Love Bites (10 page)

Finally he transferred that potent attention to her right nipple. He contemplated it for a long moment as her heartbeat filled her ears and her breath rasped in and out.

Morgana felt suspended between lust and terror, swinging back and forth like an erotic pendulum. Just as she was about to babble something insulting to goad him into action, he leaned in and gave the taut peak a lick.

Slow. Wet. Hot. The sensation was so intense, it was all she could do not to squirm. Another lick, a burning spiral around her desperately hard nipple. “Mmmmm,” he rumbled. “I knew you’d be delicious.” His palm cupped her, warm and sword-calloused and impossibly arousing. Thumb and forefinger caught the lush peak. Tugged slowly, twisting, sending hot curls of raw pleasure from nipple to sex. “You taste like magic and pussy.”

Half-mindless, she reached up and gripped the chains that stretched her body out so helplessly.

He scooped up one of the clamps. She flinched, but there was nowhere she could go as the padded jaws closed over the jutting peak. “Horned God, Percival!” Morgana gasped. “That hurts!”

The knight looked up at her and smiled darkly. “It’s supposed to, darling.”

As she panted, trying to breathe through the pain lancing from her abused nipple, he started licking and sucking the other breast. “The idea,” he told her between licks, “is that the clamp closes off the blood supply. Then when you take it off, the blood rushes back.” He paused to suckle her in a deep, hot draw. She pulled upward on the chain, pulling herself off her feet with her Maja strength. Scooping up the other clamp, he applied it. She sucked in a breath at the vicious sting, throwing her head back. “That, of course, is when I’ll
bite
.”

“Jesu, Percival!”

“Yes, well, you did offer me your Oath, Morgana.” He stepped back a few paces and cocked his head as if admiring the sight of her, all strung out in her bonds, the clamps biting her tits. Turning to the table and its collection of evil toys, he picked up the deer-hide flogger. “And you can’t claim you don’t have it coming. You’ve been a right bitch for entirely too long.” He studied her as he gave the flogger a sharp, experimental flick, making it swish. “And I wonder why that is, Morgana? Are you trying to keep us at a distance? Are you afraid we’ll get to you if we get too close? Don’t you trust yourself?”

Hell, no. But he was working his way too close to the one secret she had to keep, so she went on the defensive. “Do you want to psychoanalyze me, or do you want to fuck?”

“Actually,” he drawled, his eyes kindling with temper, “I thought I’d flog those luscious tits until you scream.”

Morgana braced herself, expecting him to tear into her with the whip. But once again, she’d underestimated his skill as a dominant.

Percival began to walk around her, flicking the flogger across her bare breasts. She was surprised at how soft the whip’s deerskin falls felt in his skilled hand.

Morgana watched him, feeling half-drugged, suspended in sensual amber honey.

A flogger is a short-range weapon, and so he paced less than an arms-length away. Again she was conscious of his size, the width of his shoulders, the thick brawn of his bare arms, muscle rolling and working as he sent the flogger sweeping out to strike her naked skin. Instead of the sharp pain she’d expected, the blows felt almost lazy, gentle, a deerskin massage that fell with soft plops rather than sharp whip cracks.

Slowly, he picked up the pace and force of his blows until they began to sting. It was an oddly pleasant sensation. A light sweat broke out over his skin, less from effort than pure erotic heat. Morgana had never met a man who appeared so divinely built for sexual dominance—or one who made her ache to submit with such helpless intensity.

As he strolled in catlike circles around her bound body, he rotated his wrist in figure eights and loops, striking her breasts, her waist, her hips, and her sex, first from one direction, then the other, painting blushing impacts along her body like an artist with a brush.

But it was his stare that truly ignited her helpless lust. She’d always thought his gray eyes cool, but they burned now from beneath his thick blond brows. Torchlight sketched shadows beneath the hard, handsome angles of his face, emphasizing the feral intensity of his expression, the stark animal lust in his gaze. His sensual lips parted as he stalked before her, revealing the sharp white tips of his fangs.

