Part 1: link
Guinevere stretches, waking from an unintended nap. I wonder how late it is? I only meant to lay down for a moment to rest my feet.
She turns, and something hard and pointy jabs her hip.
“Oh!” What the…?
Arthur’s crown is sitting in the middle of the bed.
Naughty, Arthur. There? Honestly?
She swings her feet to the floor, crown in hand. On a whim, she tries it on. It slides down over her head, stopping when it hits her nose, blocking her eyes.
Perhaps not, then. She puts the crown away, in its place in the wardrobe, and heads for the trono room.
She pushes the heavy door open. The trono room is dimly-lit and seemingly empty. She closes the door behind her and wisely slides the bolt in place, locking the doors.
In the dim light she sees Arthur’s form lounging on his throne, his white sando a beacon in the gloom.
“I request audience with the king,” she says, her smoky voice ringing off of the polished wood and stone.
“Step pasulong and let me see you,” he commands, though she is steadily walking towards him.
“Yes, Sire,” she answers, biting back an impish smirk. He’s going to pay for this later.
How is it that she can use my pamagat on me – which I hate – and make it sound like seduction?
She continues pasulong and crosses through an errant sunbeam that doesn’t seem to realize it shouldn’t be there.
“Stop there in the light.”
She stops.
He leisurely slides from his trono and stalks toward her, a cougar circling a fawn.
“You are most pleasing to my eyes,” he says finally, low, in her ear.
“Thank you, Sire,” she ang sumagot meekly, playing her part in his little game.
He touches her. His hands bilog her small waist, lingering for a moment before they drop down to briefly cup her backside before traveling higher, ghosting at the sides of her breasts, sliding at her neck, gently, his rough palms creating delicious friction at the sensitive skin of her throat as one slips around behind her neck.
“You are most pleasing to my hands,” he says, leaning in closer, his other hand again circling her waist.
“Thank you, Sire,” she repeats, her voice almost a whisper.
Arthur gently tilts her face up to his and leans in closer still, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth from hers, drawing out the moment, the anticipation of it, making her wait until he can feel her body quivering in his arms.
Finally he claims his prize, his lips pressing into hers firmly but sensuously, savoring her taste, the feel of her succulent lips beneath his.
Gwen longs to part her lips for him, to allow his tongue to plunder her mouth, to plunder his mouth with her tongue. But he doesn’t let her. He pulls away before she can, trailing kisses down her neck. Her head falls back into his hand.
“You are most pleasing to my lips,” he says against the sensitive skin of her neck.
“Thank you, Sire.” Just a breath.
“You may have your audience,” he rumbles in her ear, “for a price.”
“My lord, I have no money,” she answers, smiling only because his face is still tucked into her neck, his lips and tongue amusing themselves on her skin.
“I desire no coin from you, Maid,” he says, pulling away from her neck. Gwen quickly schools her features as he gazes into her eyes, their blue-grey irises burning into her.
He’s trying not to laugh, she notes, seeing the amusement behind the desire.
“What could I possibly have to offer my king?” she innocently asks.
She’s better at this than I am, Arthur notes. I may be in over my head here.
Concentrate, man.
He pulls her closer, pressing his hips pasulong so she can feel his hard length against her stomach.
Gwen is not surprised at all, but she has the presence of mind to gasp as though she is. “My Lord!” she exclaims, the corners of her mouth twitching.
He kisses her again, this time open-mouthed and hungry, his tongue making demands that she easily meets, demanding right back. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes that she is being pushed backwards, to the steps of the dais, where he gently eases them down, sitting them on the steps.
Not enough room on the throne, he decided on the way.
“Touch me,” he says simply.
“My Lord?” she asks, again feigning innocence.
He studies her for a very brief moment. She’s committed, I’ll give her that. He takes her hand and guides it to his groin, placing her slender hand against his length. Her fingers instinctively grasp it and slide, bringing forth a groan from Arthur.
She leans over and kisses him, her tongue leading this time, delving in, sucking at his full lips, nibbling at them. Her hand briefly moves away from him to the ties on his trousers, opening them so that she can slip her hand inside.
“Yes,” he whispers against her lips, his own hands at her breasts, squeezing them through the material of her dress.
If he unties my bodice, he’s going to have to re-tie it before we leave here, she thinks.
Arthur moans into her mouth as she moves her hand on him, her soft hand like velvet on his shaft. One of his hands strays to her skirts, pulling them up, up, her slender legs coming into view. He skims his hand along her leg, turning to her inner thigh, higher, until his knuckles brush against the coarse damp curls at their juncture.
Guinevere sighs and her hand loses its rhythm briefly as he touches her, his fingers finding her sensitive spots easily, expertly, touching her just like he knows she likes.
“Oh…” she gasps, her hand moving in time with his. Arthur’s lips leave hers and travel down her neck to her breasts, halik their exposed tops, dipping his tongue into her cleavage, sucking gently at her delicious skin.
Her hand on him becomes madami than he can take, but instead of stopping her, he decides to let her finish him. He drops his head against her breasts. “Faster,” he pleads, his fingers stumbling now, losing their rhythm against her.
She complies, speeding up, squeezing a little tighter as well, increasing the friction. His head swims and his fingers forget what they are doing, distracted sa pamamagitan ng the whirlwind of sensation flooding his body, shooting through him to his toes.
Arthur comes with a hoarse grunt, spilling his seed onto her hand, into his trousers. His hand lazily resumes its motion on her, sliding a finger inside, thumb rubbing tiny circles on her sensitive spot. He pleasures her as he recovers from his own release that has left him weak and panting, his face still pressed into her chest.
She feels his lips begin to halik her again, and his fingers speed up once more, and she throws her head back, her hair pooling on the floor beneath her as Arthur kisses a trail of apoy up her neck to return to her waiting lips.
His fingers ilipat furiously yet gently, drawing her climax from her like honey from a hive, sweet and thick. Her breathing speeds up, her head tosses on the floor, she grips his sando in her hand.
“Oh… oh yes!” she calls out, her passionate cry echoing throughout the empty trono room. Arthur chuckles, wondering if anyone is outside the doors just now.
He moves his fingers a few madami times, just to torture her a little, and she reflexively clamps her thighs together, trapping his hand. He laughs again, carefully extracting his hand from her warmth.
He pulls her to him, into his arms, pulling her skirts back down. “Now, about this audience,” he says, grinning.
“My apologies, your highness, but I’ve forgotten why I sought you out now.”
xXx
A key. But to what? Arthur picks it up and glowers at it. She is evil. This is an evil, difficult hint.
