Part 12: link
“I’ll see toi later,” Gwen says, leaning up to Kiss Arthur before he heads into the men’s area of the spa for his massage.
“Should I wait for you?”
“I’ll probably be longer than toi will,” she says. “I’m having both my hair and my nails done. So I’ll meet toi back in the room.”
“You look really good in my shirt, par the way,” he smirks at her, s’embrasser her one plus time.
Gwen hadn’t anticipated having her hair professionally done for the wedding, and only had pullover shirts along. So she borrowed the button-down chemise Arthur had worn the précédant day, tied at the waist with the sleeves rolled up, so she wouldn’t have to pull anything over her head to put her dress on later. The fact that it smelled of him was just a bonus. She grins at him over her shoulder and disappears through the door.
xXx
An heure and a half later, Gwen comes back into their hotel room, coiffed and manicured and looking lovely. Arthur is lying sideways on the bed, limbs splayed, his face completely relaxed. She approaches his head and leans over to Kiss him, upside-down. “How was your massage?” she asks, sitting on the bed.
“Great. I feel like a hundred dollars,” he says, smirking at her.
“A hundred… dollars?” she asks, her face quizzical.
“Caddyshack, 1980? Classic movie, Guinevere, come on…” he rolls his eyes.
“Can’t say I’ve seen it,” she shrugs.
“Oh we will definitely be remedying that situation, and soon,” he promises, sitting up. “You look absolutely gorgeous,” he declares.
“Thank you. I had them leave it mostly down, because I know toi like it down,” she says, smiling shyly at him.
“I do like it up, too,” he says. “Gives me unfettered access to that delicious neck of yours. But I’m glad toi kept it down. Did they trim it as well?” he asks, touching a curl lightly, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Just a bit. Had some divisé, split ends. Do toi like my nails?” She holds her hands out for inspection. They are painted deep burgundy, so dark that it is almost black, and the very tips are edged with metallic gold.
“Very cool.” He takes her hand and pulls it to the lamp, peering at her nails. “Okay, so it is red. Just really dark red. Very sexy,” he declares, s’embrasser her knuckles. “And so soft, too…” he rubs his thumb against the back of her hand for a moment before lifting it to his face, stroking his cheek along her skin.
“All right, I know where this is leading. I just spent good money to have my hair done and toi will not be messing it up.” She withdraws her hand from his and pats his cheek.
“Not right now, anyway,” he grins at her. “Wait, toi didn’t charge it to the room? I thought toi agreed to let me…”
“Yes, I did,” she sighs. “So I misspoke. I just spent your good money to have my hair done, is that better, Mr. Picky?”
“Yes,” he nods, looking at the clock. “Probably should get dressed,” he mutters.
“Honestly, toi are impossible sometimes,” Gwen mumbles to herself, going to retrieve her dress.
“What was that?” Arthur asks.
“What was what?” she asks, innocently. He peers suspiciously at her for a moment, but then he shrugs and goes back to pulling shoes and socks out of his bag.
xXx
“Gwen, toi look lovely,” Uther Pendragon says, finding Gwen and Arthur inside the church. He pecks her cheek and sits beside her in the pew, so she is between Arthur and Uther.
“Thank you, Mr. Pendragon, toi look rather dashing yourself,” she smiles at him.
“I do believe I told toi to call me Uther,” he reminds her, arching an eyebrow at her.
“Sorry. Upbringing,” she says par way of explanation.
“Well, toi were raised correctly, then,” he declares. “Arthur,” he greets his son.
“Thank toi for noticing me, Father,” he teases.
“Sorry, Arthur, toi look lovely as well.”
“That’s better.”
Gwen laughs at the two men, swatting Arthur with her program.
Arthur looks at his watch. 4:05. “They’re late,” he says.
“Weddings never start on time,” Gwen says, and Uther is nodding in agreement on the other side of her. She lifts her hand and moves a curl off her shoulder.
“Gwen, that is a lovely bracelet,” Uther says, nodding at Gwen’s silver marguerite, daisy bracelet.
