to try their hand at erotica?
I’d tell them to have a go, but to have a decent thesaurus to hand. And an internet connection. Youtube is the erotica writer’s friend.
A shrill scream halted his stride, followed by the rumble of derisive laughter. Gunnar cocked his head, and listened. The scuffles and grunts he could hear coming from behind the building closest to him betrayed the location of the sport. Doubtless some Celtic wench had been a little too slow to make her escape.
A pity, he supposed. Rape was commonplace among Viking raiders, but Gunnar entertained no personal fondness for it. There were plenty enough willing females back at home, but this act had nothing to do with lust or sexual desire. He had encountered many quite lovely women in his time. He appreciated their appeal and much enjoyed their company but had yet to experience even the slightest impulse to rape any of them. In his view, the raping of defenceless women was about power, conquest and violence. These villagers were already defeated, it was not necessary to further torment and abuse the weakest of them.
He rounded the building and his eyes narrowed at the sight before him. Three of his men held a Celtic female pinned to the ground. She was spread-eagled, her overtunic ripped and her skirt hiked up about her thighs. One Viking warrior secured her hands, another her feet. The third knelt between her splayed legs and was already unfastening his woollen breeches.
The man holding the woman's feet laughed as the female struggled to free herself, her efforts futile in the face of superior numbers and strength. "Be quick, Sven. We'll all be wanting a turn on her afore we go."
"Aye," agreed the man who pinned her arms. "An' you can see how eager she is for some Viking cock inside her. Let's not be disappointing the slut, eh?"
Another terrified scream pierced the air, though Gunnar doubted their victim understood the Nordic tongue. Still, the intent of the three who assaulted her was clear enough. He knew full well that his men expected him to leave them to their sport, let them enjoy a juicy piece of Celtic pussy to relieve the tension of battle. Many a Viking felt that was little enough to expect on a raid, but Gunnar disagreed. These men would have their share of the spoils, they would just have to settle for that.
"Let the wench be. Back to the longships. Now."
"Eh?" The man who crouched between their victim's thighs, his heavy cock now exposed and swaying before him, turned to scowl at his leader. "We'll be no more than a minute, Jarl."
"Now," repeated Gunnar, stepping forward. "Or you can stay here to face the rest of her kin when they venture back. The boats leave the moment I return to the beach and any man not aboard will be swimming home."
"But—" The man at her feet stood up, ready to argue the point.
"Am I not making myself clear, Olaf Ingrssen? Or do you fancy getting your feet wet, is that it?" Gunnar lifted his sword to rest it across his broad chest, the threat implied rather than explicit, but there nonetheless.
The three shuffled awkwardly, backing away, their grumpy muttering a signal of their discontent. Gunnar was unmoved. He was Jarl here, his word was law. He tossed his head in the direction of the beach. "Get on your way, I'll be right behind you."
He knew they didn't believe him. They would fully expect him to take the trembling wench for himself. From the look of her as she cowered before him that was what she expected also. She spoke to him, brief, desperate words in her Gaelic tongue. He could not understand her, but knew she pleaded for her life if not her virtue. She would be permitted to keep both as far as he was concerned, though she was not to know that.
Gunnar extended his hand, offering to help her to her feet. She stared back at him, disbelief and confusion flitting across her delicate features. Now he came to look at her properly he would own this Celtic peasant was not so much pretty as stunning. Eyes of a vivid green gazed up at him. Her hair was a flaming shade of dark red, the locks tumbling from her hood which had become dislodged in the struggle. She shoved her rough wool skirt back down to cover her lower limbs but not before he could appreciate the sight of long, slender legs, creamy thighs and exquisitely sculpted ankles. Her tunic hung from her shoulders, exposing the upper curve of her breast. He was treated to the sight of more flesh, the rich hue of buttermilk, before she managed to right her clothing. Only then did she accept his outstretched hand and allow him to draw her to her feet.
The wench was tall, though he still towered a full head over her. And she was not as young as he at first assumed, perhaps twenty summers. She eyed him warily, clearly uncertain what he intended to do to her but fearing the worst still.
Using just a lifting of his eyebrows toward the trees behind her, Gunnar signalled to her to go, to make her escape while she still could. She took no further encouragement, just turned and ran. In moments, she had disappeared into the forest, just the swaying of a pine branch betraying the path she took.
Gunner sheathed his sword, slung his battle axe across his shoulders, and sauntered back to his dragon ship. The wealth of Lindisfarne Abbey awaited him.
More about Ashe Barker
USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.
Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.
Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel.
At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.
Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.
Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:
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