Wicked Games

by Angela Knight

  Cador smoothed a hand over the curves of the girl’s lovely arse. They’d used leather cords to bind her arms and legs. He slid a finger into the girl’s sex. “Mmmm,” he purred. “She’s slick as fresh-churned butter and tighter than a nun.”

  The girl whimpered, a tiny, helpless sound that made Percival harden even more—and he already could have pounded stakes with his dick.

  “Sebille’s little nipples are nice and hard,” Marrok told his partner. He’d draped the girl’s upper body across his own lap as he sat beside his partner, teasing the hard peaks.

  Morgana made a low, rough sound.

  “What was that?” Percival asked, knowing damned well she’d almost moaned before she bit back. Apparently their witch liked a little hot talk.

  For a moment there was a charged silence filled by the soft, wet sounds of Cador’s fingers working the girl’s pussy, her helpless moans, and the two knights’ low rumbles of approval.

  The lush scent of sexual arousal teased Percival’s nose—coming not least from Morgana. “Look at them,” he purred, his mouth barely an inch from the rapid rabbit beat of the witch’s carotid. “Sebille’s so hot and ready . . . and small as a doll between them, bulls that they are.” He pulled her into his lap, letting her feel his erection. “She’s helpless. At their mercy.”

  “No.” That definitely sounded like a moan.

  “Would you like to be at mine, Morgana?”