Wicked Games (17 page)

She'd lifted one hand to cast a spell of her own when Morgana caught her wrist. “Don't, Gwen. You'll only make it worse,” her friend said so softly, she doubted anyone else could hear. “If you let them work through it, maybe they can save their friendship.”

Knowing she was right, Gwen let her hand fall and the magic bleed away. Then, driven by sheer dark fascination, she reached for the Truebond.

It was like being swept up in a raging ocean storm. Fury burned in Arthur, an incandescent need to make the knight pay. Not only for taking Gwen, but for hurting her, forcing her to embrace her own destruction in an effort to save Lance's life. For putting Arthur himself in the position of damn near killing the woman he loved. And for having the goddamned arrogance to blame her for all of it.

He wanted Lance's head. He wouldn't take it, but he wanted it. Wanted to make Lance suffer as he'd suffered, as Gwen herself was still suffering.

“Arthur, it's not his fault!”

“I don't give a shit. He's lucky I don't fuck
him
up the arse. And I may do it yet.”

Then Arthur threw her out of his head.

She actually staggered and would have fallen, if Morgana hadn't caught her arm and held her up until she managed to get her feet under herself again.

“Are you all right?” the healer asked softly.

“Fine,” Gwen murmured, though she was shaken—and more than a little frightened.

Down in the courtyard, Arthur and Lance circled, crouched, watching each other with a black hostility that made her cringe.

Then Arthur turned into a wolf.

One minute he was a man. The next, a magic boiled around him, knocking him to all fours as his powerful body twisted, vanishing into a swarm of sparks. The sparks coalesced into a glowing, four-legged shape. When the glittering cloud vanished a heartbeat later, a muscular beast the size of a pony had taken his place. The wolf's thick fur was the same shining black as Arthur's hair. A couple of Gwen's ladies screamed in shock and horror as he leaped for Lance's throat.

“No, Arthur!” Gwen yelled.

Morgana grabbed her forearm and dug in her nails. “Hush,” she hissed. “Don't give the gossips more ammunition.”

Gwen scarcely heard her. With a startled shout, Lance had gone down beneath Arthur's vicious attack.

Magic flared, and suddenly there were two wolves, rolling and snarling and ripping at one another. Blood flew until even the Knights of the Round Table stepped back from their lethal violence.

Belatedly, Gwen realized Arthur might be in just as much danger from Lance as the other way around. She forgot her worry for her friend in fear for her husband. “Damn you, Lance, back the hell away!”

“That's more like it,” Morgana muttered. Gwen ignored her.

The black wolf's jaws locked onto his opponent's brown-furred throat. Lance snarled, twisting, clawing, trying to rip free, but he couldn't break Arthur's hold. Gradually his struggles weakened, until he stopped moving at all. Alarmed, Gwen reached out with her magical senses and realized he still lived; Arthur had simply choked him unconscious.

The black beast released him. Gold sparks wove across the furry brown body, and Lancelot was human again, sprawled unconscious on his back. His throat was now undamaged, but he was obviously still out cold.

Gwen blew out a breath and slumped in relief.

Only to tense again when the black wolf turned and looked up at her with feral eyes. Arthur flashed to human form in an explosion of gold. Taking three running steps, he leaped fifteen feet straight up to the balustrade as Gwen's ladies scattered. Snatching her into his arms, the king strode toward their chambers.

Behind them, Diera said, “Lucky bitch.”

“Diera!”

“As if you weren't thinking the same thing, Tyra, you little prig.”

Arthur laughed wickedly and kicked the door closed.

Y
ou and I are going to have a little talk about this habit you've acquired of trying to protect du Lac from me,” Arthur told Gwen. “Especially since the one who really needs protection is you.” Putting her down, he stripped off her belt, overskirt, and tunic, tossing them carelessly aside. Lifting her again, he pinned her against the wall and grinned down into her eyes. “Speaking of which, I think I figured out how to fuck you up your arse without fucking me up mine.” His smile was distinctly menacing. His nostrils flared as if scenting her, and his brows lifted. “Why, Guinevere Pendragon—I think you like it when I threaten you.”

