Gwenevere's Knights- The Complete Knights of Caerleon Trilogy

by Jesikah Sundin

  “Ye lass,” he answered, breathless. “I want ye. But I fear I will want all of ye and I can’t. Not yet.” A flush colored Percival’s cheeks and he twisted away, but she caught his face.

  “Ye possess a strength the other men have not. There is no shame in yer sacrifice.”

  She leaned forward and delicately traced Percival’s bottom lip with her tongue until he opened for her. Their kiss grew hungry and Percival moaned. A sound that pricked Galahad with guilt.

  Her words shamed him, for she was right. All this time, they had flaunted their freedoms in front of Percival and mocked his vow and the younger knight took it in stride, all smiles and laughter. Until this moment, Galahad hadn’t realized that was a front. That a serious nature brewed beneath the cheerfulness. Because of the Fisher King’s son, they might save Caerleon and Briton. Because of Percival, Fionna was alive and in this room.

  Perhaps Percival was more of a man than any of them.

  PERCIVAL’S LIPS WERE soft and warm and beautifully reverent on mine. This other side of him, a serious side I had not expected, ripped the seals from my eyes. There was more to him than wit and boyish charm.

  I had never quite payed attention to the deep timbre of his voice or the play of muscles along his jaw. Now, touching him, I realized he was far from soft and scrawny. Muscle and sinew stretched firm beneath my fingertips—formed from years of drills and fighting. And his eyes, gods his eyes. Up close, I could see every long coppery lash framing the rich, earthen tones. Eyes so brown, they were nearly black—sinful even. And his kiss? His mouth dancing across mine was akin to laughter and sunshine and . . . bliss.

  His affections didn’t hold the earnestness of Arthur’s lips or the danger of Lancelot’s kiss or even the seduction of Galahad’s embrace. Percival was his own. Joyful.

  A shadow of warmth sidled up behind me and my breath caught as I recognized Galahad, approaching even as my arms were twined about Percival. Galahad softly lifted my braids and kissed my injured shoulder. I shuddered beneath Galahad’s touch and Percival gently pulled away at my reaction. Moons above, I had missed the honey-sweet of Galahad’s touch, how he melted me to my core.

  “Maybe,” Galahad whispered, “we should show Percival the pleasures between a man and a woman.”

  “Ye mean—” Percival began but Galahad cut him off.

  “You can’t have sex, but you can watch.”

  Galahad’s hands moved up my stomach and then cupped my breasts. His fingers were chilled from the cold of the night, a refreshing coolness on along my heated skin. My senses blazed into awareness as my head arched back against his chest, my gaze locked with Percival’s. “What can ye do?”

  “Kiss, touch ye.” Percival swallowed as Galahad began rubbing the hardened tip of one my nipples with his thumb. “But I cannot be touched by another, ye ken?”

  “Aye.” My eyes fluttered shut. “Then watch for a spell and touch yerself. Join in when ye’re ready. I won’t allow ye to go too far.”

  “Two men?” Percival’s breath came in quick. “Yer sure?”

  “Does that bother ye?” I turned in Galahad’s arms, nipping at his lower lip before peering over my shoulder at Percival.

  “Nae lass.” His eyes were bright.

  “Then enjoy.”

  Percival sauntered over to his bed and fell back against the pillows, unlacing his breeches and pushing up his tunic. Each nerve-ending I possessed ignited as I appreciated the ripple of stomach muscles under the candlelight, his eyes never leaving mine.

  So many firsts flooded this space. The first time a man watched as I was pleasured by another man—a thrilling, daring prospect. The first time I would enjoy not one man, but two.

  Wanting to arouse Percival farther, and eager for the forgotten taste of Galahad, I pushed up Galahad’s tunic and licked at the raindrops still gathered on his pectorals. I wanted my tongue to carve fire across his damp skin. To sear his chest, his abdomen. From the corner of my eye, I could see Percival begin to stroke himself. At least the man wasn’t shy.

  I grinned up at Galahad, a predatory smile that I hoped relayed my message: I remembered last time. And I was going to make him pay. Galahad’s dark blue eyes sparkled, silently accepting the gauntlet I threw down.

  “How far do I have permission for?” Galahad asked.

