Part 13: link


    Guinevere leads him back to the bedroom, not saying anything. He follows like an obedient puppy, eager yet perplexed.
    She looks around the room a moment, then tells him, “Take your chemise off.”
    “Okay,” he says, whipping it quickly over his head.
    “On the bed,” she says, her voice velvety-soft.
    She’s nervous. I’m too intrigued.
    While he lounges on the bed, she opens a drawer and pulls out a long silk scarf.
    Arthur’s face puzzles. There are several things she could do with that.
    Gwen climbs on the lit with him, straddling him, pressing him back onto the pillows. She leans down and kisses him, slipping her tongue between his lips momentarily, just giving him a taste.
    “Guinevere, what…?” he starts.
    “Shhh…” she shushes him with another kiss.
    “Okay.”
    She takes his left hand, bringing it to her lips, s’embrasser each finger, pulling one into her mouth for a moment, sucking on it, biting the tip, before bringing it up over his head against the headboard.
    She leans forward, intentionally pressing her breasts into Arthur’s face, and threads the scarf through an opening in the headboard and around his wrist.
    Ah, I see what she’s doing now. He leans his head back and smiles, feeling his right hand being lifted now. This one she presses to her breast, and his fingers reflexively close around it, caressing it lovingly, knowing that this will be his last opportunity for at least a little while.
    She sighs, arching into his hand. He can feel her nipple beneath the material of the tank haut, retour au début she is wearing, and he runs his fingers over it, smiling again when he hears her make a soft noise in the back of her throat.
    Gwen removes his hand from her breast and kisses it as she did the other, turning it slightly to place a Kiss on the callous at the side of his middle finger. Then she raises it up with the other, tying the other end of the scarf around his right wrist. Securely.
    Arthur pulls at his bonds, finding them quite secure. I don’t know if I should be happy about this ou worried, he thinks.
    “Now,” Gwen says, sitting up and looking down at him. “What should I do with you?”
    His eyes widen. “I have a few ideas,” he tries.
    “You have no say in this,” she says, smirking at him. “You are mine to do with what I will, now. I could go back out into the living room and flip on the telly for an heure ou so if I wanted.”
    “You wouldn’t!” he exclaims.
    “Wouldn’t I?” she asks, climbing off him.
    “Guinevere!” he calls, pulling at the scarf.
    She laughs and pulls a small bag out of her wardrobe.
    “What’s that?” he asks, craning his neck to try and see as she sweeps from the room.
    What the hell is she doing? What was in that bag?
    He waits. A few minutes later, she comes back, dressed in red lingerie and heels. Very high heels.
    Where did she have those stashed? “Bloody hell,” he mutters, lifting his head to get a better look.
    “Who’s being cruel and unusual now?” he moans, fingers flexing.
    “That’s no way to get yourself free,” she informs him.
    “Oh, so it’s like that, then,” he says. “I have to be a good boy.”
    Gwen nods, walking slowly forward. He watches the balançoire, swing of her hips, her long slender legs, her breasts rising above the haut, retour au début of the bustier; her dark curls now cascading freely around her shoulders.
    “Gorgeous,” he whispers. “If my hands were free I’d be running for that camera right now.”
    “Never in a million years,” she says.
    “I know,” he admits with a half-smile.
    “So toi like it?”
    “You need to ask?”
    She smiles at him, a slow, seductive smile.
    “Turn around?” he asks.
    “You’re in no position to be making requests,” she teases him.
    He groans, then, “Please?”
    Chuckling, she spins slowly for him. The panties are high-cut in back, exposing a great deal of her lovely backside, and Arthur smiles appreciatively.
    “Thank you.”
    She comes closer, walking towards the bed, climbing onto it beside him. Kneeling suivant to him, she raises one foot up and places it on his chest, careful not to stab him with her heel.
    “I presume toi want a closer look at these?” she purrs.
    “God, those are hot,” he says, lifting his head to look at her feet in the black strappy sandals she has on. The heels are at least three and a half inches high, arching her foot attractively. So that’s why she painted her toenails red, he notes.
    Gwen lifts her foot from his chest and very carefully pushes his head back down to the pillows with it, the toe of her shoe on his forehead.
    Arthur groans again, squirming slightly. I need to Kiss those toes.
    She moves again, straddling his waist, raking her nails lightly down his chest, tracing patterns, making circles around his navel.
    “You have too many clothes on,” she declares, scooting further down to sit on his thighs.
    “Yeah,” he agrees, moving his hips. His jeans have been quite uncomfortable since she appeared in that outfit.
