Lust of the Vikings (An Erotic Menage Romance)

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 35,836
1 Ratings (4.0)

Confronted by an invasion of fearsome raiders from the north, two very different women must fight for their survival in this six part, erotic series. Lora Green, poor and downtrodden, has been labeled a witch and treated like an outcast her entire life. When she is taken, the lovely brunette fends for herself, yielding to the heathens who demand her complete surrender. She loses her heart in the process…but not to the man she thought would be her lord and master. Charlotte Abbot, the daughter of the wealthiest man in the village, is the epitome of everything a young lady ought to be. Fleeing from the invaders, she is plucked from the forest, along with her sister, Emma, and an entirely different world presents itself, filled with wine, candles, and a seduction so thorough, she will never be the same again. A man from the past emerges…a knight on a horse, come to rescue her. Who is he? This collection contains the first three books of the “Cum For The Viking” series by Virginia Wade.

Lust of the Vikings (An Erotic Menage Romance)
1 Ratings (4.0)

Lust of the Vikings (An Erotic Menage Romance)

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 35,836
1 Ratings (4.0)
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Excerpt

I left the house, the wooden door slamming behind me. I knew where I would go, but I dreaded it. Hurrying for the forest, the faint sounds of screams reached my ears. I ran down the path, the heavy sack slung over my shoulder and my heart thundering in my chest. I darted into the safety of the trees, finding the refuge I needed. My legs carried me to a small cave my mother had discovered years ago, while seeking protection from the villagers, who wanted to burn her for witchcraft. She had lived in the hideaway for more than a year, only returning when it was safe. That had been Lady Abbot’s doing, but I suspected it was more out of jealousy, because of Lord Abbot’s attentions towards her. We were hated for a number of reasons. Firstly, my mother’s fortune telling abilities, then my particular success with healing herbs, and then our beauty, of course. The Green women were renowned for their lustrous black hair, pale, unblemished skin, impossibly large breasts, and heart-shaped faces, which were bordered by delicately arching brows. I had always known my mother was stunning, and, after father had died, the men came around. Married, single, and engaged, it didn’t matter. She attracted them by the droves, and they brought gifts: chickens, wine, cheeses, and silver. I would be made to wait in the cold, while she let them have her body, her moans of pleasure seeping through the clay and wattle walls.

As I grew and my figure filled out, I also received the attention of the village men, who leered at me from their carts and horses, calling me rude names. I’d been attacked once, on the road to Dorset, but I always carried a knife, sheathed on my thigh, and I had stabbed him in the arm, frightening the scoundrel off. The men avoided me after that, but they would stare, hunger flaring in their eyes.

The cave was hidden behind a rocky outcropping, and I hadn’t been here since my mother’s banishment. It smelled of damp earth, decaying detritus, and limestone. I found a wooden chest against a wall, which held an old blanket, several candles, and a small cauldron. I spent the day collecting firewood and boiling water, and, after the sun went down, I sat by the fire, staring into the bluish-yellow flames, and listened to the sounds of screams from the village.

On the fourth day of my isolation, I became desperate, not having eaten anything substantial in more than two days. I scoured the forest searching for berries and mushrooms. I tried to catch fish in a stream. I collected minnows instead and ate them raw, out of sheer need. Exhausted and weak, I wandered further from the cave, hoping to find anything that would fill my belly.

The ground suddenly thundered with the sound of horses. This sent me into the underbrush, crouching and hiding from the strangers who approached, but I foolishly stepped on a branch, the wood snapping loudly under my foot. There was movement in the trees, and I fled in the other direction, the ends of my cloak flying out behind me. In my panic, I stumbled, tumbling over knotted roots and falling hard. I struggled to breathe, the wind having been knocked out of me. A boot appeared to my right, scuffed and worn looking. As I gazed up, I felt the cold end of a sword pressed to my neck.

“What have we here?” said a heavily accented voice.

Terror gripped me, my body trembling. I will die now or worse. The emptiness of my stomach was long forgotten, replaced by the knowledge that the person who stood over me was one of the invaders. He was shockingly tall, blonde, and heavily outfitted with a helmet, shield, and chainmail. The sword was still pressed to my neck, cold and unyielding. The man with him spoke in a language I didn’t understand, and the blonde smiled, his face transforming into a handsome visage. He removed his sword.

“Get up.” I struggled to my feet, and he grabbed me, dragging me to him. Interest flared in his pale blue eyes. “It’s a dark angel.” I pushed against the solid mass of his chest, and he laughed, “You’re no match for me, little one. What’s your name?”

“Lora.” My hand drove into my cloak, to my thigh, where I snatched my knife. “Who are you?”

“Bram Laxdale.”

“You Viking scum!” I spat.

He threw his head back in laughter, his Adam’s apple moving beneath the skin. I took that moment to press the knife to his arrogant throat. His eyes widened with surprise. His friend spoke then, and the blonde answered, his expression was considering. My knife was sharp, and it punctured the pale skin, producing a single drop of blood. He swiped my arm aside, sending the weapon flying. Strong fingers gripped my hair, pulling me nearer. I was so close I could smell his breath, which was laced with the honeyed aroma of mead.

“This one is mine. She’ll tickle my cock nicely.”

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