He turns it around in his palm. This room has lock and key. But that would be stupid. What else requires a key? A trunk? No, too small. The vaults? He goes to his bedside table, opening it. No, all there. The dungeons?
He stares at the key. It is a thick key, iron. Not a fine key to a delicate lock on something valuable. He scratches a spot of rust from the key with his thumbnail.
She wouldn’t. Would she? Would she?
Only one way to find out.
Arthur tucks the key into his palm, and makes his way to the dungeons. It is evening, after dinner, and most everyone is going about their own business, the servants cleaning up dinner, the knights changing shifts.
He descends the stairs, wondering what he’ll find. If she’s down here, how will I find her? How will we… do what we’ve been doing without being discovered?
“My lord, the reyna instructed me to give you this should you come down here,” a slightly puzzled guard hands him a note.
“Thank you, Robert,” Arthur says, taking it from him. He walks a distance away, into the dungeon corridor, and opens the note.
Turn left and go to the very end. –G.
He follows the instructions, walking to the very end. There’s nothing there but another choice: right or left. He looks left; he looks right. He spies a length of lavender ribbon tied at the base of a torch down the right corridor. So he turns right.
Arthur grabs the ribbon from the torch on the pader and saunters casually along, wrapping it around his hand absentmindedly.
Elsewhere in the castle, Merlin’s head snaps up sharply as he feels another one of his protective charms spring into action. He grins and goes back to his reading.
Arthur reaches the last cell at the end of the dungeons and finally sees her.
“You’re late.”
He is about to make a flippant remark, but something in her tone and demeanor stops him. He regards her for just a moment, measuring the situation.
Arthur’s first crush happened when he was twelve years old. Lady Beverly. His tutor in courtly conduct and manners. She was young and beautiful and smelled like roses. But she was also a stern taskmistress, and was the first person to not indulge the prince. She was strict and unforgiving. She was demanding. She did not tolerate Arthur’s nonsense or his petulance. She was the first woman Arthur truly respected. And Arthur was smitten.
Guinevere sounded just like Lady Beverly.
The twelve-year-old boy buried inside Arthur’s puso woke up and started jumping around excitedly.
Gwen fixed him in her stare. She was not smiling. She was waiting, and it looked like she was growing impatient with him.
Better say something.
“Forgive me,” he says. Swallowing, he decides to add, “My queen.”
One tiny corner of her lush lips turns up in the tiniest of smiles.
Correct answer.
“Key.” She holds out her hand. He places the key on her palm.
“Against the wall,” she says, indicating where with only her eyes.
“Yes, my queen,” Arthur ang sumagot and walks to the wall. She’s not going to do what I think she’s going to do, is she?
She turns, standing to face him, hands on her hips. “Remove your shirt.”
He does, tossing it carelessly on the straw-riddled floor. He feels a devilish grin pulling at his lips, but carefully keeps it at bay.
Guinevere strides toward him, very close. Close enough to touch, but she keeps her hands at her hips.
Instinctively, Arthur’s arms reach for her, and she steps back, raising her eyebrows at him.
“I am sorry, my queen.” He drops his hands and she steps forward.
“You will learn your place,” she says quietly, her lips inches from his. She steps away from him for a moment, returning with a wooden box, which she sets in front of him.
Oh, God, she’s going to do it.
She stands on the box and reaches for his left hand, raising it up over his head and fastening an iron shackle around his wrist.
Arthur struggles to keep his expression neutral, to not give away the fact that his head is spinning with possibilities and his puso is pounding and his loins are already starting to pay attention.
Gwen reaches for his right hand and raises it up, securing it beside the other.
“Aha,” she says, spying her lavender ribbon still clutched in his left hand. She removes it and threads it through the key, tying the ends together and slipping it over her head.
Arthur’s eyes drop to the key, now nestled in her cleavage.
Gwen steps off the box and sets it aside, taking her time. She turns back to study her husband, chained to the dungeon wall.
He can feel her eyes on him as they rake over his chest, down, noting the bulge beginning in his trousers, then back up to gaze into his eyes. He looks back at her, and the pag-ibig he sees there is the only thing that contradicts the rest of her demeanor.
“Arthur,” she starts, pacing in front of him. “You have been… a naughty king.”
“Yes, my queen.”
“You foiled my plans in the tent. You ordered me about in the trono room.” She stops pacing and faces him. “Now you must pay.”
She is trying so hard not to smile, he notes, and his own mouth twitches. “Yes, my queen.”
She turns away from him and begins untying her bodice. I notice she is wearing one that ties in the front, Arthur thinks, knowing she is being deliberately cruel sa pamamagitan ng turning her back to him so he cannot see.
She drops the bodice near his sando and slides her dress down from one shoulder, looking over it at him as she does so. He groans and closes his eyes.
“Open your eyes.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Gwen continues removing her dress, stepping out of it and facing him again dressed only in her thin cream-colored chemise. She returns to him, standing as close as she can. She places a wet halik at his throat, touching her tongue to his skin briefly.
The cool air of the dungeon meets the moisture there when she removes her lips, and he can feel the remains of her halik on him.
She drags her fingers down his chest, raising nakakatindig balahibo on his skin and tightening his nipples. He exhales sharply and his fingers clutch uselessly over his head, but he says nothing.
“Kiss me.”
“Yes, my queen,” Arthur obediently answers, bending his head down to her raised face, gently pressing his lips to hers, letting her take the lead. She slides her tongue across his lips and he opens them, meeting her tongue with his, melding with her, reveling in her.
He forgets himself and starts to press further, as much as he can, ibingiay his restrictions, and she backs away, giving him that eyebrow again.
“Forgive me, my queen,” he apologizes, his voice low.
Gwen nips his neck and steps back, regarding him calmly again.
Reaching up, she drops the straps of the chemise and it falls to the floor. Arthur swallows, watching her, not able to touch that skin, that honeyed skin that rouses his desires with a mere memory of its texture, its color, its flavor.
“G—”
“Shut up.”
Arthur’s mouth snaps closed. Wow.
She floats pasulong again, and Arthur doesn’t know where to look. He can’t see everything at once, and his eyes dart between her face, her breasts, and her hips until she is too close and all he can see is her face.
Guinevere presses her breasts against his chest, then backs off slightly to slide them along him, letting his fine chest hair tickle her, the friction making her nipples stiffen. He looks down into her face to see her eyes blissfully closed and her lips parted. He almost kisses her, but stops himself, knowing there would be consequences if he did.