    She unbuckles his ceinture and opens his trousers, climbing off to remove them. “Up,” she commands, and he lifts his buttocks so she can slide them off.
    “Do toi even own any underwear?” she asks suddenly.
    “One ou two pair,” he answers, laughing as she pulls his socks off and tosses them to the floor with his jeans.
    Gwen crawls up over his body, dipping to drag lightly over his erect member with her body. She lays flush against him then, and places a Kiss on his chest, his neck, his jaw. Finally she reaches his lips, her hands on his chest while she ravages his mouth with her tongue, greedy. She feels his chest and shoulders flex as he pulls at the scarf, apparently forgetting again that he is bound.
    “I want to touch you,” he pleads between kisses.
    “No,” she tells him, sitting back, adjusting her hips and legs.
    She gazes down at him, her hand trailing to the row of tiny clasps in the front of her bustier. “On ou off?”
    “Ooo… on for a little bit more, I think. I like the way that dark red looks against your lait chocolat skin.”
    “Artists,” she shakes her head, smiling. “How about these?” she asks, sliding her thumb into the waistband of the tiny knickers.
    “Definitely off.”
    She laughs and flattens her body over him again, reaching down to slide the silken vêtement off, holding it a moment and dragging it across his shaft a few times before tossing it aside.
    Lifting her hips slightly, Guinevere reaches down and takes him in her hand, sliding the head along her moist folds a few times. She moans quietly, her eyes fluttering closed.
    “Oh…” he grunts, his muscles tensing again.
    She moves just slightly, shifting so she’s captured his manhood between her thighs, stroking him between them. She rains kisses down on his face, delicately peppering his forehead, cheeks, eyelids, and the end of his nose with tiny soft kisses, taking her time. Finally she reaches his lips again, languidly s’embrasser him, pulling his tongue into her mouth, stroking it with hers as her hair falls around him like a dark waterfall.
    “Off now,” he croaks, indicating the bustier.
    Chuckling, Gwen sits back, straddling his stomach again. She drags her hands up to the clasps, in no hurry at all. She begins opening them, slowly, lazily, tormenting him. She watches, smiling as his eyes are glued to her fingers, watching them work, watching the inches of skin as it comes into view.
    She unhooks the last one, but holds it in place, smirking at him.
    “Tease,” he says.
    “Oh, now if I was a tease, I’d leave toi here, frustrated and alone. And tied up,” she corrects, shifting the vêtement slightly, exposing a bit plus skin.
    “Ugh, you’re killing me,” he groans, leaning his head back again, eyes closed.
    Gwen decides to remove the bustier while his eyes are closed and leans forward.
    Arthur’s eyes snap open at the sensation of her breast against his mouth, and he opens it eagerly, taking the stiff nipple between his lips, kissing, licking, sucking at it.
    She sighs, her hand cupping his cheek as he lavishes attention on her breast, crying out softly as he bites gently, sending a thrill down through her center. He moves to the other, and she repositions herself to allow him access, reaching back for him, groping for him.
    Her hand closes around his length and his lips tighten on her breast, and she hears him groan in the back of his throat.
    Moving again, she removes her breast from his mouth, and trails kisses down his chest, loving the feel of his muscled chest under her hands and lips.
    He’s so perfect, I’m still not convinced he’s even real.
    She roves lower until she reaches his manhood, where she bestows a Kiss on the end of it. Lifting it with her hand, she takes him into her mouth, plunging him deep inside, sucking hungrily at him.
    “Oh, yes…” he breathes, unconsciously lifting his hips, pressing against her.
    Gwen holds the base of his shaft as she pleasures him, her fingers reaching beneath to stroke the softness below. She pulls her mouth away and drags her tongue down the length of him, swirls it around the tip, and back up the other side. Plunging him back into her mouth, she pumps in and out several plus times, slowly at first, then increasing speed until she feels him squirming and trembling beneath her.
    “Oh… God… Guinevere…” he is gasping, pulling at his restraints, and she actually hears her sturdy headboard creak.
    She releases him gently, creeping up over his body again, s’embrasser him softly. “Do toi want to finish this tied ou untied?” she asks softly, rubbing her body leisurely atop his, enjoying the feel his chest hair against her breasts.
    “Tied,” he answers, surprising them both.
    “Oh,” she says, her surprise apparent.
    “I know, I’m surprised, too,” he laughs, leaning his head up to Kiss her again. “But toi had better believe there’s going to be payback,” he warns, moving to Kiss her neck.
