REPLAY BOOK 1: VIKING RAID by Nia Farrell
Release Date July 1, 2016
Length 20,279 words / 99 5×8 pages
Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB1
Amazon paperback http://mybook.to/RB1p
Reviewer: “I finished Viking Raid. Loved it. This will be my fav series…Something More will always have a spot in my heart. But this series is going to be my Achilles.”
Blurb: Gunnar Falk portrays a Viking leader at Replay, a BDSM theme resort where patrons role play in the past. He’s the Dom everyone wants but no one has had…until the resort’s musical director Breanna Campbell makes him an offer he can’t refuse.
Gunnar isn’t looking for a permanent sub, but he’ll take what Breanna is offering—only because he can’t stand the thought of another Dom claiming the beautiful blonde harpist. Her music enchants him. Her innocence beckons him. She’s agreed to give him everything, but will one night be enough?
Written for ages 18+.
Breanna watched the Dom’s smile disappear. His incredible blue eyes studied her with an intensity that was unnerving.
Exhaling softly, he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and put his hand on her shoulder. She inhaled sharply, feeling its weight and warmth and trying not to think of where she wished he would touch her.
He angled his head, considering. “I need you to tell me something. What is it,” he said, “that you truly want? What do you hope to see? To experience? You understand that your soft list is pretty limited?”
“Yes.” Breanna refused to sound apologetic. She’d been too busy getting an education to have time for more than an occasional, casual date. Now that she’d decided to lose her virginity, she was willing to allow this man to be her first, to give her one night to experience more than some women did in a lifetime.
She thought of the contract they’d signed, the compact they had made, listing the liberties she would allow him to take with her body. Thinking of the Viking raid she’d seen, how he had stroked himself while the scene went on around him, she remembered the sheer size of him and wondered how it would feel, invading her, claiming her.
“Breanna,” he said when she trembled beneath his touch. Breanna. Not wench or girl or pet. He’d said her name, as if he knew she wanted to be more than just one more nameless woman among the many that she was certain he’d had. She wanted to be his, if only for the night.
“You’re about to portray a nun, a religieuse. Before you bare your body, I would have you bare your soul. Come, little one,” he murmured. “Let me hear your confession. Tell me something. Tell me everything.”
Embarrassment pinked her face. Rather than speak, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and stepped back, breaking the contact between them and feeling a sense of loss when he chose to let her go.
She placed a hand on one of the narrow tables and skimmed her fingers along the distressed surface, imagining herself there, at his mercy when he might well have none, depending on how the scene played out. She slanted a glance up at him and just as quickly looked away from his curious half smile and penetrating gaze.
He wanted to know everything. How could she begin to tell him that she dreamed of him? He was the stuff of fantasies. Telling him would require baring her soul—something she wasn’t quite prepared to do. Not yet.
Gunnar might have the patience of Job, but Breanna better than to test it. Unable to tell him what she really wanted, she settled for the next best thing. “I want,” she said, clearing her throat. “I want to keep it true to the times, as far as it goes.”
“True to the times?” he scoffed, as if she had no idea what could happen. But she did. She did. And so did the Dom.
He stepped close enough that she smelled musk and heat and man as he towered over her, displeasure radiating from him in waves. If he was training her as his sub, she’d be bent over his knee right now, or down on all fours or on her stomach or her back, taking her punishment for hiding the truth from him.
She steeled herself and turned towards him. Lifting her face, she searched his hard blue eyes. His jaw clenched, revealing his growing impatience.
She swallowed hard and whispered her confession. “The truth is, I can’t stop dreaming about it. I want you to make it real.”
A second later, Gunnar ripped the coif from her head, freeing her thick waist-length tresses to tumble down her back. He shoved his fingers in her hair, gripped her scalp, and made her look at him. For the first time, she felt a frisson of fear down her spine, and she shivered, unable to help herself.
His narrowed eyes had the look of a falcon studying its prey. “Real?” he grated. “You can’t imagine, if I stormed your nunnery, that I wouldn’t take you by the hair and spread you out on this table like a banquet, hmm? Your limits, wench, won’t let me.”
She swallowed hard and forced the words, stammering. “We can’t, not with the wigs. They’re short, like a boy’s. We’re playing nuns,” she reminded him, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the heat flare in his blue eyes.
“Hair pins,” he gritted. “Done right, I could drag you across the floor.”
She thought for a moment that he might just do it. Instead, Gunnar fisted her hair, holding it but not quite pulling. She had thought wearing a wig would be a good idea. Now it was a source of his displeasure. Why, oh why hadn’t she thought of pins?
He put his other hand on her breast, testing the soft, firm swell of flesh. When her nipple pebbled beneath his palm, one side of his mouth curved in a half smile, like a predator toying with his next meal, as if he knew that he could have her right here, right now, if he wanted. Her body threatened to go boneless beneath his touch, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning.
Was she really ready for this?
Breanna thought of their agreement, lines of soft limits flowing like mantras in her mind. She had the power, but power was an illusion when beneath it, her will was quickly eroding. She was tempted – oh, so tempted – to yield to the Dom’s greater strength. She was beginning to fear that she just might surrender, if she didn’t find a way to break the hold he had on her.
“The contract,” she whispered. “Gunnar, it’s—”
He raised a brow and pinched her nipple as punishment.
Breanna gasped as pain bloomed into pleasure. “Milord, I beg you,” she whispered. “Please, it’s too soon.”
She was stalling. Gunnar recognized her ploy and nearly smiled. Why had she thought the paper wall she’d thrown up in self-defense would stop him, let alone slow him down?
“Tell me,” he coaxed her, his ruthless hold on her hair at odds with his touch, now gently stroking, fondling, making her body sing. “Your dream,” he said. “What happens in it? What do you see us doing here?”
She felt a sudden burst of moisture between her legs and clamped her thighs together.
“Rowena, uh, my sister Rowena will be a flagellate. I’ll be doing aftercare on her over there.” Unable to move her head, she used her eyes, looking from him toward the far table, built sturdy enough for the most vigorous use. “When you find us, she’ll be disrobed. I’ll shrink back while the others, uh, surround her, and you and I…I think…here. We might be here.”
Breanna felt the hand on her breast move, sliding down her rib cage, her stomach. Long, strong fingers reached the juncture of her thighs and, diving deep, found moisture enough to soak her smock.
“You’re wet,” he said roughly. She couldn’t tell if it was accusation or admiration. “What are you thinking?”
“The scene,” she whispered, closing her eyes, afraid of what he would see in them. “What you’ll do. How you’ll do it.”
She remembered the other raid, how he’d ripped the clothes from his captive, binding her hands, forcing her onto her knees until her body was draped over a bench. Then he wielded the lash, striking her flesh, raising pink stripes with each measured stroke. When he’d finally turned her over to his men, there was no hiding his massive erection. He’d watched the scene play out and had stroked himself in time with the thrust of hips, above and below.
Another reason she’d asked for him. He was the man everyone wanted but nobody had. She didn’t know of any scene he’d done at Replay in the six months they’d been open where he’d had sex with the participants. He either gratified himself or denied what he so easily could have. She had hoped, with what she was offering Gunnar, that she would prove the exception to his rule, and she’d been right.
Be careful what you wish for.