Read Online Books/Novels:

Hagen and Missy Filthy Modern Vikings

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

M.K. Moore

ChaShiree M

Book Information:

What do I do when my brand new WIFE wants nothing more than conjugal visits?

Win her over, of course.

We did everything in the wrong order, but it feels so right.

Will Hagen make Missy his before it’s too late?

Yeah, probably, this is a Filthy Modern Viking novella after all, but what a ride it will be getting there.

This Jorgensen Legacy is almost too hot to handle.

Books by Author:

M.K. Moore Books

ChaShiree M Books



Las Vegas, Nevada

Four Months ago

When I agreed to be my buddy Sully’s best man, I didn’t think we’d end up in Vegas, but here we are. I hate Vegas. I hate parties. I really dislike strippers. And I plainly, outright hate people and being around them. My niche is being at home with my computers more than I am around people.

As a child I had social anxiety disorder. It resulted in me being alone a lot. When I became an adult, I had to learn to get cope with my ‘handicap’. Anyone who is close to me has had to learn to deal with my eccentricities right along with me. It included my parents and siblings most of all. Who knows? I may actually really, really hate people and cannot absolutely deal with their fuckery.

Yet, here I am standing in a bar that is next door to a strip club. Fuck no, trying to get the bartender’s attention without being an asshole like the other patrons is not something I will lower myself to.

“Hey, sweet cheeks, can I get a beer?” One drunk fuck asks the bartender.

When she turns around, I growl. An instant feeling of possessiveness washes over me when she does. Her eyes pop up to mine and I know she has somehow heard my growl over the music and the crowd. She ignores the patron and he only gets louder.

“Hey bitch, I’m talking to you,” he says slamming a twenty down on the counter. I automatically see red and storm down the bar to where he’s standing. Her tiny cut-off shorts and belly shirt leave nothing to the imagination, and I hate that she’s wearing that outfit. Her shoes are black Converse, which are the same as I currently have on.

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking to her like that?” I ask, barely restraining myself.

“She’s a dumbass waitress, man. Get a fucking grip,” he says turning back towards the bar.

Fuck that noise. I lift the man over my shoulder and march him to the door. The bouncer steps aside and I toss him out into the street. When I turn to go back to the bar there is some applause, but all I want to see is if my girl is okay. The girl whose name I don’t know, but soon will if I have my way. And I always get my way.

“You are drinking free tonight, big boy,” one of the other waitresses throws out to me. I smile, but I am not interested in her. She is right about one thing. I am big at 6’8, 310 pounds, and having broad shoulders. With my size I could’ve been a defensive lineman in the NFL, but I passed. Instead, I used the football scholarship to Purdue to gain access to their computer sciences

“Where is the girl? The brunette from before?” I ask.

“I’m right here,” an angelic voice says from behind me. I turn around and the air suddenly leaves my lungs in a whoosh. She is more beautiful up close than she was behind the bar. Her bright blue eyes are sparkling in the pulsing flashing lights of the bar.

“Hello,” I stupidly say.

“Hi,” she replies as she gives me a little wave. Looking at her, I decide then and there that I want her for the rest of my fucking life.

“Wanna go someplace a little quieter?” I ask.

“I’m working,” she says smiling. “But only for fifteen more minutes. I don’t close tonight. What’s your name stranger”?

“Hagen Jorgensen,” I answer. “You?”

“Melissa Aaronson.”

“I’ll wait right here for you, Missy,” I say. She grins and goes to finish her shift of work. At ten o’clock she is standing next to me in a different outfit. Jeans and a t-shirt this time. Still, fucking hot.

After a night of drinking and seeing all that Vegas has to offer, we end up in the Best Wedding Chapel In The World on the strip. We are tipsy, but not drunk enough that we don’t know what we’re doing.

“Are we really doing this?” She asks taking her hand and gripping mine tight.

“Yeah, baby.” I confirm.

She is the one who suggested this. This is extreme and all because I told her I wouldn’t fuck her until she was my wife. My father told me years ago that when you find the one, you’ll wish you’d waited. Basically, I took that to mean that I shouldn’t dip my dick in anything that moves while waiting for her. And I never did. My brothers gave me shit for it all the time but fuck them. They won’t have something this special with the one meant for them.

Ten minutes later we are married and headed back to my hotel. We are barely inside the door before we are ripping each other’s clothes off. I lift her tiny body into my arms and carry her to the bed and look down at my queen. She is fucking gorgeous and she is all mine. My cock is hard and leaking precum, but still I stare. Her blush starts at her chest and rises up.