When he circled around behind her, it was all she could do not to beg him to come back where she could see him. Watch him. She craved the sight of his darkly seductive strength, his sadistic grace as he wielded the flogger. But she was not in control here, was she? And so, she kept her tongue between her teeth and listened to the pad of his boots passing behind her.

His steps paused. It seemed she could almost feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, and she wondered if he was going to bite her again. Her nipples hardened in the grip of the clamps, and she felt her labia swell with another wave of lust.

As if sensing her arousal, Percival sent the flogger licking out to strike her up between her thighs, the soft falls stimulating her hard clit and thumping against her spread pussy. She squirmed helplessly and fought the need to beg.

The heat he’d been building in her pussy intensified as he beat her slowly, every impact of the flogger stoking it steadily into a licking, savage fire that owed more to lust than pain.

Teeth gritted against the need to plead for his cock, Morgana clung to the chains as the flogger hit her ass in soft, hot strokes.

*   *   *

J
esu, flogging Morgana le Fay was the hottest thing Percival had ever done in his very long life. Yet this was hardly his first scene; he’d been seriously exploring the intersection of pain and pleasure for years.

He’d always been dominant, of course, all the way back to his human days. He adored tying a woman up to enhance her sexual desire as well as his own. But when it came to erotic discipline, he’d never used anything but his hands, belt, or the occasional riding crop until twenty years ago.

That was when mortals began actively codifying the rules and skills of their elaborate BDSM games in clubs, play parties, and munches. He, Cador, and Marrok had first begun playing with D/s out of curiosity—and a certain boredom with plain vanilla sex.

It hadn’t taken them long to realize just how powerful those erotic techniques could be, or how deliciously satisfying they were. Percival loved nothing more than chaining a beautiful woman and tormenting her as he taught her things about her own body she’d never known.

This time, though, it wasn’t just any woman writhing under his flogger.

How many times had he jerked off thinking about getting Morgana le Fay naked and helpless under his whip? He’d lost count of the number of times he’d woken from dreams of her with come on his belly and the memory of her dream moans in his ears.

But Merlin’s Balls, those fantasies had never done her justice. Her breasts were ripe and round on her lean torso, her nipples dark red in the grip of the clamps. She was nobody’s idea of brawny, but long muscle curved in her arms and wide-spread legs, an elegant female strength built in combat, both during the daily practice sessions and actual bloody fights with everything from mortals to axe-wielding Dark Ones. Yes, magic was her preferred weapon, but she knew how to use a sword, if a considerably lighter weapon than the ones the knights favored. Her efforts with it had given her body a long, feminine elegance, a graceful strength.

And Jesu, those legs. Veiled in lace, spread wide in crimson spike heels, muscles working under her silken skin every time his flogger teased her thighs.

He burned to fuck her. Now. Forget the foreplay, forget whatever punishment she’d earned with today’s idiocy. He’d waited fifteen centuries to sink his dick into that tight pink pussy again, and damned if he wanted to wait any longer.

Percival set his teeth and fought down the furious lust as he turned back to the table, put down the flogger, and picked up his favorite crop.

As much as he wanted to fuck her blind, sometimes a dominant had to ignore his own needs in favor of serving his submissive. Even if that service took the form of beating her ridiculously tempting arse.

He walked up behind her, his possessive gaze on the anxiously flexing muscle of her cheeks. For a moment he pictured spreading them, seeking out the tight rosebud of her anus and oiling it up with the lube he had sitting so conveniently at hand. He thought about watching his cock sink into that tiny hole, forcing it to spread, listening to her breathy moans as he worked his way deep, millimeter by millimeter. His cock bucked behind his fly at the searing fantasy image.

Not yet
. He drew in a hard breath between his teeth. If his years as a dominant had taught Percival anything, it was that a climax was all the sweeter when you delayed it as long as you could.