She opens her eyes. “Don’t even think about it, Pendragon. You are being punished.”
Damn, I forgot that she can read my mind.
Her hands drop to his trousers, pulling at the ties.
This is punishment? he thinks, then tries to touch her. Oh. Right. So it is.
She drags his trousers down his legs, leaving them hanging at his calves, bunched up against his boots. She runs her hands along his legs on the way back up, coming dangerously close to touching him but just missing, torturing him.
He clenches his jaw together and pinches his eyes shut. Just for a moment. They open again when she reaches around and squeezes his buttocks.
She leans pasulong and kisses his chest, roving over to close her lips over one of his nipples, biting it lightly and swirling her tongue around it. As she teases his chest with her tongue, she presses her body forward, sliding her stomach across his erection.
“Oh…” he grunts, and she bites his nipple a little harder in response. He inhales sharply, the slight pain remarkably pleasurable.
Gwen drags her tongue up the center of his chest, settling at his neck, placing small biting kisses there as she finally touches him, feather-light and fleeting.
Finally.
Without thinking, his hips thrust forward, pressing into her hand firmer.
She immediately steps away and slaps him. Not hard, but just hard enough.
Arthur’s eyes fly wide open, shocked and oddly aroused, and he bites his lower lip as he looks down into her eyes, which are still soft and loving.
“I am sorry, my queen.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, my queen.”
“How sorry?” she asks, her hand straying over her breasts, the key still hanging tantalizingly between them.
“Quite sorry, my queen.”
“Oh?” Her other hand drops between her legs, sliding a single finger.
“Very, very sorry, my queen,” he croaks.
She doesn’t seem to hear him because she continues to ilipat her finger on herself, her hand at her breast squeezing, rolling the firm nipple between her fingers.
Arthur licks his lips. His hands grasp the air. His shoulders ache. His mind reels.
Gwen removes her finger from herself with a sigh, and returns to Arthur. She lifts her finger to his lips and he takes it into his mouth, sucking the moisture from it. He closes his eyes and swirls his tongue around her finger, loving it, nibbling lightly at the tip before she gently extracts it.
“Thank you, my queen.”
That tiniest of smiles again. Right thing to say.
She slides her hands down his body again, this time boldly touching him, grasping him fully in her hand before dropping to her knees in front of him.
She kisses the head of his shaft once, then takes his length into her mouth, closing it around him, pulling him in as far as she can.
Oh, God… Arthur drops his head back against the hard stone of the cell wall.
Gwen moves her lips on his manhood, sliding up and down, her hand grasping below, squeezing gently, her fingers light and expert. She pulls back, licking the length of him, tuktok then bottom, biting the tip ever so gently.
Arthur’s body is completely rigid; every muscle is tense, like a coiled spring. He strains to control his hips, his voice, knowing any step out of line will make her stop.
And stopping is one thing he does not want her to do.
I want to touch her so badly. Maybe I can balutin my legs… no. Not only would she disapprove, but my trousers are effectively shackling my ankles as well.
She takes all of him into her mouth again, and his thoughts vanish. The only thing he is aware of his her: her mouth, her hand, the tickle of her hair.
He opens his mouth, gasping, his breathing heavy and fast. Guinevere’s skilled mouth knows exactly what he likes. She sucks hard, sliding him out, and his body jerks as she releases his head with a pop just before plunging it back in, slipping her tongue around his shaft.
Arthur reaches his climax swiftly under her attentions, and the spring uncoils as he floods into her mouth, thick and hot down her throat, his member throbbing as she gently slides him from her lips, a massive groan escaping from him.
He slumps slightly, hanging from his chains. Gwen kisses his navel as she stands, then lifts up on her toes to halik his lips lightly, lovingly.
Gwen retrieves the wooden box, sliding it back in front of him. She stands on it and opens the shackle on Arthur’s right wrist, then his left.
He immediately grabs her, holding her waist, his hands running up and down her back. She brings her arms around his neck and he tucks his head into her neck, weak and spent.
“You did well, my love,” Gwen whispers into his ear, halik it, stroking his hair, letting him touch her, feel her skin, drink her in.
He says nothing; he just clings to her, silently, his hands roving slowly, while he waits for his breathing to slow to normal.
Guinevere continues her loving attention, no longer stern and unforgiving, she is gentle and kind, loving, lavishing him with gentle kisses and praise. She caresses his cheek, runs her fingers through his silken hair, and tells him she loves him again and again.
He finally lifts his head and looks at her, bringing his hands to her face. She wraps her fingers around his wrists, rubbing them gently where the irons were. He leans in and kisses her leisurely, all soft lips and caressing tongues.
“Wow,” is all he can think to say.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asks, her fingers still caressing his wrists.
He shakes his head no. She finally smiles at him, the smile only he sees, his paborito smile.
He kisses her again, a few nibbling pecks, before helping her hop down from the box she is still standing on.
She bends to retrieve her chemise and slides it on over her head before she finds herself pulled back into his arms and getting kissed again.
“Did I ever tell you about Lady Beverly?”
xXx
Gwen stands, staring at the kama with her hands on her hips, regarding the item perched on the middle of the coverlet.
I can barely even lift that. How am I supposed to take it back down to the stables? She quirks her head to the side and lifts a hand to her chin.
At least he put a blanket down beneath it so it’s not actually touching the covers. She chuckles once.
She turns and waves her hand dismissively at it. “He can take that damn thing away, I’m not going to,” she says aloud, heading for the door.
Halfway to the courtyard doors, she spies Merlin. “Merlin?”
“Yes, my lady?” he grins at her.
She smirks at him. “Um, Merlin, I really hate to ask this, but…”
“Don’t worry about the saddle, Gwen, I’ll take care of it,” he says casually.
She studies his face. Does he know? Of course he does.
“Thank you, Merlin,” she says, patting his arm in a friendly way before heading out the door.
“I’ve brought you a treat, I have. Would you like the carrot or the apple?” Arthur’s voice drifts from the stables and reaches Gwen’s ears.
A decidedly equine snort is the reply, and Guinevere smiles as she stops in the doorway, watching.
“Yes, yes, you can have them both, of course, but which one would you like first?”
She watches as Arthur’s magnificent brown horse, Captain, reaches for the carrot with his teeth, taking it gently from the king’s hand. He chews the carrot while Arthur strokes his great head and talks softly to him.
He turns slightly so his back is to her, and she creeps pasulong silently and wraps her hands around his chest from behind.
“You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type,” she says, turning her head to rest her cheek against his back.
