Love Bites (12 page)

“And that’s exactly why giving up control to Percival feels so good.” Gwen gestured at the band circling Morgana’s throat. “In that collar, you don’t have to worry about controlling anything, not even your own magic. It’s all in Percival’s hands. And you can relax, because he’s the kind of man who can be trusted to take care of the burdens you’ve put down, if only temporarily.”

“Yes,” Morgana admitted slowly. “He does give that impression.”

“Darling, it’s not just an impression. I have never known of Percival to drop the ball on anything. And I’ve known him even longer than you have.” She started conjuring pairs of shoes—boots, stilettoes, pumps, all in a rainbow of colors. “You’ve been carrying the weight of your responsibilities for a very long time. It’s not a sin to leave them in Percival’s capable hands for a few hours so you can . . . rest.”

Morgana snorted. “Or something.”

“Speaking of Percival’s hands,” Gwen added wickedly, “let’s talk sexy underwear. Does he prefer you in lace, silk, or rubber?”

Morgana couldn’t help it. She roared with laughter.

*   *   *

M
organa had disobeyed.

Percival stalked into the top floor of his mansion, a sword in one hand, a shield in the other. The gym was the biggest room in the house of necessity, between the running track, free weights, assorted weight machines, and the huge ring padded with sawdust he and his brothers used to practice their combat skills first thing every evening.

He was certainly in the mood to kick some arse at the moment. Good thing Marrok and Cador were already present, ragging one another about the submissive they’d shared after leaving Percival and Morgana the night before.

Evidently the thought of Morg as an Oath Servant had turned them on as much as it had him.

As always, Percival had woken precisely at sunset, a wicked grin curling his mouth, expecting to see Morgana waiting for him as he’d ordered. His cock had instantly hardened at the thought of the wet swirl of her tongue, the tight, liquid clasp of her cunt.

The even tighter grip of the arse he hadn’t gotten around to breaching last night.

And that was just the beginning of what he intended to do. He’d had years of fantasies about Morgana—of forcing her to admit the submissive needs he’d always suspected. About what it would be like when she finally yielded to his dominance.

Last night he’d found, to his immense satisfaction, that he’d been right: she was indeed a submissive. She’d yielded deliciously, responding with hot need even when he’d tested her with the crop.

He wanted more.

He wanted to claim that tight, exquisite arse, listen to her cries of surrender as he again drank deep of her blood.

And held her in the aftermath, listening to the sound of her heartbeat, the sigh of her breathing . . .

Which was why he was so pissed when she’d been nowhere to be seen. Not in his bedroom, not in his living room. Not even in the dungeon, where the bitch damn well should present herself if she knew what was good for her. All greased up and ready for punishment.

So much for her Oath.

Unless something had prevented her from obeying his order. Frowning, he remembered the nightmare she’d had about her son.
“Don’t touch me like that!”

She’d felt so fragile in his arms. Which was a surprise, since fragility was not a word he’d ever associated with Morgana le Fay.

Bad dreams or not, I gave her an order
, Percival thought.
She was supposed to be here at sunset, and she wasn’t
.

She’d given him her Oath just yesterday. He was damned if he was going to let her get away with flouting him this soon. The minute he finished with combat practice, he was going to track her down and teach her a badly needed lesson.

“Enough chat,” he growled at his friends, interrupting their argument about who’d banged last night’s Morgana substitute harder. “Let’s fight.” Glowering at Marrok and Cador, Percival fell into guard, lifting his backup shield into position. His primary armor and weapons had been beaten and clawed all to hell in the fight with the dragon, and Morgana hadn’t repaired them before accepting the collar that had stripped her of her powers. They were going to have to find some other Maja to repair the damage.

Morgana bloody well wasn’t going to get her powers back any time soon. Not if Percival had anything to say about it.

“So how was the witch?” Marrok asked, as he raised his own shield and sidestepped into a warrior’s crouch. “I trust you striped that sweet arse red . . .”

“. . . And fucked it just as hard,” Cador threw in, his teeth flashing white as he circled in the opposite direction.

Percival’s only reply was a snarl as he leaped at Marrok, his sword swinging wide around his shield to slam into the big man’s blade. Marrok jumped back out of range with an oath. Percival pursued him, only to be forced into retreat himself when Cador attacked in a flurry of sword-strokes. Swords rang on shields, and Cador swore as Percival’s blade sliced across his shoulder, the wound shallow but painful.