So instead he sent the crop in his hand licking out at one of those tempting female cheeks. Morgana jerked with a startled shout. His cock jerked again.

Smiling a trifle grimly, Percival started working her over in earnest, planting wicked blows across her gorgeous rump as she jerked and struggled in her bonds. He couldn’t blame her. He’d been the recipient of the crop himself, and he knew it stung like a bitch.

He wasn’t a submissive by any stretch of the imagination, but you couldn’t use a tool properly until you’d had it used on you. Years ago, he’d sought out a very pretty domme to teach him the erotic use of the cane, flogger, and single-tail whip. She’d been so damned good with her toys, he’d even managed to fly—carried into erotic euphoria by a blend of endorphins and adrenaline. He’d promptly broken the chains and fucked the domme silly with his fangs buried in her throat.

Submission wasn’t really his thing.

Though the domme hadn’t been unwilling, she’d eyed him warily afterward, despite the spell Morgana had used to make sure she didn’t remember the more supernatural aspects of their encounter. Apparently she wasn’t a sub either.

Morgana was. And he meant to drive her to her knees—and keep her there.

*   *   *

B
iting back a scream, Morgana writhed as Percival’s crop cut another line of fire across her arse. She wanted to curse, toss a fireball at his head—hell, punch him in that handsome, arrogant nose. But she couldn’t do any of that because he was her Oath Master, and she’d given him the right to punish her in whatever way suited him.

But the thing that truly infuriated her was the arousal that burned in her blood like a flame following a trail of spilled brandy. She’d bedded some of the most skilled and passionate lovers in Avalon, men who were so gorgeous and fiercely sexy, other women eyed her with naked envy. Hell, she’d had Arthur himself before he’d met and married Guinevere.

Yet none of them had made her want to beg for cock like a cat in heat. The savagery of her need was humiliating. The only bright spot in this whole ordeal was that she hadn’t actually lost control enough to beg Percival to fuck her.

But Horned God, she’d wanted to.

Somehow the flogger’s thudding impacts had stimulated her clit and anus, not to mention deeper pleasure centers in her sex. To make matters even worse, her pussy had swollen from the flogging, so that every time she writhed or struggled, she ended up stimulating her hungry cunt even more.

But it wasn’t just his skill with a dominant’s toys that got to her. It was the way his dominance seemed to fit her submission as if they’d been designed that way. She’d long sensed that possibility, which was why she’d always feared yielding to Percival’s overwhelming sensuality.

But the real danger he posed had nothing to do with sex. It was the way he made her feel safe. Morgana hadn’t felt safe since her own son had abused her.

WHAP!

She jolted as the riding crop cut a flaming swath across her arse, blasting every other thought right out of her head. Unlike the session with the flogger, there was no doubt he intended this beating as punishment for her behavior during the fight with the dragon.

Morgana writhed in time with each
whish
the crop cut across her tormented rear cheeks like a knife blade. She was surprised she wasn’t bleeding, but her skin was wet with nothing more than sweat. Which was an act of obvious mercy on Percival’s part; she knew he could have cut her up like a sheet of tissue paper.

The crop ceased its fiery strikes, and he moved away. She heard a door open and close; it sounded like the small dorm-sized refrigerator against the wall.

Morgana braced herself, breathing hard, expecting him to start in again. He’d often paused, apparently to let her pain receptors recover for the next blow. So when a broad, warm hand stroked over her hot arse cheeks, she jumped, startled. “That pale skin of yours marks up well,” he said in a dark velvet rumble. “The healer is going to find the view rather . . . provocative in the morning.”

Morgana licked her dry lips, wishing fiercely she could conjure a bottle of water. “I don’t need a healer.”

His fingers tightened painfully on her right cheek as he leaned in. “Yet,” he growled in her ear, stepping up against her bare back. “You may think differently by the time I’m finished with you.”

