ERINN ELLENDER QUINN
Erinn Ellender Quinn is a poet, a mystic, a dreamer, and a believer in love at first sight and happy endings. She loves history, genealogy, myth and legend, and has been known to slip into silver buckled shoes and trod the boards at period dances. First-hand experience helps her to bring the past to life when writing her sultry historical romances.
Erinn is published in other genres under different names. Ride the Wind was her debut romance novel.
Touch the Wind Book 4 – DARE THE WIND
Tristan peeled off his justacorps, folded it and laid it on his sea chest. His weskit, boots, and stockings followed. He was reaching for the buttons on his breeches when he heard the knock on the door. He pulled it open, expecting to find Caleb.
Instead, it was her.
She was biting her lower lip, as if she had misgivings. As if she knew it was not wise to bait a bear in his cave but was determined to do it regardless of the consequences.
He said nothing, refusing to make it easy for her. She was going to have to convince him to let her in or lure him out, and he still didn’t know which it would be.
“May I come in, please? We need to talk.”
So he’d noticed. It had just come sooner, rather than later.
He stepped aside. She came in. She wore an oriental style wrapper and slippers on her feet, and she’d let down her hair, so that the black curls tumbled past her waist. Her pale blue eyes were luminous in the moonlight spilling through the windows. Five days from full, it was enough for her to see the hand he offered.
He led her to the table and sat across from her, trying not to let her feel how she affected him.
He cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Wine? Brandy? Rum? Whiskey? Yer brother keeps the ship well-stocked.”
“No,” she said, tearing her gaze away from his tattoos to look at the door.
“It’s not too late,” he said. “Ye can still leave. We can talk tomorrow.”
She took a deep breath and squared her soft shoulders. “No, I’d rather get it over with.” She looked back at him, then. “Do you know what I am?” she asked him.
As ucht Dé. For God’s sake, she was every man’s fantasy come to life and here alone with him. He was captain of this ship and responsible for everyone aboard, including her and her swordsman brother.
“First and foremost, ye’re Justin Vallé’s sister, and I swore him an oath that I would take care of ye.”
That’s exactly what Jess was counting on.
“I am a muse,” she told him. “It’s what I do. I inspire, with my music, with my voice, with my body. My husband was a poet, did you know that? He made me look him in the eye while he took my maidenhead. He committed it to memory and described it in glorious detail in his next book. He invited the world into our bedroom. Men and women everywhere wanted a taste of the passion he described. I was ashamed, and angry. I grew tired of constantly fending off advances. I became a recluse for a time. Bernard lived for his art, and went to salons filled with his adoring fans. Some were single. Some were married. He died in a dual with but one of many cuckolded husbands.”
Jess closed her eyes and took a breath, and let it out softly, slowly, gathering herself. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, the Irish giant nearly took her breath away. She’d never felt such motion in his stillness, like a coil wound tight, ready to be unleashed.
What she did next was risky, but she needed to know. “Tell me of the vicar’s daughter.”
O’Dea rubbed his jaw, as if wondering at the wisdom of answering. “She married the Spaniard.”
“Tell me about the vicar’s daughter.”
The Captain blew out a harsh laugh and shook his head. “And what would ye have me say? That I offered for her, too? That I made her faint when I kissed her? That she landed half naked in my arms and for months, all I could see in my dreams were small, coral tipped breasts?” By the time he finished, he was talking through clenched teeth and was close to tossing her out.
She pretended not to notice.
“Did you cry?” she asked.
He looked at her with some confusion, as if he was uncertain that he’d heard her correctly. “What?”
She angled her head, studying him. He did not like being caught off guard. He did not like being off balance. She would have to be careful with surprises.
“When you learned that she chose another, did you cry for her?”
“No,” he shifted, uncomfortable in his chair. “No. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“But it is,” she insisted. “Anyone worth having is worth a tear or two. If you did not cry, she was not meant for you. She would not have made you happy. I propose,” she said, “that we help each other. You need to forget the Spaniard’s wife, and I need to remember what it is like to make love to a man of my choosing. You promised to take care of me. My question is, will you, or not?”
“As ucht Dé! Madame Bougeureau—”
“Jessenia,” she corrected. “Or Jess.”