    “Promise?”
    “Oh…” he groans again, dropping his head.
    Gwen sits up and moves lower and, taking him in her hand again, slowly guides him inside her, sheathing him within her warmth.
    “Oh…” it is Guinevere’s turn to groan now, throwing her head back, loving the feel of him inside of her.
    She rocks her hips, moving, bracing her hands on his chest, eyes closed, lips parted.
    Arthur can only watch and help the only way he can, par lifting his hips in time with her rocking, trying to maximize the movement.
    He is much closer than she is, and doesn’t want her to go unfinished. “Touch yourself for me,” he whispers hoarsely, hoping that she’ll do as he asks.
    Gwen’s hands drift up to her breasts, squeezing, kneading gently, rolling her nipples between her fingers as she continues to déplacer on him. Arthur watches, fascinated. She’s not nearly as gentle with them as I am, he finds himself thinking, I’ll have to remember that.
    “Not just there.”
    As if in a trance, hypnotized par their lovemaking, Gwen’s right hand glides down her stomach, and her fingers slide between her legs, rubbing her sensitive spot mindlessly, adding another layer of sensation.
    “Yes,” Arthur gasps, eyes glued on her as she touches herself while he is inside her, her full lips forming into an O as she gets closer and closer.
    “Faster,” he says, trying to guide her with his own hips, pushing up with them harder, faster, encouraging her to do the same.
    She does, and he is growling now, a feral beast pulling at his bonds. Her headboard creaks in protest again as her roars his release, spilling into her just as he realizes she is crying out his name and digging her nails into her own breast, her fingers between her legs moving to grasp his chest.
    Collapsing over him, panting, Gwen cuddles against Arthur’s chest briefly, s’embrasser it here and there.
    “Wow. That was… wow,” Arthur says, adjusting his shoulders again.
    “Oh, sorry!” she exclaims, moving to untie him.
    As soon as his hands are free, they are on her, caressing, touching. Finally he settles down and wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly on his chest.
    “So what was it toi were debating about?” he asks, hands stroking her back.
    “Which one of us gets tied up. I was also contemplating blindfolds, but I thought both at once might be a bit much.”
    “Yeah, probably.”
    “At least the first time,” she grins against his chest.
    “Guinevere!” he exclaims, laughing.
    “You’re corrupting me.”
    “I think it was always there. It was just looking for a way out.”
    “Hmm.”
    “Let me see those shoes again,” he says suddenly.
    Laughing, Gwen slides down from his chest and swivels around, placing her feet near his head.
    “Now. Why do toi have these things?” he asks, sitting up to inspect. “And don’t say toi just bought them, because these have been worn.” He points at the slightly scuffed bottoms.
    “Freya made me do it. She a dit they were super sexy and that they made my legs look really good. I wore them once.”
    “Why only once?”
    “Turns out they hurt if toi try to actually walk in them. God forbid toi try to dance,” she says, chuckling.
    He holds her feet lovingly, and begins unbuckling the shoes. “We can’t have these lovely feet uncomfortable, now, can we?” he asks softly.
    “They’re fine if I don’t walk too much,” she smiles at him as he begins to rub her feet with his strong fingers. “You are so good at that,” she says, laying back and letting him have his fun.
    “Well, I ought to be, don’t toi think?” he grins at her before s’embrasser her big toe.

    “Merlin, Merlin, toi and your commas are going to be the death of me,” Gwen laments from Arthur’s sofa, nearing the end of Merlin’s manuscript, red pen in hand, biting at the end of it idly.
    “Don’t bite your pen,” Arthur calls from his corner par the easel.
    “You’re supposed to be painting, not watching me.”
    “I’m painting you, so I’m allowed to do both,” he says, sticking his tongue out at her across the room.
    “Do toi believe him?” Gwen asks Iggy, who is curled up at her feet, a giant ball of fourrure warming her toes.
    Iggy lifts his head and meows. She reaches up with her foot and rubs his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed, content, and drops his head back down to resume his nap.
    “You’re no help,” she mutters, turning her attention back to the manuscript.
    “He’s a cat. He’s not supposed to be helpful,” Arthur comments.
    They both resume working in silence, the only sound coming from Arthur’s stereo, where The Ramones are currently serenading them.
    I liked the other one better, Gwen notes, looking up from the manuscript again. Who was it now? The Clash. Yes, I like them better. Her eyes drift over to Arthur, working away in his corner, sunlight drifting down on him from the one window and a large lamp providing further illumination while he works.
