Of course, it was pure hell, too. Morgan spent years dreaming of what she would do if she ever got him alone.
Absolutely nothing was what she’d do. All she could do was sit there and cream in her knickers because the man’s leg rubbed up against her. How pathetic was that? She swallowed and reached for her beer, her elbow brushed his arm and more frissions of awareness shot through her like little sparks.
So pathetic.
She dreaded the end of the episode. That would leave moments she’d have to fill with something.
He took the matter out of her hands when he spoke. “So did I really pass out in my chili cheese fries?”
“You did. After telling everyone who would listen that love was a curse.”
“Well, that’s humiliating.” He pursed his lips.
“I run a bar, Lance. I’ve seen worse.” She reached over and patted his hand. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but it made her heart race.
“You’ve been very kind to me. You could have left me there, with chili and cheese up my nose.”
“This is tourist season. Couldn’t have anyone see the famous Lancelot piss drunk, could I? It would be bad for Avalon’s image.”
“Morgan,” he began, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t know what your reasons are, only that you don’t give a swish of tail about Avalon’s image.”
“I do so!” she cried. It was vital that he never know just what she felt for him. It would be too horrible.
“Well, thank you. Especially after I called you a witch.”
“It was supposed to be an insult?” She smiled. “I am what I am. Witch. Evil Enchantress. Jezebel. Whatever.” Morgan shrugged.
“You’re no more a jezebel than Gwen. You haven’t been with anyone in years.”
Gwen? Ugh. She would ignore the reference and pretend the woman didn’t exist. “How do you know?”
“You know how the Lane is about gossip. I would’ve heard something.”
“You think so? Did you forget about the magick part? I could materialize in and out of Avalon at any time. I could have a nightly sexcapade tour around the world,” she teased. It wouldn’t do for him to think she was pining over someone. He wasn’t stupid. He’d figure out it was him and then he’d look at her with pity and she’d have to kill him and then herself. It would be ugly.
“Trust me when I say that I could never forget about the magick part. But Morgan, I know you don’t.”
How did he know? “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“No. At least not until it suits her and she has a grown son to take over the kingdom.” Lance closed his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just a dick. Ignore me.”
His words found their mark, but she wasn’t angry. Morgan knew what she’d done and she knew the price everyone had paid. “Lance,” she put her hand on his again, this time curling her fingers around his. “I’m not Gwen. I’m not going to explode because you say the wrong thing to me. How can I be angry about the truth?”
“Just because it’s true doesn’t mean I have to shove it in your face. We’ve all made mistakes. I’m no saint. Look what I did to Arthur. It’s wrong of me to judge you.”
“Are you forgiving me for Elaine and the potion?” Hope welled inside of her.
“Yeah, I guess I am. If you want it.” His face was so earnest, she almost felt guilty for her salacious thoughts. Almost.
“I want it.” The words came out breathier than she’d intended, like the most wanton courtesan begging for her lover.
“It’s yours.” He squeezed her hand back.
Oh, why’d she done that? Grabbing his hand? Friendzone. She should’ve just grabbed his dick and had done. She was so disappointed in herself.
Only, he didn’t let go of her hand. He kept holding it and she wasn’t inclined to pull her hand away.
“Morgan?” he asked halfway through the episode.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have any more of that pie? You make really good pie.”
“You remember tasting my pie?” By the Goddess, it couldn’t have sounded any dirtier if she’d tried.
“I do.”
It was time to pull up her Big-Girl-Evil-Enchantress panties and go for it. If she didn’t puke first. “What else do you remember? You were very drunk.”
The tension in the room grew weighty with expectation and need. Morgan drowned in it, but it filled her up, fortified her at the same time.
He was silent for a long moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, yet she knew it had only been seconds when he spoke again. “Your mouth.”
She leaned over him, her lips close to the waist of his jeans and her hair a dark sweeping curtain over his knees. “My mouth what?”
“Sucking the cherry filling off your finger.” He was honest to a fault. How he’d ever lied to Arthur was beyond her. His every thought, his every need was inked across his face.
Morgan wet her lips. “Do you have pie on your finger, Lance?”
“I wish I did,” he confessed.
“Do you really?” She brought their joint hands up to her mouth and suddenly, his forefinger was coated in the cherry goodness. Morgan licked one long motion up his finger before sucking it into her mouth and swirling her tongue across the tip.
“Christ, Morgan.” His voice was hoarse.
With every swipe of her tongue, his cock jerked behind the fly of his jeans. She met his eyes and he tangled his other hand in her hair, his thumb stroked her cheek. He didn’t try to push her down to his cock, but let her play as she would.
Morgan wanted this to last forever because she knew when it was over, things would change between them. He’d probably feel guilty because that’s just how he was wired. She hoped they could enjoy each other, but she knew better. He was vulnerable and she was taking advantage of him.
Right after he’d forgiven her for the potion.
Ah, well. Such was life. She’d waited too long and he was a grown man. He’d lived a dozen lifetimes. He was experienced enough to say no if he didn’t want her.