“You are far superior to any horse, my love,” he teases.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Wait. How fast can you run?” he asks, turning to face her with a grin. She slaps his chest playfully.
Captain nudges Arthur’s shoulder, jealous of the attention he is no longer getting. He also wants his apple.
“Here you go, baby,” Arthur says indulgently, giving the horse his mansanas and another stroke on the nose.
Gwen reaches over and gives the horse a pat as well just as Arthur bends to halik her. Captain crunches noisily behind them, and Guinevere giggles, breaking the kiss.
“Captain…” Arthur sighs, and pulls his wife to an empty stall, spotlessly clean, with a blanket spread atop fresh straw on the floor. He looks around. “You didn’t bring the saddle back?” He kisses her.
“Arthur, did you honestly think I’d want to haul that big heavy thing all the way down here?” She kisses him.
“So it’s still on the bed?” Kiss.
“No.” Kiss. “Merlin is going to take care of it.” Kiss.
“Merlin? So he… he knows? What we’ve been up to?” Arthur pales.
Gwen laughs, her hands tracing the contours of his chest through his shirt. “Arthur, honestly. Of course he knows. The man knows everything going on in that castle.” She leans up and kisses him yet again, longer this time.
He pulls her down onto the blanket with him, pulling her over him. “Does he, now?” he asks, halik her neck.
“Who do you think runs that place, anyway? Certainly…” she pauses as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, “certainly not you. Merlin and I keep that place running, you know.”
He lifts his head and looks at her beautiful face. “I’d argue, but there’s no point,” he says, capturing her lips once again, sucking at her full lower lip. “Because you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” she gasps, his hands now joining in on the fun, finding the soft mounds of her breasts. “A… a mouse could sneeze in the kastilyo and… and Merlin would be right there with a tiny handkerchief,” she says, wondering why she is continuing this conversation.
Arthur laughs loudly, throwing his head back. Gwen smiles down at him from her position straddling his lap, his amusement delighting her. I pag-ibig it when I can make him laugh.
“Guinevere, what would I do without you?” he asks, cupping her face in his hands. Neither of them acknowledge that they know full well what he would do without her. It no longer needs discussion.
“I shudder to think,” Gwen teases, sliding her hands beneath his shirt. He leans back on his elbows, sighing contentedly. She grabs the material of his sando and pulls him upright so that she can pull the sando off over his head. Once discarded, he lays back again, easing her down with him, pulling her gently sa pamamagitan ng the shoulders.
Their lips meet again, greedy for one another. The raw animal smells around them, the rough wool of the blanket beneath them, the warm summer afternoon air around them all tickle their senses as they halik and touch, discovery a forgotten concern in this little game of theirs.
Arthur reaches for the laces at the back of her dress, tugging them loose.
“You’re going to have to do those back up later, you know,” she warns against his lips.
“I know; I don’t care. I want you. All of you,” he answers, his voice rough as he frees the laces of her dress enough to slide it from her shoulders. “No shift?” he asks.
“It’s hot out today,” she shrugs. He smirks and pushes at her dress. She lifts up and removes the dress. Arthur reaches for her, pulling her back down to him, but she squirms away and turns, yanking his boots off with a grin.
“Hey!” he protests.
“Fair is fair, my king,” she tells him, reaching for his trousers, swiftly opening them and removing them.
She finally rejoins him, sliding over his body with hers, and they spend a few moments luxuriating in the feel of each other.
“Oh, you feel so good,” he groans, his hands roaming her back while her front delights his.
Her effect on him brings a satisfied smile to her face, and she drops her head to halik him, mouth open immediately, thrusting her tongue inside, loving his taste, his feel. Arthur allows her to halik him for a short time while his hands amuse themselves at her breasts.
She moves against him, capturing his shaft between her legs, sliding her legs to stroke him with the silky skin of her inner thighs.
He makes a growling noise and flips them over, no longer able to lay idly by, needing to take control, make her his own once again.
“Oh!” she exclaims, laughing beneath him.
He immediately takes a breast into his mouth, laving the stiff nipple with his tongue. Gwen leans her head back and sighs, moving her hips slightly against him, telling him what she wants.
Arthur obligingly lowers his hand, ghosting it across her stomach before he touches her, slipping his finger along the folds of her womanhood, making her gasp and writhe with pleasure.
“Is that what you wanted, my love?” he mutters into her breasts as he works his way across to attend the other one, pulling it greedily into his mouth.
“Yes, Arthur,” she gasps, “more…”
At that, he thrusts his fingers into her and bites her nipple gently, bringing forth another delicious gasp.
She reaches for him, carefully pulling, guiding him towards her center. “Already?” he asks without thinking.
“Yes…” she cries out softly. “I want you inside me,” she adds, and he is helpless.
He pushes forward, entering her with ease, sliding in as far as he can. He kisses her as he enters her, invading her mouth with his tongue as well.
“Oh…” she pulls her lips away momentarily before he captures them again and begins to ilipat his hips, thrusting deeply.
Guinevere wraps her arms around his muscular torso, clutching his back, his rear, whatever she can grab.
Arthur finally releases her lips and starts in on her neck again, not losing his rhythm at all. In fact, he increases the tempo, the intensity.
“I… I love… how you feel… inside of me…” she gasps, digging her nails in with one hand while grabbing a fistful of his hair with the other.
“I… I…” he starts to speak, but his brain won’t cooperate. “I love… you,” he finally settles on, punctuating his sparse words with his hips.
“Oh… ah… Arth… oh, Arthur!” she finally cries out, pulling his head down as she bucks beneath him, biting his neck, clinging to him in the throes of her climax.
He wraps her in his arms, pulling her up to him, wanting her as close as possible as he approaches his own finish. He wraps her hair around his hand, holding her head, his other hand lower, at her back, supporting them both.
He moves faster still, harder still, plowing into her mercilessly. She winds her legs around him, allowing him to go deeper yet. Arthur closes his eyes and leans back suddenly as his wave rolls over him, then, remembering, he drops his head back down to be close to her, enveloping her with himself as he rides out his release with a massive groan, motionless, buried deep inside her.
“Nice afternoon for a ride, yes?” Sir Leon asks as he sees the king and reyna walking back from the stables.
“Perfect afternoon for a ride,” Arthur deadpans, but Guinevere hears the innuendo in his voice and unsuccessfully attempts to stifle a giggle.
Leon gives them an odd look before nodding respectfully to the pair. They walk towards the castle, and something makes Leon turn and look back at them.
He sees several pieces of straw Gusot in Gwen’s hair.