O
ne hand wrapped possessively in her hair, Percival pulled her head back to rest on his shoulder. To her surprise, he lifted a bottle of water to her lips. Must have been what he’d gotten out of the fridge, Morgana thought as she drank thirstily. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised at his sensitivity to her needs. Percival had always taken his responsibilities to those under his command very seriously.

Apparently that care extended to Oath Servants.

At his urging, she drained the bottle before he took it away and sent it sailing into a nearby trashcan with a ringing rattle.

“Thank you.”

“You may want to save those thanks.” Turning back to her, Percival stepped up against her back. Making her feel him, his size, his hard muscle and animal warmth. “I still have an appetite,” he murmured in her ear. She felt her nipples tighten at the deep rasp of his voice. “By the time I get done milking those pretty tits, you’re going to need a medic.”

Morgana shuddered in reaction. She wanted to get angry, more as a reaction to her own too-responsive nipples than Percival’s sensual threat. She couldn’t seem to manage it. “You
are
a bastard, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” Releasing her arse, he slid that hand around her hip to cup her between her legs. Morgana caught her breath as he slid a forefinger between her wet, swollen labia. Percival chuckled. “Somebody enjoyed her flogging. I guess this answers the masochism question.” Stroking two fingers between her labia, he tormented her plump, erect clit between them.

Morgana gasped at the intense sensations that boiled up between her thighs in time to the juicy sounds of his thrusting fingers. She was intensely aware of his massive erection pressing against her cheeks. “I’m not the only one who enjoyed it, judging from the size of that cock-stand.”

“Oh, I loved every minute of beating your gorgeous arse. Just as I intend to enjoy this . . .” Tightening his grip on her hair, he pulled her face around as he stood behind her and took her mouth. The kiss was fierce, hot, and slow, with deep, swirling thrusts of his tongue he matched with rolling pumps of his hips against her backside.

At first Morgana stiffened. She’d expected the cock pumping against her rump, the fingers driving deep into her sex, but not the passion in his kiss, the tenderness as well as lust in the way he drank at her mouth, eyes closed, fist tight in her hair. Unable to resist—even knowing she should—Morgana melted back against him. His body felt hot and powerful against her spine.

And that cock, rigid as a length of pipe against her arse, both threat and promise as his fingers teased her pussy until she moaned into his mouth.

Finally he drew away from her, releasing his grip on her hair. “God, I adore the taste of your mouth.” His gray eyes dipped to her lips. “So sweet. So hot.” He gave her a slow, carnivorous smile. “Almost as hot as that tight pussy I can’t wait to fuck.”

He dropped to one knee and went to work unbuckling the thick leather cuff around first one ankle, then the other. Morgana sighed in relief and waited for him to free her chained wrists, suddenly aware of how they ached from being bound over her head.

Instead he rose and stalked around in front of her, then stepped in close. Catching one of the clamps gripping her nipples, he opened the tiny rubber jaws and threw the clamp aside.

Morgana sucked in a breath at the pain that instantly stabbed into the tight-drawn peak. “Oh, fuck, Percival!” she gasped. When his brow lifted icily, she added hastily. “
Lord
Percival.”

“You’d better get in the habit of using that title, or you’re going to wish you had.” Giving her that lupine smile again, he unzipped his jeans and pulled his thick, rigid cock out of the opening of his boxers. “Fortunately for you, I’m in the mood to fuck you instead of punishing you as you so richly deserve.”

“What do you call what you’ve been doing for the past hour?” Morgana demanded, damned if she’d be cowed into silence.

He grinned savagely. “Entertainment.”

One hand scooped under her swollen, red arse, pulling her off her feet as he used the other to aim his thick cock at her pussy. Morgana caught her breath, grabbing the chains to steady herself as the round mushroom head of his shaft nosed the swollen lips of her sex.