The bitter scent of vampire blood filled the air, making Percival’s fangs twinge as he went after his friends at just short of full speed.

How dare she ignore a direct order?
Furious, he probed Marrok’s defenses again, trying to find a way past the big vampire’s guard.
Does your Oath mean nothing to you, Morgana? Well, this will be the last time you’ll disobey an order of mine. I’ll flog you bloody . . .

Unless she’d been unable to obey. He had fed pretty deep last night. What if he’d taken too much, and she was lying unconscious somewhere, without the magic to heal herself—or even summon a healer?

The thought sent a wave of ice rolling over his skin, a chilly terror so distracting, he didn’t even see Marrok’s sword coming until an explosion of stars lit his skull.

He went down like a felled ox.

*   *   *

H
ey.” A hand the size of a turkey breast slapped his cheek once, then twice. “Hey, Percival. Rouse and rise, my friend.”

He caught the thick wrist before the man could hit him a third time. “Stop that.” His voice sounded slurred, and he struggled to remember where they were and what they were doing. It must have been one hell of a hit. But who had done the honors?

The dragon . . . Percival jerked upright amid the thick sawdust of the practice ring.

“You’re lucky Marrok struck you with the flat of his blade instead of the edge.” Cador studied him, frowning.

“Fortunately, I noticed how damned distracted you were,” Marrok growled, concern in his dark eyes as he knelt by Percival’s side. “What the hell is going on? First you’re going after us like it’s actual combat instead of practice. Then you damned near
nod off
right in the middle of an engagement. What the fuck is your problem?”

Cador snorted. “I can tell you that—and her name is Morgana le Fay.”

Marrok’s thick brows lowered as Percival reeled to his feet and brushed the sawdust off his practice leathers. “That right, Percival? I thought the whole idea was to get the witch
out
of your system, not let her burrow in deeper.”

Percival felt his cheeks heat as his two friends eyed him. “Morgana is my concern, not yours,” he snapped at Cador. “I’ll handle her as I see fit.”

“Yeeeah, riiiiiight,” the other knight drawled. “Because you’re obviously doing such a good job of handling her right now.”

“Fuck off.” A chill slid over him again as he remembered the fear that had so distracted him during that weapons pass.

Was Morgana all right?

He bent to pick his sword up out of the sawdust, flicked off a few clinging wood chips, and sheathed it with the speed of long practice. Without another word to either of his friends, he headed toward the gym door.

She’d better be all right. But if she was, he was going to teach her the error of her ways.

*   *   *

F
rowning, Marrok watched Percival stalk out, the set of his shoulders rigid with rage. “I don’t like the looks of this. She’s getting to him.”

“We knew she would. She’s good at that.” One corner of Cador’s lip lifted. “Women generally are.”

Marrok grunted. What few people knew was that Cador was actually a disillusioned romantic. As the second son of a minor king centuries ago, he’d been the prey of every plotting pretty woman in his father’s court. Cador had been only about fifteen or sixteen at the time, young enough to be easily seduced—and even more easily hurt. Again and again, he’d fall in love to discover the object of his affections was only using him to get to his brother, the king’s heir.

Apparently those women had been pretty vicious in their scorn for Cador’s gullibility.

When sixteen-year-old King Arthur had come through recruiting warriors to join his fight to reconquer his father’s fractured territories, Cador had been glad to join him and leave the scene of his repeated humiliation behind.

Like Marrok, he’d quickly fallen into Percival’s charismatic orbit. The three men—actually, boys at the time—had soon learned to fight as a lethal unit. It hadn’t been long before Arthur had made all three of them Knights of the Round Table.

Then Morgana had come along, and promptly become Percival’s obsession.

“Not that I can blame Percival for wanting to put the little bitch on her knees,” Cador said. “I’d kill to get a piece of that myself.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Marrok agreed. “That woman could give a corpse a cock-stand.”

“The question is how are we going to keep her from gutting Percival while he’s distracted by all the blood leaving his head for his dick?”

“By doing the only thing we can do: keep a damned close eye on them.” Marrok bared his teeth. “And be ready to shut her down cold before she can do any real damage.”

*   *   *

P
ercival found Morgana lying on her bed on a pile of fur, the sable a gorgeous contrast to her creamy skin. For a moment, he stared at her, caught between relief and worry; she lay unmoving. Hell, she barely even seemed to be breathing.