He breathed in deeply, as if inhaling her name, fragrant with the scent of jasmine, and shook himself to clear his head. “Jess,” he grated, “for God’s sake, ye don’t know what ye ask of me.”
“Oh, but I do,” she assured him, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “I was thinking of our agreement, what I’d asked you to do, and I had not considered that there might be another option. Introduce me as yours, and under your protection. Wheat from the chaff, acceptance and rejection, done in a breath. No one will question or test it, as they might with only a brother here, one against whom you have already proven yourself.”
Still he resisted.
She leaned on the table and refused to let him look away. “You said the vicar’s daughter fainted when you kissed her. That alone should tell you, she wasn’t right for you. You don’t need a virgin, O’Dea. You need a woman. Someone who can inspire you and make certain that you are left satisfied. If you promise to keep from getting me with child, I promise that you will not be lonely at night.”
She looked at him, while the moonlight bathing her face let him see just how serious she was. “It will be strictly sex. I won’t expect more.”
Tristan was tempted to pinch himself. This beautiful woman was offering him sex with no strings, no entanglements, just night after night of mutual pleasure. He leaned on the table, took a deep breath, and shook his head in disbelief. It was a long moment before he said anything.
“So,” he said slowly, struggling to accept it, “when will my sheets smell like jasmine…?”
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International best selling writer of BDSM, spanking erotic romance. Golden Flogger Finalist.
International bestselling author of erotic romance.
THE VIKING’S CONQUEST
- Stormy Night Publications
- 21st October, 2016
- Historical, BDSM, spanking romance
- Approximately 91,500 words
- HEA Ending
Tags: #eroticromance #spankingromance #BDSM #sexualhumiliation #historical #vikings
When she is left all but alone to defend her family’s castle against an army of battle-hardened Viking raiders, nineteen-year-old Princess Aurelie of Donrose fights valiantly but is soon overcome. After her capture by the tall, handsome leader of the northmen, Prince Anders, she is carried away along with the rest of the spoils of conquest.
Anders makes it clear to the princess that she is now his property, to do with as he likes, and he takes pleasure in stripping her bare and putting her on display. When she defies her new master, Aurelie quickly discovers that Anders will not hesitate to spank her soundly, but to her shame the painful, humiliating punishment leaves her deeply aroused.
Bound and helpless yet burning with desire, the princess finds herself longing for the bold, dominant warrior to take her hard and thoroughly, and when she surrenders to his mastery of her body the pleasure is more intense than she would have ever thought possible. Aurelie’s submission to Anders grows more complete with each passing day, but when her brothers arrive with an army to seek vengeance against their old enemy she must make a fateful choice. Will she remain loyal to her family and her people, or come to the aid of her Viking prince?
Publisher’s Note: The Viking’s Conquest includes spankings, sexual scenes and sexual humiliation, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
War has come to Donrose, and with her men away, Princess Aurelie is left to defend her castle from the impending northern invasion. Vastly outnumbered and overpowered, brave Aurelie is soon captured and finds herself the new prize of Anders, Prince of the Vikings. Uncertain of her captor, and frustrated by her imprisonment, Aurelie is confused by her burgeoning desires for the towering Anders, but when he puts the maiden over his knee to punish her, her thirst for him threatens to spill over… How can a lady of such high position entertain the idea of a spanking, yet alone be excited by it? Bound, used and displayed, Aurelie’s journey of self-discovery begins as she learns her surrender delivers not only humiliation, but also great arousal and pleasure. With her yearning fit to burst, she yields to her new master, utterly compelled by his dominant affections. But then, all at once – everything changes… And now Aurelie of Donrose must make the ultimate choice and one that she never thought possible. With Anders’ life hanging in the balance, will she choose her family’s lands or her new found love?
Excerpt 1: first meeting (tame content):
“Now we are alone—finally.” Those eyes drill into me again. “Tell me, my lady, who are you really?”
I flex my fingers in front of me and move my head, boldly meeting his gaze. “I am Aurelie of Donrose, the king’s only daughter and certainly not your lady.”
