Wicked Games

by Angela Knight

  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.”

  “And you need to remember I’m a queen, not a slave.”

  “You’re whatever I say you are. Deeper, Gwen. That’s it, right to the balls.”

  His eyes shuttered in delight, he thrust his cock deep in her mouth, driving faster and faster as his climax approached. She sucked harder, judging her moment, letting him get closer to the edge. He drew in a breath to roar . . .

  And she jerked her head off his cock and destroyed her bonds with an explosion of magic. A sweeping gesture flattened him on the bed with his legs chained wide apart. More chains circled his chest, binding his arms tight to his torso, wrists behind his back.

  Arthur’s eyes widened with astonishment that turned quickly to flaming rage. He began to buck and thrash. “Dammit, Gwen! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Teaching you a badly needed lesson.” She paused to admire the sight of his big body straining against the steel links, chest arching with effort.

  He showed her gritted fangs. “I’m going to teach you a badly needed lesson you’re not going to like at all.” Cords stood out starkly on either side of his flushed throat, and his eyes glittered with angry heat.

  If she hadn’t been so furious, that tone would have made her quail. “Silence.” An imperious gesture tightened his bonds and added a thinner chain to encircle his balls and the base of his cock.

  He snarled. “The ice under your feet grows thin as parchment, wife.”

  “I could say the same to you.” The thin chain tightened so sharply his teeth clicked together.

  When he glared at her but wisely said nothing more, she nodded in satisfaction and flung one leg across his narrow hips. Reaching between her legs, she caught his thick cock and angled it upward before sinking down, engulfing it one delicious inch at a time. “Ahhhh,” she purred, and gave him a deliberately taunting smile. “That’s better.”

  Chained like a breeding bull, Arthur fought to maintain the glare as his wife’s strong thighs flexed, lifting her off his cock. The sweet, sliding grip almost tore a groan from his throat, but somehow he managed to suppress it. He couldn’t believe she’d had the gall to do this to him.

  He also couldn’t believe how arousing it was. Despite his Magus strength, Gwen had managed to conjure chains he couldn’t break. Bound, helpless, all he could do was lie there in this bloody uncomfortable position, and watch Gwen’s beautiful tits bounce as she fucked him. Her lovely blue eyes were bright over flushed cheeks and full, parted lips. Her body looked slim and tight and pale. Long pink nipples graced those delightful breasts, and he stared at them hungrily.

  “Your cock,” she gasped, “it feels a yard long . . .”

  “And you feel so slick and tight.” Despite the shackles that held his legs spread wide, Arthur rolled his hips to meet her thrusts.

  The clamping grip of Gwen’s sex felt tighter than he’d ever felt it, perhaps because of her transformation. Each sliding stroke gripped him with the perfect slick friction, dragging him closer and closer to coming.

  Gwen leaned back and grabbed her ankles, plunging up and down on his cock. Arthur drew in a hard breath, admiring the pale, graceful arch of her body and the sight of her creamy red labia wrapped around his cock as she slid up and down.

  She moaned as her beautiful eyes slid closed. “Arthur.” She bit her lip. “Oh, sweet Lord . . .”

  One of her hands found a bouncing breast, caught a deliciously erect nipple, and began to twist. The other hand slid between her legs, where her fingers went to work on her clit.

  In seconds, deep pulses began in her slick depths, massaging his shaft. Gwen arched with a cry that spiraled up to a piercing note as she writhed, coming. Her twisting grip added the last push to shoot him into orgasm. He roared, driving his hips up to impale her even deeper.

  The blast of pleasure shredded his mental shields. Her orgasm stormed into his, spurring his climax higher, which in turn intensified hers still more. Around and around, higher and higher as he emptied himself, bellowing in time to her helpless screams.

  • • •

  Gwen collapsed over him, winded from sheer pleasure more than exertion. As sweet as that had been, however, she knew it hadn’t accomplished anything. Somehow she had to make him see reason. Even if she had to play a little hard to do it.