He moved around the bed until he could see her naked back. He’d flogged subs before, and he knew the effects of the kind of erotic beating he’d given her. There should have been at least a few long, slashing bruises across her arse and thighs, but the lush skin was unmarked. Bending his head as he stood over her, he listened with his vampire hearing and was promptly reassured by the steady, strong thump of her heartbeat.

She may not have obeyed him when it came to presenting herself to him at sunset, but at least she’d had the sense to call a healer.

Percival found himself wishing he could have stayed with her in the aftermath of her punishment. He’d always enjoyed giving his submissives aftercare—the affection and cossetting that was as much a part of BDSM as the discipline itself. Such play had a way of stripping away a sub’s emotional shields, leaving her painfully vulnerable. It was a top’s responsibility to help his bottom deal with those emotions.

He wanted to see Morgana like that—stripped of those formidable defenses. Open to him in every sense, not just sexually. Staring down at her, Percival was abruptly aware of a wave of need that darkened even as he gazed at her pale, lovely curves. She looked almost innocent as she lay curled there, though he knew she was anything but. Still, the effect sharpened his hunger into a ruthless craving.

Her arse was beautiful. He stared at the sweet, lush curves of her backside with its peach cleft, so deliciously tempting. His cock jerked in raw lust as he imagined the tight pucker between those pretty cheeks. What a delicious punishment that would be. Forcing his big dick into that tiny channel, grinding deep, listening to her moaning gasps as he buggered her mercilessly . . .

He grinned, feeling his fangs lengthen as his cock hardened at the thought of everything he was going to do to Morgana le Fay.

A
big hand wrapped around her jaw and dragged her head back. “Comfortable, Morgana?” Percival growled, his deep voice rumbling in her ear. “The sun has been down for fifty minutes, and I find you
still in fucking bed
.”

Panic splashed over her like an ice water bath, and she jolted awake, eyes flaring wide. Instinctively, she tried to roll out of bed, only to feel brawny arms drag her back against a big body. Half-awake, she tried to fight—but that, of course, did her no good at all, given that Percival was easily six inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier. Being a Maja made Morgana stronger than a human male her size, but nowhere near strong enough to match all that vampire muscle.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “Gwen healed me, and I just meant to lie down for a moment, but I don’t have an alarm clock and . . .”

“Are you giving me
excuses
?”

She swallowed as her brain belatedly came on line. “No, my Lord Percival.”

He grunted. “At least you remembered my title this time.”

“Does that disappoint you?” She instantly wished she’d kept her mouth shut. It was definitely not the time for sarcasm.

The big hand tightened around her throat, his grip almost ruthless enough to make her choke. Almost. “I don’t need an excuse to beat your tempting arse, my dear.” He licked the curve of her throat, making her shiver. “I can do it just because I’m bored.”

Powerful thighs wrapped around hers, tightening as one arm slid under hers, pulling her torso into an arch that forced her breasts out. A wide, warm palm covered a curving mound, long fingers plucking and twisting its peak. The sensation made her shudder and catch her breath. He teased her breasts slowly, first one and then the other, before sliding his hand down between her thighs. His fingers teased her erect clit and skated in her heating cream.

God, it felt good. So nakedly erotic. So maddening. “Percival . . .” she whimpered.

“Lord Percival.”

Her tongue couldn’t seem to manage the extra syllable. She could only groan and shiver as he tormented her with a sadist’s skill. “Like that?” he demanded, all black velvet heat.

“Ooooh,” she whimpered, unable to manage any reply more coherent than that.

He laughed, a dark male growl of satisfaction, and rolled her over on her stomach. Morgana opened her mouth to protest, only to freeze as he plucked a pair of leather cuffs from a gym bag on the bedside table. She realized he must have brought it with him.

Damned if she’d just lie there and submit. Morgana bucked against his merciless grip as he began buckling on the restraints. “Stop that!” he snapped in an unyielding tone. His broad male hand descended on her backside with a loud SWAT that sent an explosion of hot pain through her cheeks. Startled by the intensity of the sting, Morgana screeched. Ignoring her, Percival calmly finished fastening the cuffs and clipped them together behind her back. When he reached for her ankles, she gave him an instinctive kick. “Percival, you . . .”

“Don’t you think you’ve pushed me far enough?” he growled, clamping her thighs together between his own. Morgana fought—she couldn’t help herself—but it was like being caught in an industrial vise. There was absolutely no way to break Percival’s grip as he deliberately paused, spinning out the wait as he contemplated her bare arse.