That wry smile cuts across his features again. “I thought you may say that, and yet you find yourself here, tied up on my floor and so, I rather think that you are mine?”
“I know not who you are,” I say in the most derisory way I can muster, “and yet I promise you that I belong to no man of the north!”
He exhales, shifting his weight in the chair to lean against his right elbow. His big blue eyes never leave me, eying me with an intensity I have never felt before.
I push myself upright—not as easy as you’d think without the proper use of your hands. Sudden pain ricochets down my left side and I squeeze my eyes shut. The sound of his movement makes them fly open again and I recoil as I see how close he now is to my seated position.
“You’re in pain, my lady?”
There’s genuine concern etched across his face and for the first time I acknowledge just what a handsome face it is. His hair is the colour of dark sand, but lighter than any I’d find on a shore of Donrose. His skin is paler than my own and that of my kin and yet I can see the years of experience worn into his forehead and those high cheekbones. His chin is covered in long, dark blond hair, and then there are those eyes… They are the colour of the deepest oceans I have read fables about, and they swim with dark intensity.
I take a deep breath, aware suddenly that I have been gaping at him this whole time. “I was hurt in battle,” I whisper, barely able to sustain eye contact with him.
He nods, rising from his crouched position and extends a muscular arm down toward me. Slowly and tentatively I meet his hand, making skin contact with him with my bound wrists. As the back of my hand brushes against him, we make eye contact again and an inexplicable shiver rushes down my spine.
“Let my servants attend to your injuries…”
I’m not sure if this is a question or a command, but his tone is almost hypnotic, trying to quash my defiance and make me compliant. I stand up next to him, fighting the urge to choose an easy life and allow his devilish façade to overawe me. It would, I realise, be all too easy to just stop fighting and consent for him to take care of me.
Excerpt 2: chemistry (tame):
He pauses his analysis of my chest and looks up into my eyes. His stare holds me there for a long moment and I realise I am succumbing to his will whether I like it or not. He is the predator—he has been all along—and I am his prey. Aurelie of Donrose, it seems, was no match for this invader from the northlands.
“Unexpected?” he repeats.
He rises with care to a standing position, grasping the post to his left for support. His tall frame is now right next to me, his head skimming the silken canopy over us. He leans toward me and presses himself against my nakedness. I gasp, closing my eyes at the contact and yet relishing the physical closeness.
“Does that mean my captive is warming to her new master?”
I open my eyes to find his face right there, above me, that large mouth ready to devour its prey. “I… I don’t know,” I whisper, looking into his eyes. There’s an honesty about my answer that disconcerts me.
Anders shifts his weight slightly, snaking his right hand around my body and skimming my behind. Once there he grabs my left cheek and holds me, using my own body to pull me closer to him. My throbbing wet centre, already pushed forward by the bondage holding my ankles in place, nestles against his clothed right thigh.
“You are not sure, Aurelie, or you are just too afraid to say?”
I blush at his accurate analysis of the situation, dropping my eyes from his gaze. His hand rises north, leaving my ass and taking me by surprise. Anders uses each long digit to trace lines up the left side of my body, pausing at the curve of my bosom, and then finally reaching the side of my face. Once here, the hand tips my chin upward to meet his eye line, holding it in place once he is satisfied with the position.
He eyes me intently and I realise that he is expecting an answer.
Excerpt 3: a warning (moderate content):
Leaving my empty goblet, I slide from the soft pile at his order. I can already feel the desire bursting from between my thighs as I fall to all fours and begin my crawl to where he has seated himself.
“We will begin as before—you will be spanked over my knee—but this time there will be little pleasure in it for you, my captive. I intend to hurt you—to mark that pretty little behind—and make you unable to sit properly for some time.”
I am back by his feet as he concludes and warily, I raise my eyes as he finishes the sentence. I know I am not hiding the terror in my face and yet still I am compelled to carry on—submitting myself to him in this way for our mutual need. He catches my hair in his left hand and pulls it into a rough ponytail, again drawing my head back.
“When my hand is aching from tanning your backside, I will bind you to the bedpost and continue to thrash you with my strap. Do you understand?”
He eyes me wildly and for a moment I am too afraid to even respond. I have to swallow hard again to find my voice.
