Master of Valor (Merlin's Legacy 2)

by Angela Knight

  Leaning closer, he brushed his thumb over the silken angle of her jaw, kissing his way from the corner of her mouth to the curve of her ear, exploring the contours of bone and silken flesh. All the while, she touched him, her elegant, tapered fingers dancing over his skin, until his every muscle drew hard and eager.

  It had been six months since he’d made love to the Court Seducer sent to transform him into a Magus. Since then he’d been utterly consumed by the need to learn everything an agent of the Magekind needed to know. The closest he’d been to a woman had been drinking blood from a bottle. The only female touch he’d experienced had been when Masara demonstrated the proper way to handle a sword.

  Now her hands caressed his aching cock. The scent of her rolled over his head, sex and woman and magic, but more importantly, Masara. Masara, whom he’d craved like a junkie craved a fix for months, even while believing she’d never let him touch her. Now that he could, he was going to make it last.

  His mouth found the throbbing pulse of her carotid, and the scent of her flooded his skull until it seemed he tasted her on his tongue. The delicious aroma sent two needles of sweet pain driving from the tips of his fangs all the way to their roots. His stomach cramped as though he were starving. I could taste her, wheedled a desperate, hungry voice from the depths of his brain. Just one small bite. She won’t mind. Duncan jerked his head up, away from that tempting throb. I mind. I’m going to make this good for her.

  He realized the hand that gripped her dreads had tightened until he was pulling her head to one side, exposing her pounding pulse. He released her hair as if it had burned him. The pain in his jaw intensified…

  A warm, smooth palm curved around his cheek, and Masara’s dark eyes met his. “Hey. Duncan, hey.” He could barely hear the words over the deep throb of her heartbeat. It had quickened with excitement. Or was that fear? God, I hope it’s not fear.

  “Stop that.” Her fingers tightened on the curve of his cheek. “I brought you here to feed you, remember?”

  The inside of his mouth had gone so dry, he had the ugly suspicion he needed to brush his teeth. “Maybe it would be better if you just gave me one of those bottles, let me take the edge off.” He forced his mouth into a smile he didn’t feel. A quiver ran through his legs, and honesty forced him to add, “Or maybe two bottles.”

  “A bottle will not give you what you need. Not considering how much magic you had to use healing that head injury.” She tangled her fist in his long hair. “I want you to drink from me.” And she tilted her head back and a little to one side, pulling his head down until his lips brushed the silken curve of her throat.

  Lust and hunger leaped so high, it scared him. He tried to jerk back, but she held fast. He remembered a horror story his Court Seducer had told him about a Latent who’d been unable to control his hunger. She’d had to kill the poor bastard to keep him from ripping her throat out. “I don’t think I’d better. A bottle…”

  “You won’t lose control,” Masara interrupted, her voice steady, confident. “If you didn’t lose control when you became a Magus, you won’t lose it now. That’s not the way it works.”

  “But…”

  Her magic brushed his consciousness again, reopening the psychic link she’d established. And he felt what she was thinking. Masara believed in him. Believed absolutely that he would not lose control, that he would take no more than she wanted to give him. I’m safe with you. And you’re safe with me. Do it. I want this as much as you do.

  With a groan of surrender, he opened his lips against her silken skin and bit deep. His fangs sank into the soft, thin flesh, and her blood flooded his mouth. She groaned, the sound sensual with arousal.

  Her blood tasted completely different from the meaty copper tang he’d tasted whenever he’d split his lip as a mortal. The flavor was even more intense than her bottled blood. Masara straight from the vein was sunlight, sex, and woman, overlaid with a smoky scent that reminded him of sparklers on the Fourth of July.

  Magic.