Morgana felt her face go hot under that fierce stare.

He lifted his hand, paused an agonizing second, and brought it down with a meaty smack that made her arse jiggle. Heat instantly flushed through her dancing flesh. “Very nice. How does it feel knowing I can do anything I want to you?”

She swallowed. Her heart hammered so hard she could feel it in her throat.

“I asked you a question.” That hand came down again in another fiery blow. “How does it feel knowing I can beat your little rump until it’s pretty and pink? How does it feel knowing my cock is going up your tight little arse—and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop me?”

“I can say no,” she gasped.

“You could,” he retorted. “If you don’t mind violating your Oath. I’d even stop.” The hand rose and fell and rose again, each swat more painfully intense than the ones he’d given her before. “And then I’ll get up and walk out, and you will
never
go on another mission with my team again.”

Morgana swallowed. She couldn’t let that happen, no matter what he chose to do to her.

By the time he flipped her back onto the bed, her rump was red hot and her teeth were set against threatening tears. He cuffed her ankles and attached them to a spreader bar he pulled from that bag of his. She lay there, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes, as he produced a length of chain he looped around the foot of the bed.

The most humiliating thing about the whole experience was how wet her pussy was. Something about being spanked and chained triggered a fierce arousal such as she’d never felt before.

Her pride stung almost as much as her arse cheeks. Panting, Morgana glowered at Percival and growled, “You’re such a prick.”

“You’re really pushing it with that insolence.” He grinned, flashing fangs in a display that made her wonder whether he was more pissed or aroused. With vampires, it could be either.

With Percival, it was probably both.

Rolling off the bed, he started to strip out of his combat leathers. He dropped his scabbarded sword with a clatter at the foot of the bed, then shucked off his boots, leather jacket, and pants.

Her mouth went dry as she contemplated his towering strength, all cut, brawny muscularity.

And that dick. It jutted at her, looking every bit as thick as her wrist, with its ruddy head and heavy balls. Pre-cum pearled on its slit as he stared at her with hot, possessive gray-wolf eyes.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Morgana,” he told her, his voice low, rough. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about doing this to you.” As she watched, he delved in the black gym bag before pulling out a tube of lubricant. Squeezing it out in his palm, he started slicking it slowly over his cock, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that seemed to burn. “I trust you realize this is going to be more than a bit painful.” He bared his teeth. “But then, you have it coming.”

“What do
you
have coming?”

Percival’s smile was slow and thoroughly menacing as his hand caressed the length of his cock. She had no idea why that savage expression made her nipples tighten and her pussy clench. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

He picked up a pillow and stuffed it under her hips to lift her arse before kneeling astride her thighs. Morgana tensed, turning her head to watch him nervously. He grinned as he settled down over her, mantling her in thick muscle, his heavy cock pressing against her cheeks.

“Now,” he murmured in her ear, “how shall I break you of this habit of insolence?” He licked her carotid slowly in another of those erotic threats he did so well. “And then there’s the tardiness and lazy streak.”

Despite the sadism evident in his hold, her sense of humor kicked in. “I’ll admit to the insolence and tardiness, but I am
not
lazy.”

“Were you or were you not
asleep
when your Master had commanded your presence?” He rolled his hips against her rump in a slow, deliberate grind. “That sounds lazy to me, Oath Servant.”

“I didn’t oversleep deliberately, my lord.”

“Do you really think I give a damn?” Sliding a hand under her, he traced his fingers between her labia and then thrust deep into her pussy. He growled in pleasure at her wet, tight grip. “I must admit you don’t seem to feel much dread at the prospect of your punishment . . . Though I’m afraid you may find what I have in mind a bit more painful than you expect.”

“You do menace well, sir, but you’re wasting your breath. I don’t fear you.”

“No.” The vampire raked the tips of his fangs along the frantically thumping carotid that belied her bold words. “But you really should.” He chuckled in an evil male rumble. “And before I’m done with you, you will.”

She closed her eyes at the rush of hot, wet heat that pumped through her veins. “Do your worst.”
Please.

“Oh, I intend to.” He sat back, kneeling astride her thighs as he contemplated her bottom with blatant lust as he reached for the tube of lube and squeezed a generous amount into his palm.

He took his time greasing her anus, stroking two fingers deep, stretching her mercilessly. “Ooh, yes,” he purred. “You’re going to be a delicious fuck. And I’m going to bugger you hard.”