“Please, my Lofðungr,” I say shakily. “I do not know if I can bear such a punishment?”
He never takes his eyes from me as he answers. “You can and you will, my sweeting,” he says. “You will submit to me in this way as a sign of your true desire to be mine.”
I close my eyes at his words, understanding for the first time his real intention. He means not just to punish me, but to mark and possess me in some meaningful way. To make me his again in the way that our coupling had done before. As I open my eyes again and see him standing over me, there are tears but also a new acceptance.
I nod my head as best I can whilst he is still holding my hair in his fist. “I will bear it,” I say, my voice breaking.
He leans in toward me, his face just an inch from mine, those blue pools burning into me. “You will bear it,” he replies, his hot breath against my face, “and I will love you for it.”
Excerpt 4: interaction (moderate):
I press my face into his cold skin, immersing myself in the smell of the man who has so fundamentally changed me. He twists his head left again, watching me.
“If these chains were to disappear, I would tan that beautiful backside for you for that comment.”
His tone is low, sending a shiver through me. I feel my breath quicken at his words, imagining me sprawled over his strong lap, my skirts tossed over my torso as he administers my spanking. I clench the moistening muscles between my legs, acknowledging how good the idea sounds. His eyes sparkle as they assess my responses.
“You would like that too, wouldn’t you, my captive?” he probes.
I swallow hard, knowing that even in this gloom, Anders will notice my colour rising from my neck to my cheeks.
“Yes,” I murmur, transfixed by him even in this new role reversal.
“Have you missed me?” he asks, moving his arms in the metal chains above us. “Have you missed my discipline?”
“You know I have,” I reply, not daring to take my eyes from his blue orbs.
Excerpt 5: spanking (adult content):
“Drop the fruit. I want to hear your voice whilst you’re spanked.”
In a moment of uncharacteristic obedience, I widen my mouth a fraction and release the soft flesh of the fruit. I watch as it falls the short distance to the floor underneath me, along with a humiliating quantity of my drool. Relief washes over my jaw as it can now finally relax, although I wonder what Anders will have in mind for me next.
“Good,” he says from over me. “Now tell me, do you know why you are to be spanked?”
I flinch as he vocalises my predicament, as though hearing it out loud somehow reaffirms the sheer ignominy of it.
“I…” I pause, trying to make myself say the words. “I am to be spanked because I spilled your drinks, my Lofðungr,” I say eventually.
“True,” Anders replies, slapping the cheeks of my behind. The impact is not hard, but is just enough to wake the flesh around the area, summoning the blood there and sending the message to me: this is mine. “And why did you spill the drinks, Aurelie? What function were you serving?”
I cringe inwardly, knowing he intends to revel fully in my disgrace. “I was your table,” I say in the smallest voice possible.
“My what?” he asks, raising his voice. “I have never known the lady be so coy before this moment!”
“Your table, my Lofðungr,” I reply, pushing back the humiliated emotion that threatens to surface.
“Yes!” he cries, finally satisfied with my answer. “A table for holding my refreshments. You had one purpose only: to hold the tray of drinks and Aurelie, you failed, my sweeting. You failed in the most spectacular fashion!”
The old indignation rises in me. “I am no table!” I spit, my voice now full of venom.
He lands a hard smack against my upturned cheeks, the sound swilling around my head before the sting of the impact even registers.
“You are mine!” he says evenly. “Mine to do whatever I please with. The sooner you come to learn this, the easier your new life will be, my lady.”
He smacks me again; not full-throttle this time, but I know he means it. I take a sharp intake of breath at the impact, willing the pain to be done so that I may experience a little of that odd arousal the previous spanking had produced. A further three smacks ensue. The loud sound of his palm connecting with my flesh echoes through the confines of his quarters. I lie here over his knee, forced to accept this new dynamic: Anders, the foreign invader, now apparently the master of me. A man who can chain me up, and use me as furniture at his will.
I push against the pain as he spanks me again. The sheer force of my own obstinate pride somehow makes the process easier, although there’s no denying it does hurt. My behind feels red and inflamed already and I have no idea how long Anders intends to keep me here.