  He heard her groan with pleasure, felt her enjoyment flood his mind. Her lean, muscled arms wrapped around him as he drank, and every inch of her body pressed against his. One smooth leg slid up his, hooking around the back of his thigh until he could feel the soft hair of her pussy, the press of plump lips, already growing damp. The hot intimacy of her hold sent a shudder rolling through his body. He paused to draw his fangs from her, but she cupped the back of his head and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

  “Just for a moment,” he murmured, and bent to sweep her into his arms, then carried her to the bed, her body feeling weightless as a feather as he lowered her to the mattress. Dark eyes met his, and she tilted her head back in invitation. With a groan, Duncan took her throat again, and the raw sex taste of her flooded his mouth. He moaned in pleasure.

  With every swallow, magic flooded his body until it felt as if he could bench-press a tank. Her hips rolled against his, her flat, silken belly stroking the hard jut of his cock as her nipples teased his chest with every breath, until the clamor of his cock was louder than the roar of his hunger. With exquisite care, he drew his fangs from her throat. Looking down, he saw blood beading, bright crimson against her dark skin. He bent his head and licked the tiny wound, so that the magic in his saliva would induce it to heal. By tomorrow, no one would even know she’d been bitten.

  Something told him the mark she left on him would last a lot longer.

  * * *

  Duncan’s eyes looked very blue in the frame of wild chestnut curls as he met her gaze, licking a bead of blood away from his full lower lip. Memory reared up, jabbing fear into her mind. That shade of blue was just too close to his. She buried the thought hastily, knowing she and Duncan were still linked. He was too vulnerable for that revelation, too raw and uncertain in their relationship. Whatever that relationship was -- she wasn’t sure she knew herself.

  To distract them both, Masara danced her fingertips along the ridge of muscles of his back, to the dip of his spine, then traced its hollow downward. There was nothing at all soft about the man, not in his body or his mind. Anything pampered had been driven out by the Marine Corps and Afghanistan. She brushed his thoughts in the link. He was utterly enthralled by the feel of her body, her scent, and her taste and her touch.

  Duncan considered her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, though he’d never said the words to her aloud. She’d been told she was beautiful before, but his mind held none of that greed she’d experienced from other men, no edge of possession or entitlement. There was something incredibly seductive about seeing herself through Duncan’s eyes.

  You really don’t know me very well, she thought, more to herself than to him.

  I know you better than you think. I know what counts. One big hand slid from her waist, tracing teasing patterns along the ridges of her ribs. She could see his goal in his mind -- her dark, stiffened nipples. Which grew even harder at the thought of his touch. Every inch of her body felt sensitized and eager as his fingers caressed her with such exquisite care.

  Hungry to give him the same pleasure, Masara began to explore. He was plated with slabs of muscle, the powerful shapes nested together like puzzle pieces over his big bones. Soft hair grew on his chest, stretching from one nipple to the other before narrowing down into a thin trail leading to the ruff surrounding his erect cock.

  “Do you want me to shave it?”

  “Don’t you dare. You’re a man, not a Ken doll.” She stroked the soft, springy curls. “Besides, I like how it feels.”

  “See if you like this too.” He pushed her over onto her back and began to kiss his way down her neck. Her breath roughened as she anticipated the touch of his mouth on her nipples, so hard and aching… but instead he kept kissing down the length of her sternum, pausing here and there to nibble a rib, or swirl his tongue around some freckle he found particularly erotic.

  He paused at her belly button, licking its outer rim, the ticklish sensation making her squirm. He thrust
his tongue in and out of the little dip. When she giggled and tried to twist away, he caught her hips in both big hands, holding her down.

  The memory burst from the psychic closet she’d locked it in: hard hands pinning, pain ripping as he… Masara stiffened, fighting the rise of cold panic.

  Duncan instantly released her and jerked back, eyes widening with shock and horror. “Sorry! I’m so sorry…”

  Masara grabbed his face in both hands to keep him from retreating further. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago and you’re nothing like him.” She jacked up into a sitting position and kissed him so hard her lips ground against his erect fangs.

  At last he groaned and kissed her back. He started to reach for her, then froze.

  “Don’t you dare treat me like I’m any less,” she growled.

