God, it felt so good. He felt so good. She stroked both hands up and down the length of his brawny thighs, cupped the weight of his balls in one hand, running the other along his shaft in a tight practiced grip. And all the while she worshiped him, swirling her tongue over the elegant mushroom head of his cock, angling the big shaft upward so she could nibble down its length from the sensitive rim and along the snaking veins to the balls. Sucking each in turn into her mouth, she gave them both swirling licks that wrung a deep groan from him. As powerful as he was, for all his Magus strength and feral intelligence, she loved that her mouth had the power to make him quiver like a horse run hard.
“Speaking of horses, you’d better mount me soon,” he told her, his voice a growling rumble. “I don’t know how much longer I can last.”
In the Truebond, she replied, “You underestimate yourself, my king. I’ll make you rise again.” She kissed him, lips pressing hot against his. “And again.” Another slow, burning kiss. “And again.”
Dropping to her knees, Gwen engulfed him again in one long breathless sucking swoop, taking him in almost to the balls. The tight grip of her fist on his shaft pumped once, twice, three times.
And he roared, flooding her mouth with salty jets of come. Swallowing, she felt him shudder against her body. His knees buckled, but he caught himself and straightened again.
“God,” he groaned, “you’re good at that.”
She leaned over and bit one of the twitching muscles of his thigh. His knees almost buckled again, and she smiled. “I’m glad you approve.”
“Oh, I more than approve.” He bent, hooked an arm under her arse, and lifted her, straightening with effortless strength. Giving her a toothy Magus smile, he purred, “I mean to fuck you blind.”
“Oh.” She blinked at him, at those white fangs so very close, and felt her mouth go dry.
He laughed, and turned with her to shove her back against the cave wall behind them so that the waterfall tumbled over their heads again. His mouth fed on hers, a hot, delicious contrast to the water, and she moaned against his lips.
The stone behind her felt cool, worn smooth from uncounted years of pounding spray, and she shivered a little. Not that she was cold, not with Arthur pressed between her thighs, muscular and hot and kissing her like a demon, all dark seduction.
His velvet lips brushed and teased as his tongue swirled around hers, so sweet, so familiar, but with a deliciously alien edge provided by his fangs. One hand supported her rump as the other roamed her body, stroking breasts and belly and arse with wicked skill, pausing to squeeze and tug a nipple or caress the line of her throat in a dark I’m-going-to-bite-you promise.
As he toyed with her, cream flooded her sex, joining the slickness that had only increased since she’d started undressing him.
Lifting her with that abrupt, overwhelming Magus strength, he sucked one nipple into his mouth. The sensation of wet heat, the taunting swirls of his skilled tongue—all those gorgeous carnal pleasures were almost enough to make her come.
Almost.
What Gwen really needed was his cock. She could feel its smooth head brushing her pussy when he moved, so painfully erect it stood straight up, as if begging him to impale her. “Fuck me, Arthur.” She let her head fall back against the stone wall. The waterfall cascaded onto her face, and she gasped into the spray. It didn’t help a bit. “Please. I need it.”
He lifted his head from her hard nipple to give her a Satanic grin. “No.”
“If you want me to beg . . .”
“Please do.” The grin broadened.
“Wretched man.”
He closed his teeth over her nipple in a ridiculously arousing bite. “Well, it makes me so hard when you beg.”
“Surely that’s redundant at this point.”
“True. I’d still love to hear you do it.”
“Fine.” She met his hot gaze. “Please, Arthur Pendragon. I need your cock. I need to feel you driving to the balls in my tight, slick pussy. I need your mouth on my tits. I need your fangs in my throat, drinking my blood. I need . . .” Your forgiveness.
She hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud, not even in the Truebond. Yet still the words hung there, seeming to glow with their intensity.
Your forgiveness.
The wicked humor banished from his eyes. “You have it.”
Her eyes widened as the impact of those words hit her like a longbow arrow thunking into her heart. He meant it.
