Tuesday, December 10, 2013

WIPped Cream-- A taste of "Oath of Service" from LOVE BITES

Here's a sample of my work in progress, OATH OF SERVICE, from Love Bites. Keep in mind that this is a first draft, so it's likely to change. And please, this excerpt is NOT for those under 18, so get thou gone if you are. Otherwise, enjoy!

Here, Morgana le Fey has offered Percival, a vampire and Knight of the Round Table, her Oath of Service, and has donned a collar that blocks her considerable magical powers....

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 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, but there was a world of difference between seeing him shirtless during laughing horseplay and...this. Knowing that he owned her now, that she'd taken an oath to obey him, fuck him, however he wanted. So she stared, and listened 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, pointed 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, "you and I are going to have a word, witch."

"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 mouth. "But you don't have those powers now, do you?" 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 inches from her face. "Yes, Lord Percival."

"That's better." A tight smile of satisfaction lit his starkly handsome face. "Both arms over your head, and cross your forearms."

"Why do...?"

His eyes narrowed. She hastily obeyed. "Thank you." He caught her crossed arms in one hand, pinning them against the wall. She knew without trying that she'd be utterly unable to break his implacable grip.

Stepping back, he let her hang by her imprisoned arms as he gave her body the kind of long, insulting up-and-down scan no Magus had ever given her. Then he met her eyes again, silently daring her to protest.

She kept her mouth shut. Nobody had ever said Morgana le Fay was stupid.

That smile flashed again as he wrapped his free hand in her lace robe. Fisted it. And ripped, shredding the peignoir as easily as if he were tearing down a cobweb. She couldn't seem to bite back her gasp. Still holding her gaze, he hooked a finger in her corset and gave it a slow tug. The laces popped like cotton thread, leaving her clad in only a lace garter belt, stockings, and heels.

Again, he subjected her to another sweeping, insulting stare. "Nice. Very nice."

She licked her desperately dry lips. Why in the hell was she getting so wet? Nothing about this should be arousing.

Morgana opened her mouth for some bit of acid sarcasm that would hopefully make him let her go so she wouldn't feel so bloody vulnerable. Perhaps "I'm delighted you approve," or "You always did have a bard's way with a compliment," delivered in a suitably icy tone.

Before she could get either line out of her mouth, his eyes narrowed. She snapped her teeth closed so fast, she almost bit her tongue.

"I've always loved your tits, Morgana." The words may have been flirtatious, but the cold warning in his voice was anything but. "I'm going to like being able to do any damned thing I want to them."

For the sweet sake of the Lady, that was a threat, Morgana told her idiot cunt. It kept growing slicker anyway, responding to...something. His eyes, his dark velvet voice, the white points of the fangs that flashed when he spoke. His sheer, fucking size...Gods, he was dangling her by her arms, yet her feet were still well clear of the floor.

His nostrils flared, and one corner of his lip lifted in a carnal cross between a sneer and a smile. Reaching between her legs, Percival stroked a finger between her labia and deep into her sex. "Ohhh, yesssss. You are creamy, aren't you? And how can anybody who regularly fucks a forty-foot lizard be so bloody tight?"

"Obviously, I shape-shift," she gritted.

"That would help." He added a second finger, pumped deep again, and flicked his thumb over her clit. She jerked at the knife-sharp delight.

Percival grinned. "Liked that, did you? Too bad. I'm afraid you're being punished for today's tactical goat-fuck, so you won't be coming. I will, though. I intend to enjoy you thoroughly."

The fingers withdrew from her traitorous pussy and reached for her right breast. The knight's big, warm hand gave it a squeezing stroke before tugging and twisting its aching nipple. Milking her, he watched her face in erotic calculation.

Morgana dropped her eyes, unable to hold his gaze, not with him beaming raw dominance at her with the intensity of a laser. That proved to be a mistake; when she looked down, her gaze fell on the bulge behind his fly. Horned God, it was huge.

Percival laughed, a dark chuckle, and stepped against her again, pinning her once more. She groaned in relief as his body took the pressure off her pinioned arms.

Pressing his face against her throat, he inhaled as if dragging her scent deep into his lungs. "You smell delicious." His lips moved against her skin with every word, a warm, sensual tease. "My two favorite things: pussy and blood."

"Percival..." When he stiffened, she corrected herself. "My lord Percival..."

"Can you keep your mouth shut, or would you prefer a ball gag?" He scraped the tips of his fangs over her helplessly banging pulse. "I don't care to be interrupted while I'm eating."

Which triggered another humiliating gush of cream into her sex.

With a growl, he sank his fangs deep, the sudden hot sting startling a gasp from her throat. She'd known he was going to bite her, but somehow she hadn't expected it just now. Morgana bucked, jerking against his grip, but he had her pinned too thoroughly. She couldn't move at all.

His hand abandoned her breast to seek out her crotch, his forefinger skating between slick labia to slide into her opening. He made a sound against her throat at what he found there, a triumphant growl that deepened to a rumble as he pumped deep, in and out, keeping the pace slow--goddess, far too slow as he drank in hot swallows.

Letting her head fall back against the wall, she moaned in helpless lust. The moan became a gasp as he added a second finger, thumb strumming her clit like a lute string. His body rolled against hers, branding the feel of hot, hard strength against every inch of her smaller, softer one.

This was why she’d always preferred bottling her blood. Feeding a vampire directly from her throat was too damned seductive, too much an arousing act of submission that revealed her darkest needs.

But Percival didn’t give a damn what she preferred. He just took her, like prey, like a mortal woman he was using, fingering her cunt as he drank, shooting her toward her peak with his erotic brutality until she…

But just as her climax began to pulse, he jerked his hand away. The orgasm drained away, leaving her body aching with vibrating, helpless need. Morgana cried out in frustrated protest.

He chuckled against her throat.

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