Yet, her twice damned conscience opened her mouth and operated it for her. The twat. “I’ll be honest.” Why? No. Shut up. Just shut up! “I want this, but I don’t want any awkward platitudes or excuses in the morning.” She punctuated the sentence by undoing the fly on his jeans, all the while looking into his eyes, waiting for him to tell her no. When he didn’t stop her, she leaned in and tugged the zipper down with her teeth.
“Is this real?”
Morgan let go of the zipper and straightened. “Great. You’re still drunk.”
“Morgan, I’m not drunk.” His fingers were still tangled in her hair and he drew her back over to him and she did a quick breath spell on them both since they’d been eating hot wings. She didn’t want her first taste of Lance’s mouth to be hot sauce.
“Then what are you?” she whispered, bracing her hands on his biceps.
He closed the space between them, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead he hauled her tight against him and dragged his stubbled cheek across hers, almost as if he were marking her.
His breath tickled her ear and one hand slid down her spine, while his cock pressed against the apex of her thighs. Just being like this with him was almost enough to make her legs shake and her toes curl.
“Living out a fantasy,” he answered her. “Do you know why I really started calling you witch?”
“Tell me.” She rolled her hips and worked her body against his.
“I thought you hexed me with a lust spell--” his lips were hot on the column of her throat “--after the Samhain Ball and that purple lace dress.”
“That you spilled punch on.”
“Because I couldn’t stop staring at your breasts.” His hand snaked around to cup her breast and she arched in to the caress. “You’d never worn anything like that before.”
She tugged off his t-shirt. “That was the year I finally decided to stop hiding and being ashamed of who and what I am.”
“
What you are, Morgan, is beautiful. Why would you hide that?” He continued to nibble on her neck, sending jolts of pleasure ricocheting through her like bullets.
“I’m the Evil Enchantress, don’t you know?”
“I do know.” He thrust his hips upward showing her how enchanted he was, but then he pulled back to look at her face. “You can feel how much I want you.”
She sensed there was something else he wanted to say. “But?”
“But I just left Gwen. I don’t—“
Morgan put her finger against his lips. “No. None of that matters. No platitudes or excuses, remember? This is what it is. I’m not asking for love. I’m not asking for forever. Just right now.” She leaned forward again, pressing her breasts against his chest. “Well, maybe tomorrow, too. As long as it takes to get you out of my system.”
“Morgan,” he began, still serious. “You’ll probably be over it after tonight. It’s not going to be anything to write home about. I don’t even remember the last time with Gwen, it was that long ago.” She laughed and he scowled at her. “I’m serious.”
“You know, I’ve got a special kind of magick.” For a second, he looked terrified, but his cock stayed rock hard. “Not that kind. Although, I could, but only if you wanted. No, lover, what I have is called Foreign Womb. Your dick will be like all the tourists that come to Avalon and want to see all the sights and ride all the rides.” She grinned and then dragged her cheek against his in the same manner as he’d done to her. Morgan liked the way his scruff felt scratching over her.
“All the tourists?” he teased.
“Maybe. That’s my business.”
They laughed. “Laughing with someone feels almost as good as this.” He grabbed her hips and pulled her forward to emphasize his point.
“Good. Then after you fuck me, we’ll watch Robot Chicken, eat popcorn and drink beer in bed.”
While Morgan meant it as a joke, Lance suddenly looked so hopeful it hurt. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Now shut up and put out.”
“Your wish is my command, witch.”
This time, she didn’t mind it so much when he called her witch and definitely didn’t mind when he took charge, dragging her mouth down to his.
Their lips touched and Morgan was lost in him. If she’d thought she was drowning before, that had been like going under in a clear lake, this was being swept away in a tsunami.
Morgan was utterly consumed, from the taste of his mouth, his scent, the heat of him wrapped around her. This was everything she’d ever wanted.
And she realized she was a damned liar.
She loved Lancelot with every fiber of her being. Morgan didn’t care if he fucked her until dawn, or was in and out like a Check N’ Go. She just wanted to be with him.
Deep down, she’d always known her feelings were more than even what she admitted to herself. Denial had been a fine state because she’d never thought there was a chance in hell he’d touch her like this, want her.
Morgan knew better than to think this was anything more than rebound sex for Lance. She decided then that when this fling was done, whether it be ten minutes from now or ten days from now, she wouldn’t grieve for what was past or what could never be. That’s what magick was for—to wipe away the memories and pour cement into the cracks in her heart.
His touch, while passionate, was reverent. He didn’t tear at her clothes, but removed them slowly, marveling at each bit of newly revealed flesh, touching her everywhere. He told her that her skin was like silk and moonlight.
Silk and moonlight. Who said those things?
Lancelot du Lac, disgraced Knight of the Round Table, that’s who.
He pressed her down into the couch and she loved the feel of him, his body a solid weight. It reminded her this wasn’t a fantasy.
Morgan had been wrong; she was the one who felt like a tourist. She wanted to see every attraction, commit each moment to memory so she could remember when she had to go home—the texture of his skin, the way the light played in his hair when he dipped his head and kissed down her body, and the searing pleasure that his every caress wrought in her.
“Now! Please, Lance!” she begged, needing him inside of her.