    She smiles as she watches him. He’s chant along to the music, though she can’t hear him. And it’s not chant so much as rhythmic shouting anyway, in most places, she notes. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s so absorbed in his work he probably doesn’t even know that his lips are moving.
    He looks so happy. This is what he loves to do. I haven’t been with him that long, but the only other time I’ve seen him looking that content, that happy, that… blissful, is when we’re… her thoughts trail off while she blushes, looking determinedly back at the manuscript.
    Is it warm in here?
    Guinevere sighs, blinking a few times to clear her head. She reaches for her glass of water from the coffee table, takes a drink, and returns to her task.
    She’s nearly done. Rylan is rushing to save his uncle from sacrificing himself to the witch Eostre. She has been plaguing the kingdom throughout the novel, and Gwen suspects she’ll finally be getting her comeuppance.
    Just as young Rylan is calling down thunderbolts from the sky in his grief-fueled fury, Arthur’s phone rings. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she curses loudly.
    “Guinevere!” Arthur laughs, surprised and amused, setting his brush down to answer the phone.
    “Sorry, I’m so close to being done, and it’s a really good part, and the phone just ruined the entire ambience,” she laughs, embarrassed.
    “Hello? Hey,” Arthur réponses the phone. Gwen looks up at him, and he mouths “Merlin” to her. She nods, and looks back at the page, backing up again in an attempt to get stuck back in.
    “Just painting. Yeah, of course. She’s reading.”
    Gwen smiles. “Reading.” Right.
    “Hmm? Hang on, I’ll ask. Sweet?” he puts his hand over the phone and calls to Gwen.
    “Yes?”
    “Interested in dîner at the pub with Merlin and Leon? Leon’s doing poisson and chips.”
    “Yum.”
    Arthur turns back to the phone. “I think that was a yes.”

    “You leave when, Wednesday?” Leon asks. The pub is closed, and the four of them are sitting in the relative dim around a table.
    “Very early. My dad’s picking me up.”
    “I hate that. Try to go anywhere, and toi need to be at the airport wasting time for two hours before toi actually leave. So boring,” Leon says.
    “Where the hell have toi ever gone?” Arthur asks him.
    “Hey, I’ve been to visit my dad a few times,” he states.
    “And there was that time he followed that bird to Spain, thinking he was in love,” Merlin says.
    Leon scowls. “Thanks for bringing that up.”
    “Do I want to know?” Gwen asks.
    “No,” Leon réponses immediately.
    “Marisol,” Merlin says, saying the name musically. “She was here on holiday and Leon met her at the market. She was lost. He got her directions straightened out, and was smitten.”
    “Yeah, then she proceeded to string him along for the suivant two weeks, draining him of his cash and his brainpower,” Arthur interrupts.
    “Her holiday ended and she left, and he followed two days later, thinking he was going to abandon his life here for her and sunny España,” Merlin continues.
    “What happened?” Gwen asks, giving Leon a sympathetic look.
    “I got there and discovered that not only did she not l’amour me, but she was married. Married,” he repeats, shaking his head.
    “What a bitch!” she says, hurt for him. She reaches over and squeezes his hand.
    “Yeah, not quite the word we all used, but it’s definitely applicable,” Arthur chuckles, lifting a chip and feeding it to Gwen.
    “What word did you…? Oh. Never mind, I got it,” Gwen laughs, chewing.
    “I’m over it now. Mostly,” Leon says, taking a long pull from his bottle.
    “Someone is out there for you, dear, don’t worry,” Gwen says reassuringly, Freya’s name drifting unbidden to the front of her mind. Perhaps.
    “Anyway,” Merlin continues, “tell us about your brother.”
    “His name is Elyan. He’s younger than me par almost two years. He’s been working as a pastry chef in Chicago for the last an ou so. Seems to like it. I don’t get to talk to him much, and he doesn’t write, but I assume he is well,” she shrugs.
    “Pastry chef?” Leon asks. “As toi may have guessed, I fancy myself a dab hand in the cuisine myself. I don’t get much opportunity to bake, though.”
    “Yeah, it’s an interesting choice, but he is really talented,” she says. “Ha,” she chuckles, “maybe he’ll have his own cooking montrer one day.”
    “Too bad we can’t sample his desserts,” Arthur says.
    They all look at him. Even Gwen seems to be holding in her laughter.
    “What?” he asks.
    “That sounded really… gay,” Merlin says, laughing.
    “Yeah, it’s really too bad we can’t sample his desserts, eh, Merlin?” Leon chimes in, and the two men fall about laughing while Gwen hides her snickering behind her pint of Guinness.