  But he wasn’t going to like it. Not at all.

  With a mental wince, she swung off him and rose to her feet. A gesture conjured gown and overskirt, returning her tumbled hair to a proper regal coif. That’s better. She pasted a haughty expression on her face with an ease born of seventeen years as queen. “You’ve been showing me what you can do with your magic,” Gwen told him coolly. “Perhaps you need to see what I can do with mine.” A flick of her fingers, and a fireball appeared between Arthur’s spread legs, boiling with such heat, he instantly broke into a sweat.

  The king froze, staring at it with lifted brows. “That’s quite a trick.” His tone was so elaborately cool, she knew she’d managed to unnerve him. Which was encouraging, given how hard that was to do.

  “Nimue took my ladies and me out into the hills while you and your Magi slept this morning. We spent hours shooting magical blasts into a mound of earth created for that purpose.” Gwen gazed at the fireball with grim pride. “Just imagine something like that on the battlefield. Mordred and his traitors would run screaming.”

  “He might,” Arthur drawled. “If he thought you could actually use it on anyone.”

  “Oh, I could use it on him.”

  “It’s easy to talk about all the men you could kill, darling. Just walk into any tavern, and you’ll find a dozen drunks happy to tell you about the rivers of blood they could spill.” His gaze turned grim and distant. “But look into your victim’s eyes stone-sober, and actually driving the blade home is a different matter.”

  “I’d kill a hundred Mordreds to save you.”

  Arthur snorted. “I know you, Gwen. You could no more watch that boy burn than you could fly.”

  She gave him a cheeky grin. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I could fly.”

  It seemed he wasn’t in the mood for her humor. “Do you know how many men I’ve killed?”

  She opened her mouth, about to spout something cheeky, only to close it again. He was not in the mood. “No.”

  “Nor do I. Yet Mordred still lives, because I couldn’t kill him. I knew you and I and Britain might well pay the price, but I still couldn’t end him. I lifted my sword, but all I could see was an eleven-year-old’s gap-toothed smile.”
He jerked his chin at the fireball hovering between his knees. “You can burn me with that if you want, but I will not put you in the position of being forced to kill Mordred with your magic. Not because you don’t have the courage to do it, but because you wouldn’t be able to live with the memory afterward.”

  “Better to live with his death than yours.” She gestured, and the fireball disappeared, leaving behind the smell of singed sheets.

  He sighed. “Gwen, the screams of a stranger can haunt a man until he thinks he’ll never sleep again. I won’t have you listening to Mordred’s ghostly howls.”

  She eyed him before saying, almost gently, “It’s not your choice, Arthur.”

  He stared at her, his expression grim. “It is so long as I’m High King.” One dark brow lifted. “Unless you plan to change that?”

  Dammit, it was like arguing with the ocean tides: all one got was wet. “No, Arthur. I have no desire to change that.”

  “I won’t have you or your ladies on the battlefield. Women risk their lives to bring life into the world; men risk theirs to take it. I don’t want you to wake every night screaming from nightmares of dying men, of standing hip-deep in blood and shit. I want to come home to you knowing your heart and body are whole.”

  “And I want you to come home instead of dying under Mordred’s blade.”

  He looked at her, his gaze level with that cool, unmovable determination she knew so well. “I’m going to come home, Gwen. My bastard doesn’t have a prayer.”

  She sighed and gestured. The manacles dissolved into sparks, which floated silently away. “Don’t let those new abilities of yours make you overconfident, Arthur. We both know what happens to an overconfident man on the battlefield.”

  • • •

  The months of summer dragged by, heavy, hot, and sticky.

  And worse, bloody.

  Mordred had recruited a large number of followers with the help of ambitious nobles who saw the situation as an opportunity to further their own political interests. Most of them were the same people Arthur had defeated in combat a decade before, so they knew they were unlikely to see big rewards from supporting the king. His son, on the other hand, had promised to reward them handsomely for their support.