  “As far as ye like,” I whispered back, gently biting his nipple.

  A heady rush whipped through me as he flinched with the intended pain. Goddess save me, I wanted to bring this man to his knees. But not yet. No, the torment had only begun.

  In one fluid motion, Galahad yanked his tunic over his head and then shook the water from his hair. I slitted my eyes when droplets hit my face.

  “You’re not wet enough,” Galahad said with a grin. Lightning forked across the night sky outside, lining the sultry angles of his face with streaks of white light. Thunder rumbled through our room. “Even the gods agree.”

  My fingers played with the laces of his breeches. “How do ye plan to appease the gods?”

  He whispered, “I only want to please one,” then lifted my tunic slowly over my head, tossing the garment to the floor. “A goddess.”

  Rain slipped down the latticed window panes and cast warbled candlelight across his already honey-toned skin. His chest was hard, everything about him was hard. I drowned in the feel of him, every line, every dip, the way his nipples rubbed against my palm, my fingertips, the way his muscles danced under my feather-light touch.

  “Beautiful,” Percival moaned from the bed. “So beautiful.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the man, before turning to give him a better view . . . pressing my arse to Galahad’s cock and slithering over his bulge. Galahad gripped my hips and moved me against him, achingly slow. Wanting to feel the anguish of every caress, I knew.

  Percival watched, lips parted, his chest rising and falling with every flushed breath. Then the man’s eyes dipped low and Galahad sucked in a breath as I slipped out of my breeches.

  With Percival’s eyes riveted to me, Galahad snaked an arm around my waist and trailed his finger down to my sex. I arched my back with a delicious moan. And so, he increased the friction, his finger moving back and forth. Percival shifted to sit on the edge of his bed, his own hand moving to the same rhythm. Galahad trailed kisses down my neck, to my shoulder, then he slipped his finger inside me.

  “Oh gods,” Percival whispered. His eyes watched Galahad move his finger in and out as his other hand played with my breast. The younger man’s muscles flexed and tightened, his expression caught somewhere between ecstasy and lust. His lips parting farther when Galahad slipped in another finger deep within me.

  Heat roared through my body and my knees grew limp.

  I pressed harder against Galahad’s cock, rolling my hips with each pump of his fingers. Wanting more. Needing more. Galahad turned my head toward his and he lowered himself until our lips crashed. My entire body sparked into a wild blaze. Every heightened sensation pulsed hot, a searing, liquifying pain I craved. Enough. I needed him on the bed beneath me. Now.

  Apparently, Galahad felt the same.

  He maneuvered to nudge me toward the bed, but I was faster. In a single move, I twisted him around and kicked under his calves until he fell on top of the covers. Galahad released a booming laugh. I knew he let me win. Just this once. And only because Percival was watching. Still, satisfied with myself, I crawled onto the bed with a wicked smile and tugged on his breeches until they slipped down his hips, down his thighs, and off onto the floor.

  My heart stuttered to a halt. Galahad was surely the most god-like built man I had ever beheld. Every inch of his body was sculpted to wondrous perfection. And he was mine for the taking. To destroy and torment and tease.

  To love. And stars above, I loved him. I loved him and Percival both.

  But part of me still wanted to win this round.

  The length of Galahad’s cock throbbed, and he nearly roared with release when I lowered myself down
and swirled my tongue across his crown. He gasped my name, his chest heaving. My tongue would be the end of him, I was determined. Until he couldn’t breathe. Until he clawed at the bed and tightened with building need. Then and only then would I pull away and give him what he needed. What I needed. Our eyes connected, and I flashed a taunting smile. Then my mouth slid down his length. Sweet agony burned each nerve-ending anew as he fisted my braids in his hands. Warm pleasure spread through my belly with his passionate response. My head moved up and down as he rocked his hips, groaning languidly. I could hear Percival’s quivering breaths increasing nearby. The man’s moans, too, as my tongue licked down Galahad’s cock and back up, only to swallow him once more.

  “Fionna . . .” Galahad choked out. “I am not sure I will la—”

  He didn’t need to finish. I crawled up his body, my hair brushing along the tightened muscles of his stomach and chest. And then I waited. Galahad’s eyes snapped open as he adjusted his position on the bed. Fidgeting with desire for me. His hands running down the length of my back and settling, firmly, on my arse. Still, I didn’t move, not until the glimmer in his eyes grew desperate, almost begging.