“Are you beginning to understand?” His voice booms from someplace over my head. It sounds oddly distant to my ears.
“Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say through gritted teeth as yet another smack lands across both cheeks, but even as I speak I know I do not mean it.
“Tell me then. Let me hear your learning, Aurelie. What are you?”
He pauses the spanking, perhaps to allow me to speak and I take a deep breath. Can I really say these things just to appease him? I consider my position: naked, chained, and over his lap. What choice do I have?
“I am yours, my Lofðungr,” I say, trying to detach myself from the words.
“My what?” he says, stroking the hot area he has punished.
I bite hard on my lip again, despising him for reducing me to this. “Your property!” I spit the last word out as though it threatens to choke me if I keep it inside.
“Hmm,” says Anders and I swear I can hear him smiling. “Better—but I do not believe that you mean it. Not yet anyway…”
He draws my body back a few inches from the hips, so that my aching core rises from his hard body and I am effectively bent over him from the waist.
“Spread your legs,” he says softly.
With extreme reluctance I move myself into this new, even more humiliating pose. My breasts, previously crushed under my weight, are now freed and swing softly beneath me. My face is also now less concealed and I unwittingly catch his smiling gaze in my peripheral vision. I look away at once, but not before he has noticed my error. Leaning forward, he wraps my unruly hair toward my right shoulder, exposing my face, now burning with the shame and excitement I am feeling.
“Look at me,” he commands sensually.
Slowly I turn my head ever so slightly to the left and look unwillingly into those smirking blue eyes.
“I have a feeling about you, Aurelie. Shall I share it with you?” he asks casually.
I stare at him, unwilling to answer and play his game. I can feel the old defiance rising to the surface for just the briefest moment. When I say nothing, he spanks my behind again. It feels harder from this position somehow. The sound is different and the sting feels crueller. My previously fleshy bottom is now stretched into a new stance and unbelievably I think I miss the reassurance of his body heat. I am even more exposed this way.
“Answer me!” he snaps, his hand connecting with my skin again.
“Please share it, my Lofðungr,” I reply, my voice breaking ever so slightly as the fresh pain registers.
There is a pause and I fear that he will choose to just continue spanking me like this, and then finally, he speaks again:
“I have a feeling that you actually like being treated this way, my lady.”
I look at him, my eyes no doubt sharing the indignation, resentment, and disbelief I am feeling as I register his words. How in Donrose can he know this about me? These are feelings that I myself had never known until this day!
“You’re wrong,” I splutter, but we both know I don’t mean it.
“Really?” he asks, spanking me again. I squeeze my eyes shut at the new impact, before opening them again. Anders has moved in even closer to my body in the interim. I notice for this first time that he too appears to be a little out of breath, and I wonder if this is exciting him as well. “So you don’t want me to touch your body then, Aurelie?”
His hand moves to within an inch of my left breast as he speaks. Sensing his approach, my already hard buds contract even further, betraying my need.
“No,” I say, continuing the reassuring pretence that I do in fact not want him anywhere near me.
Ignoring me, his hand finally reaches my breast, cupping it gently at first, before moving his fingers south to the nipple. I gasp as he circles it and then grabs the end, tugging at it hard. Despite my veil of disgust, his touch feels astonishingly good, goading my body. My head falls forward, no longer able to contain the desire I feel. Wordlessly he moves closer, reaching for the right breast and repeating his treatment of the left. Both nipples tighten in excitement, silently begging him for more.
A soft moan leaves my lips before I can contain myself. He laughs at the sound and I mean to chastise myself, but already my whole entity is fixed on where his hands will explore next. The left hand that had so ruthlessly, yet beautifully, tormented my breasts, runs a line down my midriff, over my tense belly to the hot, damp patch of hair between my thighs. I take short, shallow breaths, my hands planted firmly on the wooden chest beneath us, as my mind races at the sensations he creates. Anticipation about what he will choose to do next courses through me. I gasp aloud, wondering how I can possibly permit these actions to continue. At the same time his other hand spanks me hard again, sending my body into a trembling mess. The reverberations travel through my growing wetness, to where his left hand waits. Slowly he presses his palm against my skin, pushing through the soft hair, into the moist folds trembling below.
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