Part 3: link
Guinevere stretches, waking from an unintended nap. I wonder how late it is? I only meant to lay down for a moment to rest my feet.
She turns, and something hard and pointy jabs her hip.
“Oh!” What the…?
Arthur’s crown is sitting in the middle of the bed.
Naughty, Arthur. There? Honestly?
She swings her feet to the floor, crown in hand. On a whim, she tries it on. It slides down over her head, stopping when it hits her nose, blocking her eyes.
Perhaps not, then. She puts the crown away, in its place in the wardrobe, and heads for the trono room.
She pushes the heavy door open. The trono room is dimly-lit and seemingly empty. She closes the door behind her and wisely slides the bolt in place, locking the doors.
In the dim light she sees Arthur’s form lounging on his throne, his white sando a beacon in the gloom.
“I request audience with the king,” she says, her smoky voice ringing off of the polished wood and stone.
“Step pasulong and let me see you,” he commands, though she is steadily walking towards him.
“Yes, Sire,” she answers, biting back an impish smirk. He’s going to pay for this later.
How is it that she can use my pamagat on me – which I hate – and make it sound like seduction?
She continues pasulong and crosses through an errant sunbeam that doesn’t seem to realize it shouldn’t be there.
“Stop there in the light.”
She stops.
He leisurely slides from his trono and stalks toward her, a cougar circling a fawn.
“You are most pleasing to my eyes,” he says finally, low, in her ear.
“Thank you, Sire,” she ang sumagot meekly, playing her part in his little game.
He touches her. His hands bilog her small waist, lingering for a moment before they drop down to briefly cup her backside before traveling higher, ghosting at the sides of her breasts, sliding at her neck, gently, his rough palms creating delicious friction at the sensitive skin of her throat as one slips around behind her neck.
“You are most pleasing to my hands,” he says, leaning in closer, his other hand again circling her waist.
“Thank you, Sire,” she repeats, her voice almost a whisper.
Arthur gently tilts her face up to his and leans in closer still, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth from hers, drawing out the moment, the anticipation of it, making her wait until he can feel her body quivering in his arms.
Finally he claims his prize, his lips pressing into hers firmly but sensuously, savoring her taste, the feel of her succulent lips beneath his.
Gwen longs to part her lips for him, to allow his tongue to plunder her mouth, to plunder his mouth with her tongue. But he doesn’t let her. He pulls away before she can, trailing kisses down her neck. Her head falls back into his hand.
“You are most pleasing to my lips,” he says against the sensitive skin of her neck.
“Thank you, Sire.” Just a breath.
“You may have your audience,” he rumbles in her ear, “for a price.”
“My lord, I have no money,” she answers, smiling only because his face is still tucked into her neck, his lips and tongue amusing themselves on her skin.
“I desire no coin from you, Maid,” he says, pulling away from her neck. Gwen quickly schools her features as he gazes into her eyes, their blue-grey irises burning into her.
He’s trying not to laugh, she notes, seeing the amusement behind the desire.
“What could I possibly have to offer my king?” she innocently asks.
She’s better at this than I am, Arthur notes. I may be in over my head here.
Concentrate, man.
He pulls her closer, pressing his hips pasulong so she can feel his hard length against her stomach.
Gwen is not surprised at all, but she has the presence of mind to gasp as though she is. “My Lord!” she exclaims, the corners of her mouth twitching.
He kisses her again, this time open-mouthed and hungry, his tongue making demands that she easily meets, demanding right back. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes that she is being pushed backwards, to the steps of the dais, where he gently eases them down, sitting them on the steps.
Not enough room on the throne, he decided on the way.
“Touch me,” he says simply.
“My Lord?” she asks, again feigning innocence.
He studies her for a very brief moment. She’s committed, I’ll give her that. He takes her hand and guides it to his groin, placing her slender hand against his length. Her fingers instinctively grasp it and slide, bringing forth a groan from Arthur.
She leans over and kisses him, her tongue leading this time, delving in, sucking at his full lips, nibbling at them. Her hand briefly moves away from him to the ties on his trousers, opening them so that she can slip her hand inside.
“Yes,” he whispers against her lips, his own hands at her breasts, squeezing them through the material of her dress.
If he unties my bodice, he’s going to have to re-tie it before we leave here, she thinks.
Arthur moans into her mouth as she moves her hand on him, her soft hand like velvet on his shaft. One of his hands strays to her skirts, pulling them up, up, her slender legs coming into view. He skims his hand along her leg, turning to her inner thigh, higher, until his knuckles brush against the coarse damp curls at their juncture.
Guinevere sighs and her hand loses its rhythm briefly as he touches her, his fingers finding her sensitive spots easily, expertly, touching her just like he knows she likes.
“Oh…” she gasps, her hand moving in time with his. Arthur’s lips leave hers and travel down her neck to her breasts, halik their exposed tops, dipping his tongue into her cleavage, sucking gently at her delicious skin.
Her hand on him becomes madami than he can take, but instead of stopping her, he decides to let her finish him. He drops his head against her breasts. “Faster,” he pleads, his fingers stumbling now, losing their rhythm against her.
She complies, speeding up, squeezing a little tighter as well, increasing the friction. His head swims and his fingers forget what they are doing, distracted sa pamamagitan ng the whirlwind of sensation flooding his body, shooting through him to his toes.
Arthur comes with a hoarse grunt, spilling his seed onto her hand, into his trousers. His hand lazily resumes its motion on her, sliding a finger inside, thumb rubbing tiny circles on her sensitive spot. He pleasures her as he recovers from his own release that has left him weak and panting, his face still pressed into her chest.
She feels his lips begin to halik her again, and his fingers speed up once more, and she throws her head back, her hair pooling on the floor beneath her as Arthur kisses a trail of apoy up her neck to return to her waiting lips.
His fingers ilipat furiously yet gently, drawing her climax from her like honey from a hive, sweet and thick. Her breathing speeds up, her head tosses on the floor, she grips his sando in her hand.
“Oh… oh yes!” she calls out, her passionate cry echoing throughout the empty trono room. Arthur chuckles, wondering if anyone is outside the doors just now.
He moves his fingers a few madami times, just to torture her a little, and she reflexively clamps her thighs together, trapping his hand. He laughs again, carefully extracting his hand from her warmth.
He pulls her to him, into his arms, pulling her skirts back down. “Now, about this audience,” he says, grinning.
“My apologies, your highness, but I’ve forgotten why I sought you out now.”
xXx
A key. But to what? Arthur picks it up and glowers at it. She is evil. This is an evil, difficult hint.
