forcing her to stare up into Percival’s furious gray glare. “The next time you lie to me, I will consider it an invitation to give your arse the pounding you’ve needed for a very long time. First with my hand, then with my dick deep in that tiny hole of yours. Are we clear on that?”
She swallowed and gasped out, “Yes sir!” And felt herself grow hotter, wetter, as she pictured him carrying out that deliciously brutal threat.
Percival’s grin chilled her blood, suggesting that he was imaging it just as vividly. He stared into Morgana’s eyes, his gaze hard and feral. “Gentlemen, perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone with my new Oath Servant.”
“What, you want us to leave now?” Cador protested. “Just when it’s getting good?”
Marrok thumped a big hand on his shoulder. “Of course we wouldn’t mind, Percival.”
“Lying bastard,” Cador grumbled, and jerked his shoulder, dodging Marrok’s second swat. “All right, all right. Have fun, Percival.”
Percival laughed, the sound more than a bit sinister. “Oh, don’t worry.” He bared his fangs at her. “I intend to.”
The door closed behind the two men. Dry-mouthed, Morgana stared at Percival as the two knights climbed the stairs, Marrok’s laughter booming over the sound of whatever wicked remark Cador had just made.
The distilled male menace of Percival’s gaze sent a wave of ice across her skin. “Now, witch, you and I are going to have a word.”
The ice turned to heat when he grabbed the hem of his blue knit shirt and dragged it off over his head. She sucked in a breath, then hoped he hadn’t noticed.
“I get hot when I work.” He tossed the shirt across the back of the couch without breaking the intent focus of his gaze. Morgana longed to look away, only to find herself frozen like a rabbit in a combination of fear and erotic anticipation.
He was . . . incredible. She’d seen Percival without a shirt before, of course, but there was a world of difference between seeing him shirtless during laughing horseplay and . . . this. Knowing he owned her now, that she’d taken an oath to obey him, fuck him, however he wanted. So she stared, listening to her heart’s frantic thump.
All that sculpted brawn, the swells and hollows of muscle groups clearly defined, the branching veins snaking down his biceps, his triceps. Body hair formed a silken golden cloud on his chest, narrowing into a fine line down his belly and pointing the way toward the massive bulge behind his fly.
Oh, goddess . . .
He took a step forward, and she bit back a scream as he swept her off the floor the way an angry man would pick up a bag of frozen peas. Whirling, he took three long paces and banged her back against the nearest wall.
Despite her best efforts to suppress it, a startled yelp escaped Morgana’s lips as he pinned her there with the hot, hard weight of his body. “Now,” he growled, “let’s discuss this habit you have of lying to me.”
“You might want to remember I’ll get my powers back.” She winced the minute the words were out of her mouth.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Percival smiled. Someone who didn’t know him well might have thought it a pleasant expression. Morgana, however, recognized the carefully throttled rage in the tight curve of his handsome mouth.
“But you don’t have those powers now, do you?” Leaning in, he whispered the words in her ear, each syllable a warm puff against her sensitive flesh. “And I have all of mine.” He cupped her breast through the thin lace gown she’d stupidly worn to tempt the three knights.
She licked her dry lips. “You won’t hurt me.”
“Won’t I?”
“You don’t hurt women, Percival.”
“Lord Percival,” he gritted.
“What?” She was too close to real terror to grasp his point.
“You will address me with respect. Lord Percival, Sir Percival, or my lord.” He bared his fangs. “Not. Percival.”
She swallowed, staring at those lupine teeth
She swallowed and gasped out, “Yes sir!” And felt herself grow hotter, wetter, as she pictured him carrying out that deliciously brutal threat.
Percival’s grin chilled her blood, suggesting that he was imaging it just as vividly. He stared into Morgana’s eyes, his gaze hard and feral. “Gentlemen, perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone with my new Oath Servant.”
“What, you want us to leave now?” Cador protested. “Just when it’s getting good?”
Marrok thumped a big hand on his shoulder. “Of course we wouldn’t mind, Percival.”
“Lying bastard,” Cador grumbled, and jerked his shoulder, dodging Marrok’s second swat. “All right, all right. Have fun, Percival.”
Percival laughed, the sound more than a bit sinister. “Oh, don’t worry.” He bared his fangs at her. “I intend to.”
The door closed behind the two men. Dry-mouthed, Morgana stared at Percival as the two knights climbed the stairs, Marrok’s laughter booming over the sound of whatever wicked remark Cador had just made.
The distilled male menace of Percival’s gaze sent a wave of ice across her skin. “Now, witch, you and I are going to have a word.”
The ice turned to heat when he grabbed the hem of his blue knit shirt and dragged it off over his head. She sucked in a breath, then hoped he hadn’t noticed.
“I get hot when I work.” He tossed the shirt across the back of the couch without breaking the intent focus of his gaze. Morgana longed to look away, only to find herself frozen like a rabbit in a combination of fear and erotic anticipation.
He was . . . incredible. She’d seen Percival without a shirt before, of course, but there was a world of difference between seeing him shirtless during laughing horseplay and . . . this. Knowing he owned her now, that she’d taken an oath to obey him, fuck him, however he wanted. So she stared, listening to her heart’s frantic thump.
All that sculpted brawn, the swells and hollows of muscle groups clearly defined, the branching veins snaking down his biceps, his triceps. Body hair formed a silken golden cloud on his chest, narrowing into a fine line down his belly and pointing the way toward the massive bulge behind his fly.
Oh, goddess . . .
He took a step forward, and she bit back a scream as he swept her off the floor the way an angry man would pick up a bag of frozen peas. Whirling, he took three long paces and banged her back against the nearest wall.
Despite her best efforts to suppress it, a startled yelp escaped Morgana’s lips as he pinned her there with the hot, hard weight of his body. “Now,” he growled, “let’s discuss this habit you have of lying to me.”
“You might want to remember I’ll get my powers back.” She winced the minute the words were out of her mouth.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Percival smiled. Someone who didn’t know him well might have thought it a pleasant expression. Morgana, however, recognized the carefully throttled rage in the tight curve of his handsome mouth.
“But you don’t have those powers now, do you?” Leaning in, he whispered the words in her ear, each syllable a warm puff against her sensitive flesh. “And I have all of mine.” He cupped her breast through the thin lace gown she’d stupidly worn to tempt the three knights.
She licked her dry lips. “You won’t hurt me.”
“Won’t I?”
“You don’t hurt women, Percival.”
“Lord Percival,” he gritted.
“What?” She was too close to real terror to grasp his point.
“You will address me with respect. Lord Percival, Sir Percival, or my lord.” He bared his fangs. “Not. Percival.”
She swallowed, staring at those lupine teeth
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