✬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 ✬
✬Viking Thunder ✬
✬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
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
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
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.
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
What else can I say? It features a whole lot of Vikings, and some
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.