“When I imagined doing this to you,” he began, kissing down her belly, over to her hip, and then the inside of her thigh. “You’d put a spell on me, forcing me to worship at your feet. You’re wearing that purple dress, and worship I do. Starting with your pretty little ankle, I work my way up with my tongue, my lips, and my fingers until your sweetness is all over my face.” His breath ghosted over her mound. “Now that I’m here, will you deny me the taste of you?”
“I’ll never deny you anything,” she confessed. Although she was afraid by the time he was done with her, she’d have burned so hot there’d be nothing left but ash. Visions of him living out his fantasy crashed over her. Did he wish to be commanded? The idea sent a stab of need ripping through her.
The first touch of his mouth to her cleft was lightning through her veins and made her cry out. She carded her fingers through his hair and arched up into the sweet torture of his tongue.
He laved and teased, pushing her ever higher until her body was strung tight as a bowstring, but he didn’t stop, not until she was fisting his hair and dragging him away while tremors and aftershocks ricocheted through her.
Lance kissed his way back up to her mouth and while she tasted her own honey on his lips, he pushed inside of her. Morgan hooked her legs around his hips and arched up to meet every thrust.
“Morgan,” he growled against her ear when she dug her fingernails into the hard, corded muscles of his back. “Now would be a good time.”
“For what?” she gasped, still writhing under him.
“That magick. You’re too hot, too tight.” He punctuated each descriptor with another hard thrust. “Use me, witch. Use me until it hurts, until every nerve ending burns and there’s nothing we’ve left undone.”
His words caused her clench and he stilled, a ragged sound torn from him.
Did he know what he was asking her? All of those years being afraid of her magick and now he was asking to be enchanted, and using his cock no less? Lancelot was surrendering himself to her completely. Use me. By the Goddess, she’d hear that every time she touched herself from now until the end of time. He couldn’t have said anything hotter if he’d tried.
Her magick flowed between them, hot and sweet. “Until it burns, Lance,” she promised.
9
APHRODITE
O f all the bloody nerve! Aphrodite knew who the culprit was; the fiend who’d used love as a curse.
Vivienne du Lac, Lady of the Lake.
This was the last straw. Yes, it was. The straw that broke the Cyclops’ back. Vivienne meddled in the affairs of the love for the absolute last time. She had her athame so far up her own ass she actually thought she was in charge of something.
Aphrodite hated that about immortals who weren’t gods. They had such a narrow view of eternity and their place in it. Aphrodite was ready to drop a bomb on her that would leave nothing but a mushroom cloud.
She materialized in the middle of a field, Arthur’s castle in the distance. Aphrodite plucked through the threads of Fate to see just what Vivienne had screwed up before obliterating her.
Aphrodite quickly took in the scene that had knotted the threads of Fate and used love as a curse. Vivienne standing there looking gobsmacked and a love-cursed Mordred walking away.
Hmm. The Mordred angle could be good for Artemis. Reformed bad boys made the best husbands and that was really what she’d wanted for her friend—a forever, enduring kind of love. Not just a quick punch to the V-Card. Of course if she’d outright told the other goddess that, Artemis never would have set foot on Avalon.
This could actually help her cause.
Vivienne still pissed her off, though. Love was not a thing to be trifled with or used as a curse and the Lady of the Lake had not yet learned that lesson. Somet
hing had to be done.
“Why are you spying on Vivienne?” A male voice, low and raspy like the sound of a blade on a whetstone startled her.
“Holy Zeus,” she shrieked at the intruder. “Don’t sneak up on a goddess like that.”
When her heart settled back in her chest, she took a good look at the newcomer and decided that she liked what she saw. He was big, as most immortal god types happened to be, towering over her. He was dressed like a Roman Centurion who’d lost the top half of his costume.
He was deliciously, decadently, shirtless. A green tattoo of a griffin spanned from where its head was inked on his neck all the way down his torso where the animal’s feet disappeared beneath the hammered metal of his belt. She could see the tail wound down around his thigh and disappeared in his leg guards. Green tattoos covered his arms from wrist to shoulder and Aphrodite couldn’t make them out without closer inspection. Short-swords hung at his hips and she found her eye drawn to that line where his lower abs met his hips. The thing was like some swami, hypnotizing her.
“Sorry, I thought we were sneaking. You didn’t exactly materialize where everyone could see, now did you?”
“What are you, Vivienne’s keeper?”
“You could say that,” he agreed congenially.
“Well then, you’re in for a shitstorm, too.” Aphrodite debated making them fall in love, but decided that would be a boon to the interfering hag. This guy was too hot for Vivienne.
“Oh really? What did she do?”
Hmm. He didn’t rush to defend the lady. Interesting. “She used love as a curse.”
“She does that all the time.”
“I know. And I’ve had enough.” Aphrodite couldn’t keep the fire out of her eyes or from gathering in a ball around her fingertips.
“Did she curse you?”
“Me? Why does everyone think she’s so powerful? She needs to be punished for her lack of humility and meddling in the affairs of gods. She was given one simple task of establishing Camelot and now she thinks the universe revolves around her.”
He shrugged and Aphrodite was still mesmerized by the shifting tide of ink over his muscles. “She is pretty powerful.”
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