    Arthur scowls, stabbing a piece of fish. “All right, shut it, toi two wankers.”
    “Elyan is really a good bloke,” Gwen decides to plow ahead while Leon and Merlin slowly recover from their fits. “I haven’t seen him since he left.”
    “And has this one been behaving himself in the face of your impending departure?” Merlin asks, prompting yet another scowl from Arthur.
    “Of course not,” Gwen says lightly. “But we’ve come to an understanding.”
    “Which is?”
    “I won’t be a chienne and she’ll let me live,” Arthur says sullenly.
    Merlin and Leon laugh again. “Sounds like Drag has met his match, eh?” Leon asks Merlin, who nods slowly, eyes twinkling.

    “That was fun,” Gwen says when they return to Arthur’s flat.
    “They wanted to make sure they saw toi before toi left,” he says.
    “Of course they’d see me. I’ve still got Monday and Tuesday.”
    “You know what I mean. They l’amour you. In a sisterly way, of course.”
    Gwen laughs. “They’re sweet. Ugh, work tomorrow, why is it Sunday?” she plunks down on the sofa, looking at the manuscript. So close to being done.
    “Because time keeps marching on, my sweet,” Arthur says, sitting beside her. “Get back to work,” he instructs, nodding at the manuscript. “You’re almost done, and if toi finish it tonight, then toi won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
    “Until I present it to Mr. Gaius,” she says, picking it up with a sigh.
    “Ah, you’ll be fine. I’m sure he’ll be putty in your hands just like the rest of us are,” he says, standing and going back to his canvas.
    What is he talking about, putty in my hands? I don’t… she thinks, sitting and staring, a puzzled look on her face.
    “Too dark to do any more,” Arthur decides, switching the light back off. He looks over and sees Gwen’s face. “Don’t tell me. toi don’t realize how charming toi are, either.”
    “What?” she asks, turning towards him.
    He sighs, shakes his head, and walks into his bedroom. “I give up.”
    Guinevere shrugs and settles back onto the sofa, sitting sideways against the arm. Iggy bounds up and lands on her stomach.
    “Oof,” she grunts. “Iggy, toi are too heavy to be on my tummy, Love.” He meows and delicately climbs off, curling up at her feet again. She picks up the manuscript again. Two pages left.
    “Move it, furball,” Arthur commands, and Iggy makes a small growling noise, but hops down nevertheless, heading for his bowl. Finding it empty, he meows again.
    “Arthur, did toi feed him?” Gwen asks, not looking up.
    “Shit.” He goes and opens a can of food, dumping unceremoniously into Iggy’s bowl. “I suppose toi want fresh water as well,” he sighs, bending to pick up his water dish.
    “Well, of course he does. Would toi want to drink that stale water?”
    “Stop taking his side,” Arthur protests, setting down the water and returning to the canapé and his intended target of Gwen’s feet.
    He sighs, pulling them into his lap. Gwen hears a curious sound and looks up to see him squeezing a drop of moisturizer on his hand before applying it to her foot, giving her a proper foot massage.
    Gwen smiles, enjoying the attention, trying to not let it distract her too much from her reading. Luckily I’m almost done, she thinks, twirling the pen between her fingers as Arthur kneads the muscles of her foot, finding numerous tiny knots in muscles she didn’t even realize she had.
    Another comma out of place, an apostrophe that shouldn’t be there, and a couple errors that appear to be nothing plus than typos, and she’s done.
    Wow. He’s done this brilliantly. I wonder if he’s got any more. He’s certainly allowed for it, she thinks, wondering what will become of Rylan if his magic gets discovered; what the future holds for Prince Drake, King Osric, and Lady Minerva. Even Rylan’s uncle Haelan and Minerva’s maidservant Evelyn have piqued her interest. Evie seems to have a little crush on Rylan. There were a few sparks there, she notes. She even kissed him. Wonder where that will go?
    Oh, wow, that feels really good. She sets the manuscript on the table, tossing the pen on haut, retour au début of it, and leans her head back against the side of the canapé with a sigh, closing her eyes.
    “All done?” he asks softly.
    “Mmm-hmm,” she nods, eyes still closed.
    “Was it good?”
    “Very. Do toi know if he’s written more? A sequel, perhaps?”
    “I think so. Does it call for one?”
    “At least one.”
    “You’re enjoying this,” he says, switching feet now.
    “Yes, but still probably not as much as you.”
    He laughs. “You’re probably right.”

Part 15: link