  “Not a sound,” I said right before I sank down onto him, until I felt his hips touch mine. Air hissed from his clenched teeth as he filled me completely. My head fell back with the intense feel of him, my eyes closing momentarily. My head buzzed and spun, dizzy with every hazy, soul-melting sensation. Then, with an impish smile in place, I lifted my hips up and hovered just above him. “No. Sound.”

  He reached up and curled a single finger around the infernal silver chain and lily pendant dangling from my neck. Then gently yanked until my lips collided with his. I could get lost and never recover in just his kiss alone. Releasing me, he closed his eyes and nodded his head in agreement to my terms.

  Hot breath rushed from his lungs when I sank onto him again. With his nails digging into my arse and mine digging into his pectorals, I began to move. And not just move, I writhed as if I possessed him and knew it. One hand fell behind his head as the other moved from the soft flesh of my arse to cup my hip, pulling me back and forth to our fevered rhythm.

  Galahad bit down on his bottom lip, hard, as if to keep from making a sound with each thrust. After several long, glorious heartbeats, he opened his eyes. I could tell he was watching me—the way my breasts bounced, the way my white-blond braids fell over my shoulders. The way the muscles in my arms and stomach flexed. His open appreciation and silent worship of my body brought me nearly to the edge. But not as much as when Percival approached our bed.

  Gods, these men made me feel so beautiful, so incredibly desirable.

  I lifted my head toward Percival’s, welcoming the heat of his kiss. Our lips danced to a soft, erotic melody. Then I arched my back, increasing the rolling motions of my hips. Percival knelt, taking my offered breast in his heated mouth. The most toe-curling moan I had ever heard left Galahad’s parted lips. And I didn’t know I could be anymore aroused. Percival blinked up drowsily from my breast before turning his attention to Galahad, brushing his fingertips along Galahad’s ribbed stomach. Feeling how the man moved and rocked beneath me. Galahad stared at Percival, as if to warn the man that he wasn’t interested. But Percival didn’t notice, too taken with Galahad’s body as well as mine. Then Percival returned his attention to exploring my breasts, cupping one in his hand while meeting my eyes.

  “I want ye to be my first,” Percival whispered between ragged breaths. “Once the Grail Quest is over.”

  I replied with a bruising kiss before whispering back, “I am yers.” My eyes flitted back to Galahad’s, and I whispered, “And I am yers.”

  Galahad gripped my hip, grinding me against him, hard, frantic, saying, “I am yours. Always.”

  I didn’t care if I lost control of this bout. Gods, I could lose every fight, if they destroyed me like this. Heat rolled between my thighs as my body clenched then rippled with a sensation so earth-shattering, I cried out.

  Lightning flashed white in our candlelit room, illuminating our naked bodies. Then thunder cracked across the black sky, as if in reply to my release. The rain pounded on the glass. Percival continued to explore my body and kiss my swollen lips. Galahad lost himself to the delirium of my every touch and sigh. But me? I couldn’t imagine feeling headier and more complete than I did now—to claim my knights and be claimed in return.

  I was undone. And I never wanted to be put back together so long as I breathed.

  ARTHUR AWOKE TO the steady pitter-patter of rain on the window and the cold pebbling of his skin. Lancelot hogged the covers. He had practically the whole coverlet bunched onto his side, wrapped around him tightly. Arthur pushed himself to a seat, elbowing Lancelot.

  “Another few minutes, pumpkin,” Lancelot murmured, and Arthur gave him another sharp elbow in the side.

  Lancelot’s eyes snapped open as a grin crossed his face.

  “Awake you lump,” Arthur said. “Bad enough for a king to share a bed with an unwashed man rather than a fair maiden. But you add insult to injury by stealing all the blankets!”

  Lancelot stood, stretching over to touch his toes. “You have only yourself to blame, Your Majesty.” How come when Lancelot said those words, it sounded a trifle mocking? “The innkeeper offered to turn someone out, so you could have your own room. But you are too damn gallant for your own good and didn’t want to pull rank.”

