Things move fast in the Norse world of Samantha MacLeod! Back in January we had an excerpt from The Monster's Lover: Book 1 of The Fenris Series. Now she's back with Book 2 - The Monster's Wife. 😉
Saved by the monster!
Sol and her lover Fenris escaped the cruel king Nøkkyn and fled deep into the Ironwood. Yet life in the forest proves more perilous than Sol imagined. Is the handsome Týr, one of the Æsir from the myths of her childhood, a friend or a foe? How well does she actually know the mysterious man who saved her from Nøkkyn’s clutches?
And, even hidden beneath the shadows of the Ironwood forest, are Fenris and Sol truly safe from the King’s reach?
Fenris took the drinking horn and leaned back. Firelight flickered across his muscular chest as his hair swirled across his shoulders. By the Realms, even after all the time we’d spent together, he was still so beautiful it took my breath away. With a sudden flush of heat, I envisioned plunging my hands deep into his hair, pulling the horn from his lips, and kissing the mead from his mouth as I wrapped my legs around his waist, sinking my body onto his, thrusting our hips together while Týr watched—
Fenris dropped the horn with a victorious whoop. His eyes blazed, bright and unfocused in the firelight. “Like an Æsir,” he said, wiping his mouth.
“Just like an Æsir,” Týr agreed.
Týr bent closer to Fenris, taking the drinking horn from the grass at his side. Fenris leaned to meet him, and—
I blinked, at first distrusting my eyes. Fenris and Týr had bent so close to one another their lips touched. Fenris tilted his head, his mouth opening to Týr. Týr closed his eyes. For a heartbeat the whole world stood still. Fenris moaned.
My body responded before my mind could fully grasp what was happening. The dark coil of need inside my gut tightened, and the space between my legs began to ache. My nipples pricked at Týr’s shirt, scraping the coarse fabric.
The men pulled apart, still gazing into each other’s eyes. I thought they would kiss a second time, and something hungry buried deep inside me wanted to see their naked, muscular chests pressed together in the firelight, but Fenris pulled away.
“Sol,” Fenris said, looking at me with a frown. “Týr is my good friend. My very good friend. We usually kiss.”
Týr laughed. “We usually do more than kiss.”
Fenris was watching me, his expression a bit lost, and it occurred to me he was waiting for something. Permission, perhaps?
“I-I don’t mind,” I stammered.
Fenris’s frown evaporated, and his eyes danced. “Would you like to kiss him too? Týr is a very good kisser.”
I met Týr’s eyes in the flicker of firelight. His soft lips curved into a smile, and I was suddenly very aware of his naked chest.
“I’d like that,” I said.
Týr crawled toward me, stopping only when he was sitting directly in front of me. He took my cheek
in his warm palm and smiled, waiting for me. I closed my eyes and fell toward him, surrendering to the urgent demands of my own body.
He was a very good kisser. Týr’s beard was soft enough not to scratch, and the brush of his rough hair against my cheek made me shiver with arousal. His lips and tongue danced across mine carefully and unhurriedly. Týr’s kisses moved through me like the mead, slow and golden, awakening every part of my body. Fenris’s kisses were always hungry, always wanting more, like he was a wolf, ready to devour me. But Týr kissed me like he wanted nothing else in all the Nine Realms, as though all he’d ever wanted to do was move his lips and tongue against mine until the end of time.
Týr’s hand moved as we embraced, traveling down my cheek and neck, pressing the fabric of his shirt against my arm, cupping my breast. When his thumb grazed across my nipple, desire sizzled through my body, slicking the space between my legs. I groaned into his mouth. More. I needed more.
Týr pulled away, grinning. “Oh. You’re lovely.”.
I moaned. He’d taken his hand from my breast, and the sudden absence of touch and pressure seemed unbearable.
“She tastes amazing,” Fenris said.
Before my brain could process that comment, Fenris was next to me. My hungry lips sought him out, kissing him frantically. Another hand pressed against my breast, squeezing my nipple, and I gasped as a long, hot shiver of arousal raced through me. I sank my hands into Fenris’s hair and leaned against him, kissing him desperately.
Firm, warm hands pushed my legs open and brushed fingers across the inside of my thighs.
“Yes,” I said, aching to be touched.
Something warm and wet pressed between my thighs, and I opened my eyes in shock. Týr lay face down on the ground before me, the muscles in his back flexing slowly in the firelight, his head buried between my legs. Fenris sat next to me, his arm supporting my shoulders, his lips nibbling my ear and neck.
I closed my eyes again, allowing myself to be taken.
Týr’s lips and tongue moved across the swollen heat of my sex, kissing it as slowly and carefully as he’d kissed my mouth. My body rocked with pleasure; heat built in waves as Týr devoured me while Fenris kissed my neck, trailed his teeth down my skin, and closed his fingers around my nipple. I tried to speak, to tell them yes, more, but my words came out as a strangled, gasping moan.
They made love to me slowly, despite my whimpered protests. Again and again Týr brought me to the crest only to back off, leaving me panting and mewling. He kissed me until time lost its meaning, until everything lost all meaning. I was nothing but sensations--just the feel of Týr’s lips against my sex and my fingers in his hair, the scrape of Fenris’s teeth against my neck and the slow trickle of my sweat rolling onto Fenris’s chest, the gasp and hiss of my breath as each new jolt of pleasure shook me to my core, the forest and the firelight vanishing as my vision blurred.
When my climax finally came, it obliterated me. My legs stiffened, trapping Týr between my thighs as I screamed to the treetops, over and over, every thought destroyed, every part of my body flooded with ecstasy, until I collapsed back against Fenris’s chest.
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Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.
Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.
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