Wicked Games Read Online Free

thrust, until she hurtled into pleasure, the deep, hard pulses bowing her spine. Gwen screamed in delight, barely aware as her king drove to the balls, head thrown back with an orgasmic roar.
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    A rthur collapsed on the bed beside Gwen, breathing hard, his heart pounding, his skin sweat-slick. For a moment he was content to simply listen to her pant. “Why are you breathing . . . so . . . hard . . . ?” he joked. “I did all the work.”
    â€œI . . . offered,” she gasped. “You . . . turned me . . . down.”
    â€œGood point.” Scooping one arm under her, Arthur hauled her over on top of him and tucked her blond head under his chin.
    â€œI’ve got . . . an . . . idea,” she panted, her heart thundering against his chest. “Let’s . . . just stay . . . right here. All day.”
    â€œTempting . . .” He managed to catch his breath, at least enough for a feeble attempt at a joke. “But I’d hate to disappoint the boy.”
    â€œFuck him.” The violence in her snarl made him blink. “You have given him quite enough as it is.”
    â€œApparently he doesn’t think so,” Arthur said, keeping his voice light despite the desolation he felt. “And he is my son.”
    â€œBut he isn’t
mine
.” As he blinked, startled, she gestured wearily. “Forgive me.”
    â€œNothing to forgive.” But he frowned, for her outburst was telling. She had never reproached him about siring Mordred; for one thing, he and Gwen had yet to meet when he’d slept with the boy’s beautiful mother. He’d been a callow seventeen then, fresh from his first major battlefield victory. Morgana, a year older, black-haired and beautiful, had been summoned to use her Druid healer’s skills to save his best friend’s life. Lancelot had lived, and the young king had celebrated his victory between the pretty healer’s thighs.
    What neither Morgana nor Arthur had known back then was that they were actually half siblings. Evidently, Arthur’s father, King Uther Pendragon, had fathered Morgana during an assault on her Druid mother. They’d only learned the truth last week, when the wizard Merlin had sensed the incestuous connection and informed them of the shocking news.
    At the time, Arthur hadn’t even known he’d become a father. Mordred was ten years old before Morgana brought the child to court while seeking the position of Camelot’s healer.
    Gwen had known Mordred was Arthur’s son the moment she saw him. His mouth, his blade-straight nose, the shape of his broad, sculpted jaw all bore the Pendragon stamp. Most other women would have been outraged at being presented with a husband’s by-blow, no matter when he’d been sired. Instead, Gwen had greeted boy and mother with joy. From then on, she treated Mordred as her own.
    For all the good it had done. Arthur sighed, absently caressing his wife’s bare shoulder. “I would I knew what happened. Where I went wrong.”
    â€œMy queen?” Gwen’s maid called through the door. “It’s time. We have the water for your bath . . .”
    â€œCome, husband. I’ll let you wash my back.” Gwen gave him a warm, lingering kiss before pulling out of his arms to pad toward the dressing chamber.
    â€œWhich, as motivations go, is a damned good one.” He rose and reached for his robe. “Certainly better than the chance to drink from some wretched cup.”
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    T he king groaned in pleasure as he sank into the huge bronze tub that required a team of servants to fill. The water was pleasantly cool despite the building June heat. “God’s balls, that feels good.”
    Gwen dropped her robe and stepped into the water between his