“Of course I mean it.” Arthur sounded slightly impatient in the Truebond, as if he was stating something she should damn well know. “What kind of idiot throws love away?”
Someone who doesn’t believe it was love at all.
“Gwen, we’ve been married seventeen years,” he told her roughly. “I don’t need the Truebond to know how you feel.” He flashed that white fanged grin at her, anticipation lighting his dark eyes. “I sure as hell know how I feel . . .”
And he picked her up and drove her down on his cock, impaling her in a thick, hot rush. The sensation of being stuffed with him almost made her eyes cross. It also felt incredibly arousing, so deliciously pleasurable, she writhed helplessly in his powerful arms.
He rolled his hips as he tightened his strong grip on her arse, forcing her downward onto his shaft as he simultaneously thrust upward.
Gwen gasped, relishing his deep, grinding strokes, throwing her head back, enjoying the waterfall’s cool patter striking her face.
A big hand tangled in her hair. Arthur’s burning eyes met hers as his hunger blazed at her in the Truebond, as intense as the sensation of the cock probing her.
Dragging her head back, arching her neck, her husband sank his fangs into her throat.
Gwen groaned in pleasure at the heat of his velvet mouth, the sharp sensation of his teeth slicing her skin. He began to drink as his hips rolled and his hands lifted her up and down, grinding her onto his cock.
The hot pleasure of cock and fangs felt overwhelming and delicious as pounding sensation sent her flying.
“Jesu, Arthur,” Gwen whispered. “It feels so good.”
“Then let me make it better,” Arthur said in the Truebond. And dropped every last psychic barrier he had.
The pleasure she felt became a ferocious storm of delight as Arthur’s sensations piled onto her own. Gwen screamed, the sound rough with raw lust. Though the king’s lips were sealed over her throat, his satisfied growl rumbled against her skin.
He’d been blocking the link so long, she’d almost forgotten the shattering power of a shared orgasm. It was so much more intense than any climax she’d ever had—a blinding sensory storm.
But the real impact hit when their blended orgasm at last began to fade. Gwen became aware of Arthur’s mind. Not just his surface thoughts, but the deeper emotions and worries he’d been blocking for weeks. Carefully, he slid his fangs from her skin with a final satisfied lick. And faced her, drawing her close.
“I was wrong.” He stared down into her eyes, his own steady and unflinching with honesty. “Wrong about refusing to let you fight. I’d be dead now if you hadn’t brought Excalibur to me, if you hadn’t asked Nimue to help you create the sword, even though it meant paying the price of its creation in pain.”
He sighed and stroked her face. “I’ve seen war cripple men with fear and evil memories. I’ve lived with my own nightmares, my own bloody ghosts. I didn’t want you to know that shadow on your pure soul.” He hesitated. “But more than that, I didn’t want to risk losing you. I couldn’t stand the thought of watching you fall beneath Mordred’s sword.”
“But I didn’t.” She eyed him, wondering where he was going with this.
“No. I underestimated you. You’re so much stronger than I thought a woman could be, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, too. But I should have known better. You’ve always been strong throughout all the years of our marriage, despite war and miscarriages and everyone who wanted us dead, my son included. Hell, you’re stron
ger than I am, come to that.” Suddenly his mood shifted into lazy menace, dark eyes glittering. “Which doesn’t change the fact that you disobeyed a royal order.”
“Ah. Yes. Well . . .” Gwen’s pleased smile faded into sensual alarm.
“You do know,” he murmured, his lids dipping as he leaned close to whisper, his voice rough and erotic, “what happens to a pretty little witch queen who ignores her king’s orders?”
“A spanking?”
He flashed those fangs. “Yes—as an appetizer. Unfortunately for you, I’m afraid it’s going to take quite a bit more than that to satisfy me. One mere spanking just won’t be enough.”
She swallowed and licked her lips, her heart banging in her chest. “It won’t?”
“I’m afraid that tight little arse of yours will be paying the price for your defiance.”
Gwen returned his hot male smile with a sassy grin. “I look forward to it.”