She swallowed, feeling her nipples tighten with arousal. “So do you.”

He laughed, the sound a bit nasty. “Oh, no, darling—I like
carrying out
the threats.”

“You've always been a bit of a bastard.”

“And you'd do well not to forget it.” His eyes narrowed. “And even better to stop defending du Lac.” Wrapping a fist in her hair, he dragged her head back and raked the points of his fangs along the pulse in her throat. “Shall I bite your throat—or one of those sweet little nipples?”

She swallowed. “Brute.”

“We've already established you like my brutality.” His mouth closed over a nipple for one of those delicious, tongue-swirling sucks he did so well, his big hands supporting her as if she weighed no more than one of her gowns. She locked her ankles around his waist and her arms around his neck, letting herself savor his delicious attentions.

It felt so good to have him make love to her again instead of fucking her out of vengeance and pain.

“Don't be so quick to assume I've finished punishing you,” Arthur rumbled, his dark eyes flashing up to meet hers. “I may have made my point to du Lac in front of the whole court, but you will not escape so easily.”

She stared at him, her heart sinking. After the Truebond, she'd hoped the damage to their marriage had been mended. “I thought you understood.” Her voice sounded thin and hoarse to her own ears.

“Oh, I understand, but I don't like it. And, no, you are most definitely not forgiven.” His mouth crashed down on hers in a devouring kiss. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and he caught her lower lip in his teeth hard enough to prick it with the points of his fangs. His hips rolled between her thighs, letting her feel the thick ridge of his cock against her belly.

But in that moment, all she felt was pain. She kissed him back, tasting salt as one of her own tears rolled into the corner of her mouth.
“Oh, Arthur, God, Arthur . . .”

“What did you expect? You're the other half of my very soul, and you ripped out my heart by the roots
.
”

Bracing her back against the wall, he caught one of her wrists and peeled her arm from around his neck, then pinned it behind her, supporting her back with that arm. Automatically, she tried to pull free, but it felt like his grip had turned to solid steel. For a moment, she stared, stricken, into his face as a muscle worked in his strong jaw. Then he spun them away from the wall.

And let her drop.

She yelped as her upper torso fell backward, only to snap to a stop, supported by her legs wrapped around his waist and the big male hand gripping her wrist behind her back. She dangled there, her upper body arched painfully, her right hand planted on the floor, keeping her head from rapping against it. Helpless, caught. Utterly at his mercy.

With her heart pounding ferociously in her ears, it took Gwen a moment to realize he had a better hold on her than she'd thought. One arm wrapped around her hips while the other held her arm, supporting her back in the process. “Damn you, Arthur!” She twisted her head back to eye the floor. It was definitely too close to her head. “What are you
doing
?”

“Put your knees over my shoulders.” His voice was a velvet rumble, but his hard gaze made his words an order.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” That fine jaw muscle ticked again. “Gwen, I'll not drop you no matter how angry I am.”

She stared at his handsome, implacable face. That cold black gaze said one thing, but the thick cock rubbing against her crotch said something else again. “I don't believe I like this game of yours, Arthur.”

“That
is
too bad. Am I in the habit of giving an order twice?”

She was coming to hate that silken tone—the one he'd always reserved for those who'd earned his displeasure. He'd never used it on her. Until now. “Why are you doing this?” She wasn't talking about the position she was in.

“Because I want to. Because you like it. Because you hurt me. Pick. One.” His voice iced. “Now, Gwen.”

Uncoiling each leg from around his waist, she maneuvered them, one at a time, to hook over his shoulders. Still supporting her back with the grip on her wrist, he shifted the hand holding her. He shifted his grip from one hip to one of her arms until he could support her back. She grunted as the move twisted her arms higher against her spine.

“Gwen.” Just the one word, but it all but glittered with metallic threat.