He turns it around in his palm. This room has lock and key. But that would be stupid. What else requires a key? A trunk? No, too small. The vaults? He goes to his bedside table, opening it. No, all there. The dungeons?
He stares at the key. It is a thick key, iron. Not a fine key to a delicate lock on something valuable. He scratches a spot of rust from the key with his thumbnail.
She wouldn’t. Would she? Would she?
Only one way to find out.
Arthur tucks the key into his palm, and makes his way to the dungeons. It is evening, after dinner, and most everyone is going about their own business, the servants cleaning up dinner, the knights changing shifts.
He descends the stairs, wondering what he’ll find. If she’s down here, how will I find her? How will we… do what we’ve been doing without being discovered?
“My lord, the reyna instructed me to give you this should you come down here,” a slightly puzzled guard hands him a note.
“Thank you, Robert,” Arthur says, taking it from him. He walks a distance away, into the dungeon corridor, and opens the note.
Turn left and go to the very end. –G.
He follows the instructions, walking to the very end. There’s nothing there but another choice: right or left. He looks left; he looks right. He spies a length of lavender ribbon tied at the base of a torch down the right corridor. So he turns right.
Arthur grabs the ribbon from the torch on the pader and saunters casually along, wrapping it around his hand absentmindedly.
Elsewhere in the castle, Merlin’s head snaps up sharply as he feels another one of his protective charms spring into action. He grins and goes back to his reading.
Arthur reaches the last cell at the end of the dungeons and finally sees her.
“You’re late.”
He is about to make a flippant remark, but something in her tone and demeanor stops him. He regards her for just a moment, measuring the situation.
Arthur’s first crush happened when he was twelve years old. Lady Beverly. His tutor in courtly conduct and manners. She was young and beautiful and smelled like roses. But she was also a stern taskmistress, and was the first person to not indulge the prince. She was strict and unforgiving. She was demanding. She did not tolerate Arthur’s nonsense or his petulance. She was the first woman Arthur truly respected. And Arthur was smitten.
Guinevere sounded just like Lady Beverly.
The twelve-year-old boy buried inside Arthur’s puso woke up and started jumping around excitedly.
Gwen fixed him in her stare. She was not smiling. She was waiting, and it looked like she was growing impatient with him.
Better say something.
“Forgive me,” he says. Swallowing, he decides to add, “My queen.”
One tiny corner of her lush lips turns up in the tiniest of smiles.
Correct answer.
“Key.” She holds out her hand. He places the key on her palm.
“Against the wall,” she says, indicating where with only her eyes.
“Yes, my queen,” Arthur ang sumagot and walks to the wall. She’s not going to do what I think she’s going to do, is she?
She turns, standing to face him, hands on her hips. “Remove your shirt.”
He does, tossing it carelessly on the straw-riddled floor. He feels a devilish grin pulling at his lips, but carefully keeps it at bay.
Guinevere strides toward him, very close. Close enough to touch, but she keeps her hands at her hips.
Instinctively, Arthur’s arms reach for her, and she steps back, raising her eyebrows at him.
“I am sorry, my queen.” He drops his hands and she steps forward.
“You will learn your place,” she says quietly, her lips inches from his. She steps away from him for a moment, returning with a wooden box, which she sets in front of him.
Oh, God, she’s going to do it.
She stands on the box and reaches for his left hand, raising it up over his head and fastening an iron shackle around his wrist.
Arthur struggles to keep his expression neutral, to not give away the fact that his head is spinning with possibilities and his puso is pounding and his loins are already starting to pay attention.
Gwen reaches for his right hand and raises it up, securing it beside the other.
“Aha,” she says, spying her lavender ribbon still clutched in his left hand. She removes it and threads it through the key, tying the ends together and slipping it over her head.
Arthur’s eyes drop to the key, now nestled in her cleavage.
Gwen steps off the box and sets it aside, taking her time. She turns back to study her husband, chained to the dungeon wall.
He can feel her eyes on him as they rake over his chest, down, noting the bulge beginning in his trousers, then back up to gaze into his eyes. He looks back at her, and the pag-ibig he sees there is the only thing that contradicts the rest of her demeanor.
“Arthur,” she starts, pacing in front of him. “You have been… a naughty king.”
“Yes, my queen.”
“You foiled my plans in the tent. You ordered me about in the trono room.” She stops pacing and faces him. “Now you must pay.”
She is trying so hard not to smile, he notes, and his own mouth twitches. “Yes, my queen.”
She turns away from him and begins untying her bodice. I notice she is wearing one that ties in the front, Arthur thinks, knowing she is being deliberately cruel sa pamamagitan ng turning her back to him so he cannot see.
She drops the bodice near his sando and slides her dress down from one shoulder, looking over it at him as she does so. He groans and closes his eyes.
“Open your eyes.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Gwen continues removing her dress, stepping out of it and facing him again dressed only in her thin cream-colored chemise. She returns to him, standing as close as she can. She places a wet halik at his throat, touching her tongue to his skin briefly.
The cool air of the dungeon meets the moisture there when she removes her lips, and he can feel the remains of her halik on him.
She drags her fingers down his chest, raising nakakatindig balahibo on his skin and tightening his nipples. He exhales sharply and his fingers clutch uselessly over his head, but he says nothing.
“Kiss me.”
“Yes, my queen,” Arthur obediently answers, bending his head down to her raised face, gently pressing his lips to hers, letting her take the lead. She slides her tongue across his lips and he opens them, meeting her tongue with his, melding with her, reveling in her.
He forgets himself and starts to press further, as much as he can, ibingiay his restrictions, and she backs away, giving him that eyebrow again.
“Forgive me, my queen,” he apologizes, his voice low.
Gwen nips his neck and steps back, regarding him calmly again.
Reaching up, she drops the straps of the chemise and it falls to the floor. Arthur swallows, watching her, not able to touch that skin, that honeyed skin that rouses his desires with a mere memory of its texture, its color, its flavor.
“G—”
“Shut up.”
Arthur’s mouth snaps closed. Wow.
She floats pasulong again, and Arthur doesn’t know where to look. He can’t see everything at once, and his eyes dart between her face, her breasts, and her hips until she is too close and all he can see is her face.
Guinevere presses her breasts against his chest, then backs off slightly to slide them along him, letting his fine chest hair tickle her, the friction making her nipples stiffen. He looks down into her face to see her eyes blissfully closed and her lips parted. He almost kisses her, but stops himself, knowing there would be consequences if he did.
