Greta
Berserkers.
They were known to be the fiercest of all Norse warriors, charging into battle in a wild frenzy, no protection except the weapon they held in their hand.
Said to have the spirit of a wild animal inside of them, they were feared … revered.
And I had fallen in love with one.
Calder
I was a wanderer, a free spirit. I was paid to track and hunt, to kill. It’s what I did, how I survived. And I loved every minute of it.
But I found myself going to the same village because of one person … Greta.
I shouldn’t want her. She’s far too innocent for the likes of me. I’m more animal, more feral than the fiercest of Vikings. But I can’t stop myself from being drawn to her.
And then she’s taken from me before I can claim her.
I’ll find her and bring her back. But that’s not all I’ll do.
Once Greta is back in my arms, I’m making her mine and never letting her go.
Warning: This story is totally wild and unrealistic. But it’s filthy and sexy, features a totally over-the-top hero who only has eyes for one woman, and he'll do whatever it takes to make her his. If you didn’t like Vikings before now, that's about to change *wink*
Calder
I should have knocked first, but my mind had been occupied with all the things I wanted to say to Greta tonight, all the things I wanted to do to her.
And as I stood there staring at her, watching as the droplets of water cascaded down her body, I knew that practicing any self-control would be the hardest task I’d ever done.
The cotton cloth she wore barely covered her, and she brought it tighter around her. All that accomplished was having the fabric mold to her even more, showing me all of her curves. The material was almost transparent from being wet, and it showed every part of her, the pinkness of her tight nipples, the roundness of her breasts.
And then the dark blond curls at the junction of her thighs.
My mouth watered. My heart raced.
“I should have knocked,” I said, my voice so gruff it almost sounded as if it belonged to someone else.
She was close enough to the fire that I didn’t worry if she was too cold. I found myself wanting to care for her, make sure she was content, happy. I wanted her fed and happy, warm and pleased.
I. Just. Wanted. Her.
“I’m finished,” she said softly and smiled. “This is your home. You can come and go as you please.”
I swallowed at hearing those words.
I stepped closer to her, feeling every wild part of my body come alive at the mere presence of her. And as we stared at each other, neither of us speaking, both of us breathing harder the more time that passed, I knew one thing for certain.
I couldn’t let her go.
I wouldn’t.
“You look at me as if you want me.”
My mouth dried, my muscles contracting as the blood rushed to every part of me … especially the thick length between my thighs.
“You watch me as if you’re hungry.” She said that last part on a breath.
“I am hungry for you, Greta.” Those words spilled from me before I could stop them. But the truth was I wouldn’t have. She needed to know what she was getting involved with, what type of male I was.
Brutal.
Raw.
Dangerous.
“You’re hungry for me?” She sounded so innocent.
“So damn much,” I said on this harsh whisper, knowing she could see the effect she had on me, the fact I was no doubt tenting my leathers, the fierce look I knew was covering my face.
And then she dropped the cloth, exposing her naked body to me in all its glory.
I should have knocked first, but my mind had been occupied with all the things I wanted to say to Greta tonight, all the things I wanted to do to her.
And as I stood there staring at her, watching as the droplets of water cascaded down her body, I knew that practicing any self-control would be the hardest task I’d ever done.
The cotton cloth she wore barely covered her, and she brought it tighter around her. All that accomplished was having the fabric mold to her even more, showing me all of her curves. The material was almost transparent from being wet, and it showed every part of her, the pinkness of her tight nipples, the roundness of her breasts.
And then the dark blond curls at the junction of her thighs.
My mouth watered. My heart raced.
“I should have knocked,” I said, my voice so gruff it almost sounded as if it belonged to someone else.
She was close enough to the fire that I didn’t worry if she was too cold. I found myself wanting to care for her, make sure she was content, happy. I wanted her fed and happy, warm and pleased.
I. Just. Wanted. Her.
“I’m finished,” she said softly and smiled. “This is your home. You can come and go as you please.”
I swallowed at hearing those words.
I stepped closer to her, feeling every wild part of my body come alive at the mere presence of her. And as we stared at each other, neither of us speaking, both of us breathing harder the more time that passed, I knew one thing for certain.
I couldn’t let her go.
I wouldn’t.
“You look at me as if you want me.”
My mouth dried, my muscles contracting as the blood rushed to every part of me … especially the thick length between my thighs.
“You watch me as if you’re hungry.” She said that last part on a breath.
“I am hungry for you, Greta.” Those words spilled from me before I could stop them. But the truth was I wouldn’t have. She needed to know what she was getting involved with, what type of male I was.
Brutal.
Raw.
Dangerous.
“You’re hungry for me?” She sounded so innocent.
“So damn much,” I said on this harsh whisper, knowing she could see the effect she had on me, the fact I was no doubt tenting my leathers, the fierce look I knew was covering my face.
And then she dropped the cloth, exposing her naked body to me in all its glory.
Jenika Snow, a USA Today bestselling author, lives in the northeast with her husband and their children.
She prefers gloomy days, eats the topping off of her pizza first, and prefers to wear socks year round.
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About the Author:
Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there. Now she lives in Kentucky and manages a team of graphic artists. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, is married with two sons, writes dirty books, and couldn’t be any happier.
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Raised in California, I’m a crunchy mom, save the whales and the rain forests, hippy. I married a sexy man in uniform who let me spawn and am now raising a mutinous army of hell raisers that I created myself, all while he defends our country. I drink too much coffee until it's late enough to drink too much wine and am sexually frustrated for your freedom. If you see me online, I'm probably sitting in a closet, hiding from my kids.
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