Page 46 of To Love a Dark Lord

No, she was not going to protest.

Which made her a certifiable idiot.

Studying him for a moment, she decided she needed to put a little space between them. She turned from him to scoot away.

He was having none of that. His hand twisted in her hair and pulled her back to his chest.

It earned him her most vicious glare. “Are you here to fight or to fuck?”

“Oh, my dear, sweet firefly. You know the answer to that already.” He chuckled darkly before his next word sent shivers up her spine again for a very different reason than before.

“Both.”

SIXTEEN

Mordred delighted in these sparring matches of theirs. He could easily overpower Gwendolyn if he wished—he was three times her size and had centuries of practice. But it was more fun to let her gain a few inches of ground only to take it away. Especially because he knew he was not alone in his love of the game.

Gwendolyn put on a good show of being frustrated with him as she wrestled out of his grasp. But the flush to her cheeks and the desire in her eyes told him another story. That, and she never once said stop or no. She knew she could end their dance in the blink of an eye if she wished it.

But she wanted the struggle, the same as he did. When he captured her throat in his grasp and pulled her against him, her back flush to his chest, she went slack for a moment, her breath leaving her in a wavering rush.

When he dug his claws into her skin, just hard enough for her to feel it without breaking the surface, she shivered in his grasp. Vanishing the armor from his other hand, he slid it between her legs beneath the water, wasting no time in teasing her with his touch.

“Thorn will be dead within the week,” he murmured into her ear, deeply enjoying the juxtaposition of their situation. “I will find her camp and lay waste to her and her insipid minions. She has made too many attempts on both our lives.”

“And—and then what?” Her voice was husky as she writhed, her back arching as he continued his ministrations. “What about—” Her words broke off as he sank a finger into her.

Chuckling at her reaction, he kissed her cheek. “The Gossamer Lady? Well…you told me of her designs upon the throne, and worse still her attempt to kill you. She is an enemy and must be treated as such.”

“But—” She didn’t get out her words again. He was being cruel, sinking a finger into her each time she went to argue with him. She moaned, her body clenching down around the invading digits as pleasure lanced through her. “—Galahad.”

“He will make his own choices.” Mordred was not thrilled at the idea of putting the Knight in Gold to the blade. His oldest companion was the only elemental he would let live, should he give his word never to interfere. But the noblest of all of Arthur’s knights would not stand idly by. Not after Mordred ended his lover.

Gwendolyn went to protest again. He released her, if only briefly, to turn her around to face him. He yanked her up onto his lap, so she was straddling his thighs. When she went to strike him, he caught her wrists in his hands and pulled her arms behind her back.

The glare she was giving him was doing anything but dissuading him.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you love it.” He kissed her, searing and rough. He wanted her to feel him. Feel everything that he was. Feel the creature she had given her heart to, and whose heart she had stolen. Summoning a chain around her wrists, he cradled the back of her head in his clawed gauntlet, deepening the embrace.

She moaned against his lips. Taking that as encouragement, he grasped her by the hip, perhaps a little tighter than he had intended, and ground her body against his own desire that was trapped between them.

When he broke the kiss, her eyes were shut. “The chain is cheating.” Her protest was half-hearted as he won her over.

“You can remove it. You know how. It is by that same means you intend to stop me, after all.” He pulled her against him again, giving them both a hint of the wonderful friction they would soon share.

Her eyes fluttered open as she watched him, startled. “I?—”

“Do not deny it. You will use your power over iron to hurt me, should I go too far in your eyes. But I ask you…are you capable of killing me, my firefly? Will you end my life to save those who despise you?” He kept up the tortuous dance. The mix of warring emotions on her features was breathtaking.

“I—” Her eyes searched his, flicking back and forth, as she sought to try to find an answer. “I don’t know—” she finally admitted in an exhale.

“Honesty at last.” He shifted both his hands to her hips, scooping her up. He was done with their teasing game. “How refreshing.”

Gwendolyn opened her mouth, likely to levy more insults at him. But the words never escaped, as he pulled her back down to him in the water, burying his length into her to the hilt in one brutal stroke. It was enough to bring her to a peak of ecstasy, her body spasming around him, threatening to end him too soon.

Growling in his throat, he struggled to maintain control. She was so perfect, the way she fit him. Her plaintive, quiet wail of pleasure was just as damning as the sensation of her. But he would not end their dance so soon. He refused.

---