TBR reviewer: Luta Wolf
forced to bed him out of duty.
Emma is newly widowed. Believed barren, she never expected to marry again and planned to enter a convent. Instead, a fateful mistake sends her to this quiet, brooding man, who spends long hours alone with his woodwork. She’s stunned to learn that “Wulf” is a virgin, especially when she sees the magnificent craftsman’s tool in his breeches.
Before they are parted by the truth, can she teach Wulf to use that splendid, God-given implement with the same skill as he wields those in his workshop?
Or will Emma learn some lessons of her own at the hands of The Craftsman?
Be Warned: m/f/m, m/m/f, multiple partners, anal sex, sex toys, public exhibition,
Widowed Emma is readying herself for the convent when she receives a letter from the king, he has found her a husband. Wulf must marry if he is to remain free from prison. She never planned to marry again and he never wanted anything but to wood work. Can these two people forced together find common ground.
What really engaged me in this book were the characters and how well the author set up the character chemistery. Emma is a woman of her time, very compliant. Meeting Wulf changes this for her and we get to watch her grow into a woman of passion. At first Wulf comes off as the stereo typical 'I Am Man' character but he really is much more complex than that. He is very dominate yet he has a bit of innocents about him due to being imprisoned at such a young age. Getting to see the world through their curiosity was fun and fascinating.
Though the plot at times took a back burner to the eroticism it was well written and steady enough that it never felt off point. I truly enjoyed everything about this story. If I could have asked for anything more it would have been for it to be longer. While it ended quit well, I was left with a few questions but It's done in such a way that the reader knows we haven't heard the last from these characters. I look forward to the next installment in this series.
than a lady, but in fact her brothers, when growing up together in the Languedoc region of France, were never shy about nudity. They all stripped off naked to swim in the river that ran through their father’s fiefdom and Emma was accustomed to the sight. Her first husband’s manhood, therefore, had been no shock to her on her wedding night.
But what she saw, as she peered through the window of Raedwulf’s workshop, was something else entirely. Her eyes stretched so wide they began to ache. A similar sensation took possession of her private parts, while she considered the size of the Saxon’s equipment and measured the potential. An astonished curse slipped out between her lips before she was even aware of its formation on her tongue.
His buttocks were taut, hips narrow, thighs thick and tense. The muscles in his broad shoulders flexed and stretched as if he might pop out of his skin at any moment. Her new husband’s flanks were rippled like the hard ridges left in sand when the tide went out. Slowly her gaze dripped downward, almost afraid to look at that again. Yet unable to look
She inhaled between her teeth and moisture gathered quickly between her legs where
she held them clenched tight. His fist moved speedily up and down, almost in a frenzied motion, but between each rise and fall, she saw his appendage—thick, hard, wine-red and long. So long, in fact, that at first she’d thought he was holding one of his carpentry tools. That Thing—as she chose to call it for want of any better word—stretched almost to his navel and the head was the size of a ripened plum. It could not be his cock he held. It could not…
It was his cock.
Oh there were his ripe balls below it. No mistaking them.
Whenever her nightshift swayed against her nipples they hardened further. It was a teasing, tantalizing caress and not much compensation for the sucking those eager peaks needed. Her breasts felt heavy, hot. She wanted to rub them over his chest, hold them to his lips. She wanted to slide that Thing between them and watch his seed spill, taste the creamy essence of desire on her tongue as it spewed out of him.
It had been so long for her. Almost three years since her first husband fell ill—since the last time he laid hands on her. All that time between she’d been forced to stifle her needs. Now a low scream built in her throat and as she choked it back, tears sprang up over her lashes.
Abruptly Raedwulf looked over at the window and saw her. His face darkened. He stopped
working his shaft, but remained hunched over, one hand still clasped around the thick root. She saw his broad chest heaving for a breath. And then her hungry gaze spied the drop of liquid oozing from the crest of his manhood.
Emma reached for the latch and opened the door. As if in a dream, she stepped inside, her mind spinning, chasing excuses for spying through his window. What could she say to explain herself? She could pretend she hadn’t seen. She should probably contrive a story of being sleepless, taking a walk to cool off, noticing the lantern light…
Instead she licked her lips, looked at the beautiful prick he choked cruelly with his rough fist and said, “Give that to me. You’re wasting it.”