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Because magical mate bonds affect humans, too?
That matters not. Nothing does except the possibility that I might become mortal again…if I can complete our joining. Because I have been deprived of orgasm since my last days in Camelot, I have doubts.
Where does that leave me?
Morgana arches to meet my next thrust. Gripping her hips, I pick up my pace as I seize her mouth and slide into the velvet glove of her cunt again. Passion rushes up my spine. Pleasure pools in my heavy balls. By god… The urge to release is already overwhelming.
Rapture screams in my head as I drive into her over and over. She tightens and flutters.
So close…
Shifting my angle to graze her pleasure spot, I fill her again. She shudders, gasps. Her legs wrap around me as she tenses and tosses her head back. Her body squeezes me tight as she cries out. My pleasure spirals, taking me up, up, up. Fuck! Climax is upon me—closer than any time in the past fifteen torturous centuries. Right…there. I stand at the precipice, at the edge of the cliff, so ready to fall.
There I stay, so high I feel drunk on her. Delirious.
Yet still tethered to my torment.
Wildly, I pump inside her, sliding, falling deeper, reveling in the sensations. My skin feels alive. My lungs work like bellows. My body trembles. Ecstasy is so close; I can taste it. The right touch will send me into endless bliss.
Morgana clings to me, dusting kisses along my jaw and up my neck. Sweat trickles down my back and pours from my temples.
I lunge into her once more. Pleasure threatens to drown me.
I pray for the little death.
But seconds become minutes. Morgana moans, tenses, then comes apart again. I grit my teeth and forge on, thrusting hard, slamming my headboard to the wall, and reaching for the satisfaction just beyond me.
After she digs her nails into my back and climaxes a third time, I roll away with numb legs and a foul curse. Bitter defeat chokes me as I stare at the dark ceiling, panting, my body covered in sweat and my cock hard as a pike.
Denied completion again… God’s blood.
She curls up beside me, soft, womanly, and sated. Despite the futility of my need, I want to roll on top of her and fuck her more.
I refuse. She is the salt in a wound that will not heal. She is the cudgel beating my howling soul. She is my destruction.
And I will forever be joined to the maker of my torment, unable to touch another woman, nor to climax with my “wife.” I underestimated Morgana. Pity I did not see this new horror coming.
“Marrok?” she whispers tentatively. “Are you okay?”
Now that I know she has fucked me for eternity? How does she expect me to respond?
I should not give her the satisfaction of my anger; she will only use it against me. But her wide-eyed confusion, even obvious in the moonlight, makes me livid.
“What the bloody hell are you about? Why trap me in this immortal torture? What further amusement could I possibly hold for you?”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“Playing the innocent to the end, are you, Morgana? Stop.”
“Morg— You still think I’m her?” she shrieks, yanking the sheets over her bare breasts.
Her outrage seems so real. This new Morgana is full of trickery and too convincing by half. She is fatal to trust.
“Aye. You fool me not. I will defeat you and free myself, witch. Somehow. Someway. This I vow.”
“You took my virginity, believing I was another woman? All that need and passion… You lying snake! I can’t believe I let you…” She backs away with angry tears trembling in her eyes. “Don’t touch me again!”
I wish my touch was a calculated ploy, rather than my weakness to my foolish need. “Act not as if you are the one wronged. We both know better.”