“Thank you. It was a birthday gift from Arthur,” she holds her arm out for Uther to take a look.
“He chose it himself? No one helped him?” Uther says, smirking over at his son.
“Yes, Dad, I did, shut it.”
Just then the musique starts up and everyone shifts in their seats to watch the bridesmaids proceed up the aisle.
Mithian looks gorgeous. Leon looks handsome. They both look completely smitten. When they are instructed to sit, Arthur takes Gwen’s hand and holds it in his lap, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb absently.
Is he picturing the same things I am picturing, sitting here watching them get married? Gwen cannot help but wonder. She tries to put those thoughts aside, but they are insistent, prodding thoughts that any normal young woman would be having at a wedding. Every girl dreams of being a princess for a day, she decides.
It’s Arthur’s turn to read. He squeezes her hand and walks gracefully to the podium. His eyes rest on Gwen for just a moment before he begins.
“A lire from First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verses one through thirteen. If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong ou a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”
He glances up from time to time as he reads, addressing the crowd, completely at ease in front of them. His eyes never rest on any one person for any amount of time. Except for Guinevere. Arthur’s eyes return to her again and again as he reads.
“Love is patient and kind; l’amour does not envy ou boast; it is not arrogant ou rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable ou resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. l’amour bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”
Gwen smiles a small smile, glancing over to Leon and Mithian for a moment, but her eyes are drawn back to Arthur like an irrepressible magnet.
“So now faith, hope, and l’amour abide, these three;” Arthur’s eyes lock on Gwen, “but the greatest of these is love.”
xXx
Dinner is a sumptuous affair. The prime rib is perfect. The champagne is excellent. Gwen and Arthur are seated with Uther and some other people from Pendragon Insurance.
Speeches. Toasts. The clinking of cutlery on glasses insisting that the bride and groom kiss.
Cake is cut, and it, too, proves decadent and ridiculously delicious. Gwen watches, interested, as a 20-piece band sets up on a stage at one end of the hall.
“Interesting choice for music,” she comments, nodding, seeing saxophones and trombones and trumpets.
“Ah, yes, that was one of the things that they had in common,” Arthur nods. “They both l’amour old jazz music.”
“So they hired a big band for their wedding reception,” Gwen nods.
“Of course,” Arthur nods, as if it should be obvious. “Honestly, I wasn’t surprised when Leon came slinking into my office to beg for Mithian’s number. That double rendez-vous amoureux, date was the strangest rendez-vous amoureux, date I’d ever been on.”
“Hit it off right away, did they?” Gwen asks, looking longingly at her cake plate and deciding it would be bad form to pick it up and lick up all the crumbs and streaks of icing.
“Like a house on fire,” Arthur says. “You want plus cake, don’t you?”
“No. Yes. Shouldn’t.”
“We’ll divisé, split one,” he whispers conspiratorially, and dashes off in chercher of another piece.
He returns triumphant, a piece of chocolat cake in his hand.
“Where did toi purloin that?” she asks.
“Leon’s grandfather. Diabetic, and apparently Gran is a force to be reckoned with,” he chuckles. “Very strict with him. I happened past at the correct time. She was about to stab him in the hand with her fork to prevent him from digging in.”
“You are lying,” Gwen says, her own fork hovering over a corner of the cake.
“I am completely serious,” he says raising his right hand in the air as if he were in court. “Look,” he indicates with his head where the grandparents are seated, and sure enough, Gwen sees a sullen-looking old man seated beside a very smug-looking old woman. The old man looks like Leon in fifty years. Then Gran leans over and pats Granddad’s hand and kisses his cheek, and it appears all is forgiven.
Gwen smiles wistfully and digs her fork into the moist cake.
The musique starts up shortly, and Leon and Mithian have their first dance to “I’ve Got toi Under My Skin.”
“The band is good,” Gwen declares, speaking in Arthur’s ear now. He nods, turning his face quickly to Kiss her while she is still so near.
“Mithian needs a stepstool,” he réponses in Gwen’s ear then, and she laughs. Mithian is about the same height as Gwen, and there is a one-foot height difference between the bride and groom.