  “Yes, well, with the storm . . .” Arthur murmured.

  “They would have put them up with the horses. No one would have been caught in the rain. And as for the fair maiden, our fifth knight would likely leap into bed with you, if you would only start talking to her again.” Lancelot slid him a mock-flirtatious smile. “That’s an easy conquest, even for you.”

  Arthur rubbed his face to clear the sleep, ignoring the tightening in his breeches. “Yes, well, if the sounds coming from the other room had anything to say about her interests, I’m too late.” The rumble and clap of thunder had deafened most of the noises emanating from the other knights’ room, but there were a few telltale moments that Arthur couldn’t argue away as his imagination. It had to be Fionna and Galahad. The damn Dane was far too brawny and handsome. Arthur combed his fingers through his hair. “God knows what poor Percival did to drown out the sound. Perhaps he put a pillow over his head.”

  “Or perhaps he partook,” Lancelot raised an eyebrow, lacing his boots.

  Arthur raised an answering eyebrow, pausing as he reached for his sword belt. “Partook? But the Grail Quest—”

  “I’m not saying he bedded her, but there are . . . things a man can do short of the full deed.”

  Arthur’s face flushed at the possibilities. He knew Lancelot was relaxed about his own sexuality as well as sexual experiences—from his youth with the faeries. But the very thought of one woman with two men was new to Arthur. And alarming. Though, if he were honest, a touch arousing. He cleared his throat, pulling on his boots. “And you think Fionna would be willing to enjoy the company of two men?”

  Lancelot shrugged. “She mentioned how women in her clann often take two or more husbands. And that she feels something for several of us. Definitely you. She has been beside herself since she betrayed you. And she’ll do anything to win back your favor.”

  Arthur furrowed his brows, buckling Excalibur around his waist. “I don’t like the thought of Fionna laying with me simply to win back my favor. I would have her choose me freely, not to appease some sense of obligation or duty.”

  Lancelot rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. “Will you stop being so noble, man? All I’m saying is that she cares for you.” He pushed a finger into Arthur’s shoulder. “You, Arthur Pendragon. She’s holding back because she fears you are still angry with her. If you show her that you’re not, she’ll come to your bedside gladly.”

  Perhaps Lancelot was right. He had been holding himself back from Fionna since she had stolen Excalibur. But was he truly ready to open his heart
to her again? He wasn’t sure. But if he didn’t now, perhaps he would lose her—Galahad would stake his claim—and then when Arthur finally came around, he would be too late. “Wise counsel, my friend. But, I thought you possessed no favor for Fionna. Now you think we can trust her?”

  Lancelot buckled on his cloak. Something foreign flashed through his eyes—something shadowed that Arthur couldn’t quite place. What was it about the two of them? “Fionna . . . she’s not for me. That doesn’t mean she’s not for you.” He clapped Arthur on the shoulder. “Now let’s go get whatever creepy-as-hell bone thing the witch carved for you.”

  Arthur laughed. “Can’t wait.”

  THE ROAD BACK to the Bone Carver’s cottage was much as it was before. The rain had mostly stopped. Fat drops slid off the leaves above them, finding their way onto foreheads and down tunic fronts not protected by their cloaks. Arthur liked the smell of the air after a storm—as if the whole world was fresh and rejuvenated. If only the curse could be vanquished as easily.

  Arthur rode by Lancelot and Fionna rode behind with Percival and Galahad. Those three warriors were gleeful as maidens around a Maypole, chattering and laughing, the color high on their cheeks. Envy snaked through him, its green fingers grasping at his heart. He wanted to make Fionna laugh like that, to put that sultry, knowing smile on her face.

  Lancelot cast a sideways smirk his way. “You keep sighing like that, you’re going to run out of breath. Just go talk to her. Tell her you forgive her. Fully this time, and not just because you need her on the quest.”

  Arthur stifled another sigh. “I hadn’t realized my thoughts were so plain.”

  “A goat is better at keeping secrets than you.”

  “I don’t know, a goat can be sly. They steal the washing off the line and eat it . . .” Arthur said, frowning.

  “Fine.” Lancelot threw up his hands. “A chicken. A chicken could lie better than you.”