“We’ll see just how happy you are when my hand starts reddening that pretty rump.” His grin broadened. “And my cock starts fucking it.”
But beneath that erotic anticipation was another set of emotions: relief that they’d survived despite the odds, despite the cost. “I love you, Gwen,” he told her.
“And I love you, my king.”
His strong arms drew her close, and she nestled against him with a purr of happy anticipation.
No matter what challenges the future held as they tried to save humanity from itself, Gwen knew she and Arthur would meet them together. And they’d overcome.
“Of course we will,” Arthur said. “Love does not back down.”
AFTERWORD
Many of the Knights of the Round Table who appear in “The Once and Future Lover” find happiness in my other published Mageverse novels and novellas, all of which are set in the present day.
Lancelot falls in love with Morgana’s granddaughter, cop Grace Morgan, in “Seduction’s Gift,” a novella in Hot Blooded.
In “Galahad,” a novella in the anthology Bite, Lancelot’s son falls for a beautiful former teacher named Caroline Lang.
Gawain comes to love Tristan’s granddaughter, Lark McGuin, in Master of Swords.
In Master of Shadows, Tristan finds court seducer La Belle Coeur impossible to resist.
Centuries pass before Arthur and Gwen have a son. In Master of Fire, cop and forensic scientist Logan MacRoy (whose last name means “son of the king”) falls for a beautiful chemist named Giada Shepherd.
I regret to say three characters in “The Once and Future Lover” do not get happy endings. Sir Bors dies in combat in the course of one of the books, as does Lady Diera.
In a couple of the books, I list Sir Kay as among the current Knights of the Round Table. However, in two other Mageverse stories, I state Kay died in action during World War II. (This contradiction is a result of both my rotten memory and the fact the series took a decade to write.)
While writing “The Once and Future Lover,” I realized Kay must be dead, because he’s too important as one of Arthur’s advisors. If he were still alive, he’d be front and center, so he must be dead in the present day.
If you’d like to learn more about my books, please visit my website, angelasknights.com. You’ll find a list of the Mageverse books in reading order there at angelasknights.com/books.html. (Note that several of the Mageverse books don’t involve a Knight of the Round Table as the romantic hero. You may want to refer to the printable booklist if you want to read the series in order.)
Last but not least, there’s the story of Morgana’s 1,500-year obsession with Percival, Marrok, and Cador in “Oath of Service.” That’s right—there are three of them, God help me. Look for that one in Love Bites. You’ll find an excerpt at the end of this book.
Best, Angela Knight
BONDAGE, BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
The air was cold on my breasts, and my nipples tingled, drawn into tight, hard points. Staring into the darkness of the velvet hood, I tried not to shiver. I could hear the man pacing around me, inches away, moving so quietly, and yet there was an impression of size, of danger about him despite his silence. I was acutely aware of my nakedness.
“What do you think?” asked the precise tenor of my stepson. The whoreson bastard.
“Lovely,” the man said. His voice was odd, a deep, rich rumble that vibrated pleasantly in my ears. He was behind me now. Suddenly hands engulfed my breasts, big hands, hard and callused, lifting the soft globes to pluck delicately at my nipples. I stifled a moan and would have tried to push him away, but my wrists were bound in front of me. “She has very responsive breasts,” he said.
“Brianne’s tits are her best feature,” agreed Cedric. “God knows my lord father thought so. May he rot in hell. He must have been addled, marrying her as he did with one foot in the grave. My God, look at her. She’s younger than I am.”
“Yes,” answered the rumble. The big hands moved, drifting down the bare, sensitive ripples of my ribs, testing the plane of my belly. I fought not to squirm. I would not give either man that satis- faction.
The hand drifted between my thighs, long fingers burrowing skillfully into the curls there, parting the lips that had gone so shamefully damp under the man’s skillful caresses. I stiffened in outrage, but I knew a protest would only earn me a slap from Cedric.