  To her surprise, his lips twitched in a smile. “You’re the most more woman I’ve ever known.” Gently, Duncan took her face in both hands and kissed her again, first a slow, tender brush of the lips, a delicate apology for stirring such horrible memories. When she swirled her tongue around his, he opened his mouth and his mind to her completely, showing her exactly how he felt. Let her see how often he’d watched the curve of her backside as she walked away from him. How he’d been hypnotized by the elegant fluidity of her every movement, whether she was swinging a sword or pouring him a glass of blood.

  Beneath that, she felt his longing for her, his belief that he had nothing to give her that she could possibly want. Because he was broken.

  “You are not broken.”

  He recoiled, as if he hadn’t intended to reveal quite so much. Planting both hands on his shoulders, Masara pushed him back on the bed and swung a leg over his hips. She bent to kiss him, intent on showing him with her mouth and her hands just what she thought of him. Showed him the memory of watching his big body move, all power and grace even when he was struggling to learn some sword technique alien to his experience. Showed him she’d wanted him even when she’d thought she should be nothing more than his teacher.

  Masara no longer cared what she should be. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and their relationship had nothing whatsoever to do with coercion. And believe me, I do know the difference.

  Duncan went still, half afraid to believe she meant it.

  To prove she did, she started licking and sucking her way down his chest. Found his tight, tiny male nipple, rosy against his pale skin. She sensed his embarrassment at his pale skin, a product of his hospital stay, preserved by Merlin’s Gift. There’s nothing sickly about you. Masara flashed him an image of himself as he leaped at the werewolf, swinging his axe in a great arc.

  With a growl, Duncan jackknifed off the bed and wrapped both arms around her. “Let me…”

  So she did. Duncan bent her back against the hard brace of his arms while his mouth closed over a stiff nipple. Pleasure poured through her as he laved the eager point, raked it with delicate passes of his teeth. She felt the curve of his fangs against her breast, felt how he craved her even after feeding so deeply. Not because he was hungry, but because she was Masara. And he craved her. Needed her.

  He kissed his way to the other breast to lavish attention on it, and she heard the purr of thought in his mind. Beautiful, so beautiful and sweet, a Hershey’s kiss of a nipple… Followed by a guilty, Not supposed to compare you to food…

  “Don’t care,” she growled, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him tight against her skin. “More!”

  Duncan gave her what she asked for, suckling and stroking, finding the perfect pressure from listening to her mind, to her body’s hot response to his touch. He started exploring every inch of her he could reach, seeking out each sensitive spot -- here behind one bent knee, there under her arm, exploring. Listening to her body through the link with absorbed attention.

  It was surprising how much intimacy their psychic link gave to making love. Her pleasure fed his and his arousal fed hers, each touch and kiss and taste amplifying their need. Duncan leaned down, spread her legs, and breathed deep, inches from the heart of her pussy. She was surprised at how erotic he found the scent; she’d never much liked the odor of her body.

  Blue eyes blinked up at her. “Are you kidding? You’re the most delicious thing I’ve ever smelled.” And he caught both legs under each knee and draped them over his broad shoulders. His mouth covered her pussy, and the first slick slide of his tongue made her eyes roll back.

  He made a deep, purring sound. “So that’s what that feels like. I see why you like it.” Then he began to lap at her in quick, thirsty strokes that maddened her, made her writhe and roll her hips against his face.

  Masara had been eaten out before, of course, but there was something so different about the way he did it. It was no polite tit-for-tat service. It wasn’t just a stop on the way to his orgasm. For him, cunnilingus was a profound erotic experience all by itself. It made her want to suck him off.

  “Later,” he growled against her pussy, though his cock jerked at the thought of sliding into her wet mouth. He closed his lips around her clit in a deep, drawing suckle and slid two fingers between her wet lips. He ate her greedily, piling pleasure upon pleasure, until he had to stop, gasping, too close to the edge himself.

  Masara took ruthless advantage of his distraction, wrapping her magic around him and pulling him up off her and onto his knees. And ignored the protesting twinge from her brain’s overused magic centers. Duncan gasped in shock, tried to struggle, only to discover even vampire strength couldn’t break the bonds magic created.