She opens her eyes. “Don’t even think about it, Pendragon. You are being punished.”
Damn, I forgot that she can read my mind.
Her hands drop to his trousers, pulling at the ties.
This is punishment? he thinks, then tries to touch her. Oh. Right. So it is.
She drags his trousers down his legs, leaving them hanging at his calves, bunched up against his boots. She runs her hands along his legs on the way back up, coming dangerously close to touching him but just missing, torturing him.
He clenches his jaw together and pinches his eyes shut. Just for a moment. They open again when she reaches around and squeezes his buttocks.
She leans pasulong and kisses his chest, roving over to close her lips over one of his nipples, biting it lightly and swirling her tongue around it. As she teases his chest with her tongue, she presses her body forward, sliding her stomach across his erection.
“Oh…” he grunts, and she bites his nipple a little harder in response. He inhales sharply, the slight pain remarkably pleasurable.
Gwen drags her tongue up the center of his chest, settling at his neck, placing small biting kisses there as she finally touches him, feather-light and fleeting.
Finally.
Without thinking, his hips thrust forward, pressing into her hand firmer.
She immediately steps away and slaps him. Not hard, but just hard enough.
Arthur’s eyes fly wide open, shocked and oddly aroused, and he bites his lower lip as he looks down into her eyes, which are still soft and loving.
“I am sorry, my queen.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, my queen.”
“How sorry?” she asks, her hand straying over her breasts, the key still hanging tantalizingly between them.
“Quite sorry, my queen.”
“Oh?” Her other hand drops between her legs, sliding a single finger.
“Very, very sorry, my queen,” he croaks.
She doesn’t seem to hear him because she continues to ilipat her finger on herself, her hand at her breast squeezing, rolling the firm nipple between her fingers.
Arthur licks his lips. His hands grasp the air. His shoulders ache. His mind reels.
Gwen removes her finger from herself with a sigh, and returns to Arthur. She lifts her finger to his lips and he takes it into his mouth, sucking the moisture from it. He closes his eyes and swirls his tongue around her finger, loving it, nibbling lightly at the tip before she gently extracts it.
“Thank you, my queen.”
That tiniest of smiles again. Right thing to say.
She slides her hands down his body again, this time boldly touching him, grasping him fully in her hand before dropping to her knees in front of him.
She kisses the head of his shaft once, then takes his length into her mouth, closing it around him, pulling him in as far as she can.
Oh, God… Arthur drops his head back against the hard stone of the cell wall.
Gwen moves her lips on his manhood, sliding up and down, her hand grasping below, squeezing gently, her fingers light and expert. She pulls back, licking the length of him, tuktok then bottom, biting the tip ever so gently.
Arthur’s body is completely rigid; every muscle is tense, like a coiled spring. He strains to control his hips, his voice, knowing any step out of line will make her stop.
And stopping is one thing he does not want her to do.
I want to touch her so badly. Maybe I can balutin my legs… no. Not only would she disapprove, but my trousers are effectively shackling my ankles as well.
She takes all of him into her mouth again, and his thoughts vanish. The only thing he is aware of his her: her mouth, her hand, the tickle of her hair.
He opens his mouth, gasping, his breathing heavy and fast. Guinevere’s skilled mouth knows exactly what he likes. She sucks hard, sliding him out, and his body jerks as she releases his head with a pop just before plunging it back in, slipping her tongue around his shaft.
Arthur reaches his climax swiftly under her attentions, and the spring uncoils as he floods into her mouth, thick and hot down her throat, his member throbbing as she gently slides him from her lips, a massive groan escaping from him.
He slumps slightly, hanging from his chains. Gwen kisses his navel as she stands, then lifts up on her toes to halik his lips lightly, lovingly.
Gwen retrieves the wooden box, sliding it back in front of him. She stands on it and opens the shackle on Arthur’s right wrist, then his left.
He immediately grabs her, holding her waist, his hands running up and down her back. She brings her arms around his neck and he tucks his head into her neck, weak and spent.
“You did well, my love,” Gwen whispers into his ear, halik it, stroking his hair, letting him touch her, feel her skin, drink her in.
He says nothing; he just clings to her, silently, his hands roving slowly, while he waits for his breathing to slow to normal.
Guinevere continues her loving attention, no longer stern and unforgiving, she is gentle and kind, loving, lavishing him with gentle kisses and praise. She caresses his cheek, runs her fingers through his silken hair, and tells him she loves him again and again.
He finally lifts his head and looks at her, bringing his hands to her face. She wraps her fingers around his wrists, rubbing them gently where the irons were. He leans in and kisses her leisurely, all soft lips and caressing tongues.
“Wow,” is all he can think to say.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asks, her fingers still caressing his wrists.
He shakes his head no. She finally smiles at him, the smile only he sees, his paborito smile.
He kisses her again, a few nibbling pecks, before helping her hop down from the box she is still standing on.
She bends to retrieve her chemise and slides it on over her head before she finds herself pulled back into his arms and getting kissed again.
“Did I ever tell you about Lady Beverly?”
xXx
Gwen stands, staring at the kama with her hands on her hips, regarding the item perched on the middle of the coverlet.
I can barely even lift that. How am I supposed to take it back down to the stables? She quirks her head to the side and lifts a hand to her chin.
At least he put a blanket down beneath it so it’s not actually touching the covers. She chuckles once.
She turns and waves her hand dismissively at it. “He can take that damn thing away, I’m not going to,” she says aloud, heading for the door.
Halfway to the courtyard doors, she spies Merlin. “Merlin?”
“Yes, my lady?” he grins at her.
She smirks at him. “Um, Merlin, I really hate to ask this, but…”
“Don’t worry about the saddle, Gwen, I’ll take care of it,” he says casually.
She studies his face. Does he know? Of course he does.
“Thank you, Merlin,” she says, patting his arm in a friendly way before heading out the door.
“I’ve brought you a treat, I have. Would you like the carrot or the apple?” Arthur’s voice drifts from the stables and reaches Gwen’s ears.
A decidedly equine snort is the reply, and Guinevere smiles as she stops in the doorway, watching.
“Yes, yes, you can have them both, of course, but which one would you like first?”
She watches as Arthur’s magnificent brown horse, Captain, reaches for the carrot with his teeth, taking it gently from the king’s hand. He chews the carrot while Arthur strokes his great head and talks softly to him.
He turns slightly so his back is to her, and she creeps pasulong silently and wraps her hands around his chest from behind.
“You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type,” she says, turning her head to rest her cheek against his back.