He stroked slowly between the plump lips, taking his time, teasing shameful pleasure from my body. It seemed I felt a brush of fur against my inner thighs as he touched me, and I wondered if he wore gloves.
“Well,” Cedric demanded. “Do you agree? Will you keep her here, in your castle . . . ?”
A very long finger found the opening of my cunt and slowly eased its way inside. “That depends,” the man said. “I still don’t understand why you want to sell her to me.”
“Because otherwise I’ll have to pay Brianne the share of the inheritance the old man left her,” Cedric said with exaggerated patience. “And I don’t care to do that.”
A low, rumbling growl vibrated in my ear. I stirred nervously. It sounded far more like a wolf than a man.
When Cedric spoke again, he, too, sounded nervous. “I was going to kill her, but I remembered you and Edrea and all the games you used to play here before . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Before she cursed me.” The voice was so cold with frigid anger that I flinched. He slipped an arm around me to hold me still. I felt fur and linen brush my naked flesh, and shivered.
“Ah, yes. Don’t you see, milord? It’s poetic justice. She seduced my father with her charms, she would have inherited a third of everything rightfully mine . . . but instead, she becomes your slave. Yours to torment, as you are tormented.”
The finger probing me was joined by a second. The sensation was liquid, hot. Shameful. “Yessssss.”
“She is, after all, nobly born,” Cedric said, cajoling. “You won’t often have a chance at such a beauty, thanks to Edrea . . .”
The growl was so loud I jumped. “True, curse you. But this one . . . this one won’t refuse me. I won’t allow it.” He released my waist and cunt, and suddenly hands were prying my bottom cheeks apart. A finger stabbed up, forcing its way into my anus. I arched my back and gasped in pain.
“I’ll take her whenever I want, however I want,” the voice growled.
“So,” said Cedric, voice vibrating with triumph. “It’s agreed?”
“Not so fast. First I want to see her face.”
Before I could even pull at the ropes binding my wrists, he whirled me to face him and snatched the hood off my head. Blinking in the light of the torches, I looked into the face of the one who would be my master. And felt my heart skip in shock.
The top of my head barely came to his breastbone, and his shoulders were wide as a sword over a chest roped in muscle. He wore a rich wine doublet, a fine linen shirt, and black britches that hugged his long, brawny legs. His boots were made of soft dark leather that clung to his strong calves.
In all, he had the s
ort of strong male form to make a maiden’s heart beat faster—had it not been covered entirely in silky black fur.
His pelt—there was no other word for it—was as shiny and black as a panther’s everywhere except on his head, where it lengthened into a magnificent mane that extended down his back. Great horns thrust through that silken hair, curving like a ram’s on either side of his arrogant head.
Yet despite those animal features, his face was human. Indeed, there was raw masculine beauty in his high, broad cheekbones and square chin that not even fur could disguise. His lips were full and sensuous, though as dark as his pelt, and his teeth gleamed white as he smiled down at me, hungry and possessive.
“I’ll take her,” he told Cedric, his voice rumbling with lust. I fainted dead away.
• • •
If anyone had told me when I married the old earl that six months later I’d be naked on my hands and knees scrubbing floors, I would have called him mad.
But there I was, knees aching from the cold stone of milord’s castle floor, my wet hands chill from the wash water.
Other parts of me were all too warm.
My breasts rubbed against the chains that looped from the slave collar down between my legs and up my back to my collar again. The links, warm from my skin, tormented my hardened nipples and clit even as they rolled against the openings of my sex and bottom. They tortured me, those chains, with little spurts of heat and pleasure and discomfort . . . almost as much as the eyes I could feel watching me from across the room.
My master’s eyes.
Yet I did not dare stop in the task I had been given. I had learned my lesson when I challenged him as we rode to his castle.
“I will not be your slave,” I’d told him then, trying not to lean against his chest as I sat across his lap in the saddle. “My father . . .”
“Sold you to the highest bidder,” he said, in a voice somewhere between a purr and a growl, “Who sold you to me.”
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