Gwen tightened the grip of her legs, then lifted her bracing hand to position it with the hand he still held. His warm fingers opened and manacled that wrist, too.

Now she had no way to catch herself, at least not physically. Of course, she could conjure an entire featherbed if she chose, but that did nothing for her acute sense of vulnerability.

Arthur purred as if sensing her discomfort. His lips curving into a hot smile, he transferred his attention to her pussy. Her maiden hair almost touched his lips. His lids veiled his dark eyes as he opened his mouth and gave her a long, teasing lick.

Sensation bolted through her, a hot flood of it raging through her body. He licked her thoroughly, pausing often as if to savor her, the tip of his tongue sliding between her labia, drawing lines of fire. It seemed each stroke made her entire body reverberate like a cathedral bell. Up. Down. Slow, lazy circles alternating with quick, lashing strokes over her clit that made her buck.

She was acutely conscious of his supporting arm cradling her back, both her wrists in the grip of his free hand. It was not a pose a mortal man could have held, but Arthur was not a mortal man. The discomfort should have made arousal more difficult with the worry he might drop her. Instead that tension only added to her heat.

Helpless. She was helpless. And she liked it that way.

So did he. She could see it in his glittering eyes, in the flash of his fanged smile between licks. In the possessive way his gaze lingered on her nipples and the pink sex inches from his mouth.

“You taste like sin,” he murmured. “All musk and juice. Begging for cock.” That grin again, broad enough to reveal fangs. “I see no reason not to oblige you.”

He carried her to the bed and lowered her to the cool sheets. Straightening, Arthur paused and looked down at her, his gaze lingering on peaked nipples and the sex now wet from his mouth.

She stared back, taking in the breadth of his shoulders and the jut of his cock, its ruddy curved shaft and heavy balls. He looked like a handsome demon, come to drive her insane.

“I think you need something to remind you of your place.” He looked around the room until his gaze fell on the pile of protective sleep sacks she'd created days before. He grinned. “Ah, those will do.” Sauntering over, he bent over the sacks and busied himself. When he rose a moment later, he held a number of long leather laces in his hands.

Arthur tied her up like a lamb on fair day, bending her legs so he could loop the leather in a figure eight that bound her right calf to her right thigh. After tying her right wrist to that ankle, he repeated the process with her left leg. When he was done, she was curled in a tight ball.

“Just the way I like you: ready to be fucked.” Spreading her bound legs, he studied her helplessly creaming cunt. “The question is, with what?”

He moved away again. When he came back a moment later, he held two knives. One was a slim dagger, but the other was a heavy hunting knife. When he started coating its thick deerhorn hilt with lavender oil, she knew where he intended to put it.

One by one, Arthur drew the blades from their scabbards. Gwen stiffened, not sure she liked where this was going.

“You look a bit nervous.” Giving her that demonic grin, he slid the hilt of the dagger into her pussy. Then, gripping the hunting knife by its bare blade, he pushed its handle slowly, so slowly, into her anus. The hot stretch made her hiss.

God, it felt incredible—the textured hilts of the knives probing in slow, hot thrusts, satisfying the hot need that had been rising since he'd pinned her against the wall. The sensation only intensified when he twisted the one in her arse, pumping hard.

“Pretend it's me and Lance,” he told her, and curled a lip. “I, of course, am the one up your arse.”

“He wouldn't touch me if you gave him a royal command.”

“Don't fool yourself, darling—he'd jump at the chance. He may have had you, but he doesn't remember it. I'd wager the royal treasury that's driving him insane.” Slowly, Arthur slid the hilt of the dagger in and out as he buggered her with the hunting knife's handle. In with one, out with the other, the taunting strokes deep as he brushed her clit with his thumb. “He'd kill to sink into this pretty pink pussy. Oh, he might tell himself he's punishing you, but a man will tell himself any lie to touch his dream.”