  She sat up and gave him a deliberately wicked smile. “You look a picture,” she told him, admiring the straining arc of his powerful body, the deep bow of his erect cock dewed in pre-come.

  “Don’t,” he groaned, seeing in the link what she intended. “I won’t be able to…”

  “You underestimate yourself. And me too.” Leaning down, she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft and stroked, enjoying the way he writhed, the way his hips bucked even as he fought the need to come. Opening her mouth, she engulfed him in a long sweep, shuddering as the link showed her just how incredible that felt to him -- the delicious heat of her mouth sliding along the exquisitely sensitive skin of his shaft. Up. Down. Using all the skills she learned even before she became a Maja.

  As the dark memory rose, he stiffened, appalled, but she shut it away fast and lifted her head. “This is for my pleasure as much as yours,” she told him fiercely and then took him as deep as she could with a slow, wet slide of tongue and lips.

  The stark power of the sensation brought him so close to orgasm, his entire body seemed to vibrate like a struck tuning fork. He fought the building pulses, trying to hold onto his self-control, determined not to disappoint her.

  You won’t disappoint me, she thought at him, taking him deep again, slowly sliding down the wet shaft. I can make you come as many times as I want, and my magic can still make your body harden with a touch.

  But I want the first time to be in you. The hot intensity behind the thought drove right through her absorption with the sensual elegance of his body. Looking up into those fierce blue eyes, she realized he meant it. He needed to come inside her with the desperation of a man who’d been helpless, who’d seen himself as crippled and less.

  She released him. With a moan of gratitude that morphed into a growl of hunger, he snapped forward, pouncing on her and tossing her to the bed on her back. Grabbing her behind each leg, he spread her wide and entered in a long, driving thrust that ripped a cry from her mouth. She knew she must have had lovers as well-endowed as Duncan, but none of them had ever felt like this.

  He froze, staring into her face, letting them both adjust to the feeling of him so deep in her wet, tight heat. She rolled her hips against him, opening her mind to his, wanting to feel how he felt taking her. Hungry to feel his body respond to hers, to share his delight and hunger.

  “God, yes.” He began to fuck her, sliding out slowly, carefully, and then in again, tee
th clenched as he fought his pleasure and hers. His eyes were wide with wonder, as if he was once again that sixteen-year-old virgin jock making it with a cheerleader in the back of his dad’s SUV…

  She carefully suppressed the memory of her own first time. To make sure it stayed buried, she tightened inner muscles around his thick cock. Duncan made a strangled sound in his throat. He began to pump, driving deeper, harder, sensation piling upon sensation, her pleasure upon his, intensifying each other.

  Masara hunched up at him as fiercely as he drove down at her. She could feel how desperately he strained to contain the orgasm even as his body screamed for release. “Let go!” she gasped in his ear, grinding up as he plunged in and out. The pleasure gathered in a ferocious, towering wave that hung over them, defying gravity as it built.

  “I love you!” he gasped, and she saw he meant every word.

  The fire crashed down on them, drowning them in flame and wet heat and blinding magic. He roared in her ear as she screamed, coming, driving her nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders.

  When it was all over, they lay there, hearts thundering in a ragged chorus. Duncan had collapsed beside her, both arms wrapped around her, and she could feel how wrung out he felt, how breathless and exhilarated.

  Then he said it again. “I love you.”

  No, you don’t, she thought.

  His head jerked up off the pillow and those blue eyes met hers. Hurt and anger lanced through him. “I know how I feel.”

  “I’m not rejecting you,” she told him quietly. “It’s just easy to get carried away.” And she knew he heard the rest of the thought flashing through her mind. He was young, and he’d never known the intensity of a battlefield psychic link. That, combined with the importance of a mentor’s approval, then fighting beside her against monsters trying to kill them both… It was easy to misread that kind of relationship and make it into more than it was. “I just don’t want you hurt.”