He entered slowly, working his way in by tormenting fractions. Morgana caught her breath at the hot sensation of being so gradually, ruthlessly stuffed.

Oh, Horned God, it felt so sweet. She’d dreamed of this, dreamed of knowing his cock again, so thick and long and hot.

He watched her face as he filled her, his gray eyes intent, his lush upper lip lifted enough to reveal the points of his fangs. Morgana stared back, utterly unable to do anything else. Hypnotized and helpless, like a rabbit in the deceptively gentle grip of a puma.

Just before he flashed those teeth . . .

Despite her clamoring instincts, her lids slid closed, the better to savor the sensation of that long, smooth, thick cock slowly working its way to the root.
At last.
At last Percival was inside her, where she’d wanted him so fucking long.

Morgana thought of all those lonely dreams she’d had, only to wake restless in an empty bed. Needing. Not only needing cock—though Merlin knew she did—but needing
him.
Percival, her handsome, arrogant knight, with his fierce tactical intelligence and hard warrior’s body. Courageous, yes, but with the wit not to be stupidly brave. Good with a sword or a combat knife or a Desert Eagle. Cool-eyed as an assassin, even when it got bloody and hot. The kind of man other men would follow into hell’s teeth, because they knew he wouldn’t lead them there unless there was absolutely no choice about the destination.

But Horned God, the man also had a cock that was downright menacing in its width and length. You’d think she wouldn’t find that such a surprise, since she’d made love to him once before. But that had been centuries ago. True, Merlin knew she’d seen him with a hard-on any number of time since then, but there was a difference between the way a dick looked behind a man’s fly and how it felt buried halfway to your rib cage. Jeans made it easier to convince yourself there wasn’t really all that much of him, that the denim made him look bigger.

Nope.

He was in to the balls now. She could feel them resting like velvet weights against her arse cheeks.

“There now,” he said, and she thought again of that puma, purring. “There we go.”

He shifted his hold on her, one hand going around her arse, the other around her waist to support the length of her back. The chains around her wrists held her arms in the air. The resulting pose wasn’t one a human man could have held for long, even if he’d been as fit as Percival.

But vampire muscle did make a difference, so he was able to support her weight even with it thrown forward at that awkward angle. Concerned for his back, she wrapped both legs around his waist . . . which had the pleasant effect of pulling him in even deeper.

Morgana sighed in sensuous pleasure, enjoying the sensation of every inch of her being filled with every inch of him.

“Mmmmmm.” He purred it. There was no other way to describe that deep male rumble.

Gathering her even closer, Percival began to roll his strong hips, pulling that endless cock out and pushing it deep again. Slow. Slooooow and delicious and Horned God, just incredible.

Clinging to him as he fucked her, Morgana belatedly realized his head was just at the level of her breasts. He gave her bare nipple a thoughtful lick, then engulfed it for a deep suckle. She inhaled sharply at the pleasure, her eyes drifting closed again with a helpless shiver of delight.

God, the way he felt. Pure sex and sin packed in six feet, three inches of vampire muscle and bone. So good. So bloody
good
, with his hips rolling and his mouth suckling her long nipple.

So when he turned his head and caught the clamp on the other nipple in his teeth, she didn’t see it coming. Didn’t anticipate that fiery blaze of heat when the blood rushed back into the tortured nipple. She jerked, barely aware of the clatter as he spat the clamp onto the floor.

Sharp fangs sank into the curve of her breast while she was still dealing with the merciless burn of returning circulation.

“Percival!” she cried out as he drank and fucked, her fingers clawing helplessly at the chains. Swinging in her bonds while he took her in short, quick thrusts as he drank her magical blood. Feeding and fucking while she shivered in his arms.

Morgana le Fay had never felt so helpless in her life.

It was something of a surprise when she came in a furious, racking storm a heartbeat later, bucking in his ruthless arms. Impaled on his fangs and his dick. Utterly helpless. And loving it entirely too much.