Morgana shuddered helplessly at the sensation of those big fingers readying her for his cock. She felt unspeakably aroused, even knowing how painful this was likely to be. She was no anal virgin, but the last time she’d attempted it had been a few decades back, and even then, her partner hadn’t had Percival’s savage size.

He was right: this was going to hurt.

And she didn’t give a damn. The idea of being taken by her knight in this dark way, submitting to his dominance as she’d always secretly yearned to do . . . Morgana closed her eyes and shuddered. Horned God, she’d never been so hot in her life. Never felt so raw, so eager to fuck, to feel the deep thrusts of a man’s cock in her arse.

And not just any cock, but Percival’s. She hungered for his possession with a deep, helpless yearning. Even if it hurt.

Maybe especially if it hurt.

“There now.” He contemplated her well-greased ass with satisfaction. “I think you’re ready for your lesson in obedience.”

The vampire knight mounted her, and Morgana tensed, arousal burning through her blood. Bracing himself on one arm, he positioned his cock. Hot, smooth skin brushed the tight, tiny pucker. “Now, look up.”

She raised her eyes and saw that at some point he’d moved her big full-length mirror so that it reflected the bed. Her reflected face looked pale and anxious. Percival’s looked predatory.

“Really, my lord?” She forced a superior smile. “Isn’t voyeurism beneath you?”

“No.” He leaned closer until she felt the heat of each word breathed against her ear. “I want to watch your face while I stuff your arse full of cock. Do
not
close your eyes, and do not look away.” He paused to taste the skin of her throat just above her collar in a way that suggested he was trying to decide where to bite. “I want you to watch your face in the mirror while you get it.”

Her eyes looked huge and anxious, her reflected face white as he covered her. He was so much larger than she was, his biceps and upper arms looking massive holding her down. She’d never seen herself as delicate, or particularly feminine, but she felt like a doll held in Percival’s merciless grip.

Instinctively, she tightened down as he began to press his way inside, though she knew it was exactly the wrong thing to do. She just couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Her anus began to sting ferociously around his merciless cock, the sensation building to a hot ache as it opened under the ruthless pressure. In the mirror, her green eyes widened even more as he circled his hips, screwing his way past the tight inner muscles one blazing inch at a time.

Morgana bit her lip, fighting the impulse to plead. She knew her Oath Master wasn’t in the mood to listen.

“Mmmm,” Percival rumbled as he slowly, slooooowly, entered her arse. “Very nice. I love the way you’re gripping my cock like a fist.” Bracing himself on his elbows as he forced another fraction deeper and lowered his head until he could whisper in her ear. “I’ll bet that hurrrrrts.”

“You’re a bastard,” she gasped.

“I certainly am.” The knight licked her ear and wrapped his hand around the front of her throat. “And you’ve got a delicious arse that just begs for reaming. I don’t mind telling you, this is my favorite kind of punishment, especially with such a delightfully snug victim.”

The fire built, the ache growing hotter and hotter as he rocked his hips and forced her arse to spread.

Finally his heavy balls nestled against her bottom, and he rumbled in possessive satisfaction. “In to the balls. How does that feel?”

Biting her lip, she refused to answer until he ground in with sadistic skill, tormenting the delicate inner tissues into a blaze of pain. “I asked you a question.”

“Ahhh! It hurts, you . . .” Stopping, she belatedly corrected herself. “It hurts, my lord. As you very well know.”

He laughed. “A good punishment is supposed to hurt.” Circling his hips, he gave her another hard grind. “And you’ve got it coming, don’t you?”

Teeth clenched, she made no answer.

He lifted his head, so that his gaze impaled hers in the mirror, narrow and cold in stark contrast to the heat of his possession.
“You have it coming, don’t you?”

“Yes, my lord.” She looked away.

“Eyes on me, Morgana!” he rapped out, and her head snapped up to meet his stare again. “For the record,” he growled, “I’m not talking about the petty, nasty shit you’ve done to me over the past fifteen hundred years.”

He reared over her, deepening the penetration another brutal fraction until there wasn’t room enough for a hair between them. She gasped.

“I’m talking about what you did to my brothers just because you fucking could. The casual jolts and magical cruelties you inflicted on men who couldn’t defend themselves—men who then had to fight and defend you because you were their teammate, and that was their duty. All that shit was beneath you, Morgana, and you know it.”