“You are far superior to any horse, my love,” he teases.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Wait. How fast can you run?” he asks, turning to face her with a grin. She slaps his chest playfully.
Captain nudges Arthur’s shoulder, jealous of the attention he is no longer getting. He also wants his apple.
“Here you go, baby,” Arthur says indulgently, giving the horse his mansanas and another stroke on the nose.
Gwen reaches over and gives the horse a pat as well just as Arthur bends to halik her. Captain crunches noisily behind them, and Guinevere giggles, breaking the kiss.
“Captain…” Arthur sighs, and pulls his wife to an empty stall, spotlessly clean, with a blanket spread atop fresh straw on the floor. He looks around. “You didn’t bring the saddle back?” He kisses her.
“Arthur, did you honestly think I’d want to haul that big heavy thing all the way down here?” She kisses him.
“So it’s still on the bed?” Kiss.
“No.” Kiss. “Merlin is going to take care of it.” Kiss.
“Merlin? So he… he knows? What we’ve been up to?” Arthur pales.
Gwen laughs, her hands tracing the contours of his chest through his shirt. “Arthur, honestly. Of course he knows. The man knows everything going on in that castle.” She leans up and kisses him yet again, longer this time.
He pulls her down onto the blanket with him, pulling her over him. “Does he, now?” he asks, halik her neck.
“Who do you think runs that place, anyway? Certainly…” she pauses as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, “certainly not you. Merlin and I keep that place running, you know.”
He lifts his head and looks at her beautiful face. “I’d argue, but there’s no point,” he says, capturing her lips once again, sucking at her full lower lip. “Because you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” she gasps, his hands now joining in on the fun, finding the soft mounds of her breasts. “A… a mouse could sneeze in the kastilyo and… and Merlin would be right there with a tiny handkerchief,” she says, wondering why she is continuing this conversation.
Arthur laughs loudly, throwing his head back. Gwen smiles down at him from her position straddling his lap, his amusement delighting her. I pag-ibig it when I can make him laugh.
“Guinevere, what would I do without you?” he asks, cupping her face in his hands. Neither of them acknowledge that they know full well what he would do without her. It no longer needs discussion.
“I shudder to think,” Gwen teases, sliding her hands beneath his shirt. He leans back on his elbows, sighing contentedly. She grabs the material of his sando and pulls him upright so that she can pull the sando off over his head. Once discarded, he lays back again, easing her down with him, pulling her gently sa pamamagitan ng the shoulders.
Their lips meet again, greedy for one another. The raw animal smells around them, the rough wool of the blanket beneath them, the warm summer afternoon air around them all tickle their senses as they halik and touch, discovery a forgotten concern in this little game of theirs.
Arthur reaches for the laces at the back of her dress, tugging them loose.
“You’re going to have to do those back up later, you know,” she warns against his lips.
“I know; I don’t care. I want you. All of you,” he answers, his voice rough as he frees the laces of her dress enough to slide it from her shoulders. “No shift?” he asks.
“It’s hot out today,” she shrugs. He smirks and pushes at her dress. She lifts up and removes the dress. Arthur reaches for her, pulling her back down to him, but she squirms away and turns, yanking his boots off with a grin.
“Hey!” he protests.
“Fair is fair, my king,” she tells him, reaching for his trousers, swiftly opening them and removing them.
She finally rejoins him, sliding over his body with hers, and they spend a few moments luxuriating in the feel of each other.
“Oh, you feel so good,” he groans, his hands roaming her back while her front delights his.
Her effect on him brings a satisfied smile to her face, and she drops her head to halik him, mouth open immediately, thrusting her tongue inside, loving his taste, his feel. Arthur allows her to halik him for a short time while his hands amuse themselves at her breasts.
She moves against him, capturing his shaft between her legs, sliding her legs to stroke him with the silky skin of her inner thighs.
He makes a growling noise and flips them over, no longer able to lay idly by, needing to take control, make her his own once again.
“Oh!” she exclaims, laughing beneath him.
He immediately takes a breast into his mouth, laving the stiff nipple with his tongue. Gwen leans her head back and sighs, moving her hips slightly against him, telling him what she wants.
Arthur obligingly lowers his hand, ghosting it across her stomach before he touches her, slipping his finger along the folds of her womanhood, making her gasp and writhe with pleasure.
“Is that what you wanted, my love?” he mutters into her breasts as he works his way across to attend the other one, pulling it greedily into his mouth.
“Yes, Arthur,” she gasps, “more…”
At that, he thrusts his fingers into her and bites her nipple gently, bringing forth another delicious gasp.
She reaches for him, carefully pulling, guiding him towards her center. “Already?” he asks without thinking.
“Yes…” she cries out softly. “I want you inside me,” she adds, and he is helpless.
He pushes forward, entering her with ease, sliding in as far as he can. He kisses her as he enters her, invading her mouth with his tongue as well.
“Oh…” she pulls her lips away momentarily before he captures them again and begins to ilipat his hips, thrusting deeply.
Guinevere wraps her arms around his muscular torso, clutching his back, his rear, whatever she can grab.
Arthur finally releases her lips and starts in on her neck again, not losing his rhythm at all. In fact, he increases the tempo, the intensity.
“I… I love… how you feel… inside of me…” she gasps, digging her nails in with one hand while grabbing a fistful of his hair with the other.
“I… I…” he starts to speak, but his brain won’t cooperate. “I love… you,” he finally settles on, punctuating his sparse words with his hips.
“Oh… ah… Arth… oh, Arthur!” she finally cries out, pulling his head down as she bucks beneath him, biting his neck, clinging to him in the throes of her climax.
He wraps her in his arms, pulling her up to him, wanting her as close as possible as he approaches his own finish. He wraps her hair around his hand, holding her head, his other hand lower, at her back, supporting them both.
He moves faster still, harder still, plowing into her mercilessly. She winds her legs around him, allowing him to go deeper yet. Arthur closes his eyes and leans back suddenly as his wave rolls over him, then, remembering, he drops his head back down to be close to her, enveloping her with himself as he rides out his release with a massive groan, motionless, buried deep inside her.
“Nice afternoon for a ride, yes?” Sir Leon asks as he sees the king and reyna walking back from the stables.
“Perfect afternoon for a ride,” Arthur deadpans, but Guinevere hears the innuendo in his voice and unsuccessfully attempts to stifle a giggle.
Leon gives them an odd look before nodding respectfully to the pair. They walk towards the castle, and something makes Leon turn and look back at them.
He sees several pieces of straw Gusot in Gwen’s hair.
Part 3: link