God, he was driving her insane. Those hilts grinding in and out in opposite strokes, stretching and tormenting her arse and pussy, pain and pleasure blending in an erotic stew that maddened her until her hips rolled helplessly. “Arthur, you wretch. . . .”

“You like that, don't you?” Fangs flashed. “God knows I do.” A lock of hair fell over his eyes, and he lifted one hand to brush it back, leaving a smear of red across his temple.

“Arthur, you're bleeding!” Despite her bonds, Gwen tightened her stomach muscles until she could look at his hands. Both of them bore bleeding slashes where he gripped the bare knife blades. “What are you doing? Stop that!”

“No.” He went right on thrusting the two knives, teasing her pussy and arse.

Gwen was no longer in the mood to be teased. “Dammit, Arthur! What is this, some new way of punishing me?”

“Perhaps you're not the one I'm punishing.”

“Stop it!” Horrified, she watched the blood drip between his fingers to plop softly on the stone floor in a quiet rain. “Saints, Arthur . . .”

“Merlin warned me not to leave you after your transformation, that I would rue it if I did. Like a fool, I didn't listen—and left you and my best friend at the mercy of that damned Gift of his.”

“I don't care! Let me heal you, husband. Please!”

“I can heal myself.” He pulled both knife hilts out of her and tossed the weapons aside with a clatter of steel on stone. “All I have to do is turn into a wolf.”

Sparks exploded in a silent detonation, and there was a black wolf standing there on his hind legs, massive head between her thighs. He gaped his jaws at her in a lupine grin, tongue lolling. He looked even bigger up close than he had down in the courtyard, fighting Lance.

“Ummm.” Eyes widening, Gwen stared at him.
This is headed in no good direction.

She wasn't at all surprised when he lowered his head and gave her cunt a long lick with that wet wolf tongue. “Stop that! You sin, Arthur!”

His eyes rolled up to look at her, but he went right on licking, his thin, agile tongue curling over sensitive flesh as she squirmed helplessly. Gwen could feel his unrepentant amusement through the Truebond despite the mental barriers he'd erected.

His tongue felt very wet, and his hot breath gusted over her with every lick.

Gwen squirmed in a combination of arousal and intense discomfort. Glaring at his big black-furred head, she growled, “I should feed you a fireball.”

He looked at her and growled in warning, a harsh whipsawing sound. When he jumped up on the bed, the mattress sank under his considerable weight. Hot black eyes locked on her face as he stepped between her bound legs and paced up over her curled body. Coarse sable fur brushed over her knees, and the tip of his tail teased her thighs. He was so big, he barely had to spread his paws as he straddled her.

Looking down at her with feral dark eyes, Arthur curled his upper lip, revealing an impressive collection of very sharp teeth. His hot breath smelled of mead as he loomed over her, and she shivered in reaction. There was a threat in his gaze she was glad she didn't understand.

With another explosion of gold sparks, he became human again. Displaying healed hands as he knelt astride her, Arthur lifted a dark brow. “You're not the only one who can do magic.”

“Lovely. You do realize I don't bed things that have more legs than I do?”

He smiled, all teeth. “You're assuming I'd give you a choice.”

“Oh, I have a choice. I could work a spell to make myself a wolfskin rug.”

“I'm terrified.”

“You should be. I'm not joking.”

“And I don't take well to threats.” He knelt, straddling her head, and cupped the back of her neck. “Unlike you. Get ready to suck, Gwen. Or I'll bend you over my knee again.” Taking his cock in one hand, he presented it to her lips, caught her jaw, and pressed his thumb into the hinge to keep it open as he thrust his cock inside.

She was tempted to bite him, but an idea made her instead suck hard on the smooth shaft and its velvety mushroom head.

For a few minutes Gwen let herself savor the textures and tastes of Arthur Pendragon's cock. Fellatio made a lovely distraction as she threw up her own mental barrier in the Truebond, and plotted.

“That's better,” he purred, rolling his hips to fuck her mouth. “You need to remember who rules here.”