*   *   *

P
ercival shuddered in helpless reaction to the feeling of Morgana’s slick sex clamping rhythmically around his shaft, triggering pulses of delight. Eyes shuttering, he swallowed, drinking her rich blood, the taste of magic foaming on his tongue. The pleasure was so intoxicating, he wondered if he’d ever know the likes of it again.

Oh, I’ll know it again,
he thought, swallowing another heated mouthful.
I’ve got her for the next year.
The possessive anticipation in that thought made him grin against the smooth, delicate flesh of her breast, hands cradling her delightful arse as he pumped between her slim thighs.

His. She was his at last.

At last the hard pulses died away, leaving his knees weak. He eased out of her slick body reluctantly, though some part of him wanted only to keep her in his arms. As he slid his jeans and boxers back into place over his hips and zipped his fly, Percival met her gaze. He was gratified by the dazed look in those beautiful green eyes as she hung limp in her bonds.

“That was . . .” She paused and swallowed.” . . . Interesting.”

He grinned and went to work unbuckling the cuffs around her wrists. “I thought so.”

For a moment, Percival considered sweeping Morgana into his arms and carrying her upstairs. He wanted to sleep wrapped around her so he could drink in the scent of her curling dark hair and the warmth of her soft skin.

A wave of tenderness took him by surprise.

No. Oh, no.
This was Morgana le Fay here. If he let her sense any vulnerability, any weakness she could exploit, she’d tie his balls in a knot, magic or no magic.

Jaw firming, he knelt to jerk open the ankle cuffs and set her free. She swayed, and he looked up and registered how pale and dazed she looked. Percival frowned, remembering how hard he’d just fed.

Oh, to hell with it.
He stood and swept her into his arms, then started up the stairs with her.

“Percival,” she said, sounding a bit slurred. He really had fed too deeply. “Where are you taking me, my lord?”

“To bed. Shush.”

To his surprise, Morgana obeyed, her eyes sliding closed, her head dropping to rest on his shoulder. He frowned, afraid for a moment she’d passed out. But no, her heartbeat was strong and steady. In fact, he realized it probably sounded better than it had before he’d fed. He wondered whether she’d been putting off donating blood too long again, something he knew she had a habit of doing. Majae needed to donate frequently or risk strokes from high blood pressure.

But still, she did look pale. He frowned. Reaching his bedroom, Percival carried her inside. He put her down by the bed just long enough to flip the covers down. “In you go.”

She muttered something, still sounding slurred—which might be a product of exhaustion as much as the blood he’d taken, now that he thought about it. She’d fought a bloody dragon today, after all, throwing around a hell of a lot of magic to do it. Then there’d been the confrontation with Arthur, followed by the one with him and his team. And of course, the way he’d fucked and fed on her.

Morgana crawled into the big bed and curled up on her side, falling asleep almost instantly. He joined her, flipping the dark-blue bedspread over on top of both of them. Pulling her back into his arms, he let himself relax.

Her hair smelled of jasmine, tempting him into ducking his head close and inhaling deeply, savoring the sweet scent of woman and sex. She felt warm and soft and deliciously tempting. Not at all like the cool, controlled woman he knew.

The sun would rise soon, bringing the Daysleep with it and stealing his consciousness away. He stared toward the pair of stained glass windows across the room, though there wasn’t enough light to see the knight and his lady the colored glass depicted. Percival let his thoughts float, remembering the pleasure he’d found in dominating Morgana and imagining what he might try next. He had a long list . . .

“No. No, don’t. Please don’t . . .”

Stiffening, he looked down at the woman in his arms as Morgana stirred. Her voice was a breathy whisper, thin and high, growing louder, higher, as she began to struggle, fighting his hold. “Morgana?”

“No, you can’t . . .”

He stroked one hand up and down her arm, trying to soothe her out of the nightmare that obviously had her in its grip. “Morgana, you’re okay. You’re dreaming . . .”