“Doesn’t look like she minds at all,” Gwen says then.
The band plays a good mixture of slow and fast, and actually plays a wide range of balançoire, swing tunes, from Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and Royal Crown Revue.
Arthur has been itching to dance with Gwen, but Uther whisks her away to the dance floor before Arthur even gets a chance. Then Mithian grabs him, telling him that he cannot deny the bride a dance on her wedding day, even pushing Leon at Gwen when he tries to cut in.
After very inexpertly attempting to dance to “One O’Clock Jump,” Arthur gives up quickly on any fast dancing, heading back to drape his now slightly-damp veste over the back of his chair.
Gwen comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his middle. “Ugh, you’re sweaty,” she says, letting go almost immediately.
Arthur turns around and tips her chin up so he can Kiss her. “Next slow one is mine. Even if Prince Harry himself were to come strolling in and demand the suivant dance from you, toi will tell him no.”
“Yes, Sire,” she teases, even curtseying. Then she reaches for her glass of water.
A new song starts, a slow one. “The Nearness of You.”
“Aha,” Arthur says, grabbing Gwen’s hand and heading back to the dance floor with her.
“You are the only one I’ve been wanting to dance with, toi know,” Gwen says, looking up at him, her arms around his neck, his around her waist.
“Good,” he declares, grinning for a moment before his face changes slightly. He is still smiling, but his face is softer, warmer. He pulls her a little closer and she rests her head on his chest, turning her face to the side. She closes her eyes and listens to his heartbeat while they dance, trusting him to keep her on her feet.
She feels him sigh and looks up again. He still has that same soft, inscrutable look on his face.
“Truth,” he says, s’embrasser her forehead.
He wants a truth? Now? “You’ve gone quiet, Arthur. What’s on your mind?” she asks, and realizes that her own cœur, coeur is pounding a bit now.
“I was just thinking,” he says, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “I was thinking about… how much I l’amour you.” He drops his head down to hers, brushes his lips against her cheek, and says, his lips caressing her ear, “I l’amour you, Guinevere.”
Gwen’s eyes close again and she feels her stomach drop in the most delicious fashion, a warm tingle reaching from her cœur, coeur down to her groin. She reaches up and holds his head in place. “I l’amour you, too, Arthur,” she breathes, answering him.
Arthur lifts his head a moment to gaze down into her eyes.
A crafty smile spreads slowly across Gwen’s face. “Dare.”
“Kiss me,” he says, understanding immediately.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he says quietly, the corner of his lips curving into a small smile.
He remembers! “I know, I just wanted to see if toi would say it again.”
“Kiss me, Guinevere,” he says, his voice low, again washing over her skin like a caress.
“Okay,” she whispers, lifting her face to his, pressing her lips to his, gently at first, their lips soft, pliant, moist. Arthur turns his head just slightly and parts his lips just enough to emballage, wrap around her lower lip, tugging softly until she opens her mouth beneath his, her tongue coming vers l'avant, vers l’avant to meet his.
If either of them realize that their feet are no longer moving, neither of them care.
The song ends and they reluctantly break their kiss, staring into each other’s eyes. Gwen catches some motion in the corner of her eye, and she turns her head to see that quite a large number of people are staring at them. She blushes and starts giggling, embarrassed.
“What?” Arthur asks.
“People are staring,” she says, pulling him from the floor, back to their seats when the suivant song starts.
“Hey! toi two are stealing our spotlight!” Leon declares loudly, but he is trying not to laugh.
“Sorry,” Gwen apologizes. Arthur sits and pulls Gwen into his lap before she can take her own seat.
“He’s teasing, don’t mind him,” Mithian says, smiling at them as if she knows exactly what happened between them out there on the dance floor. “We’re going to do the bouquet and garter toss after the suivant song, so don’t even think about escaping back up to that little l’amour nest you’ve got upstairs,” she warns, grinning.
xXx
“I need to get out of these shoes,” Gwen declares, walking into their room, tossing the bouquet that she swears Mithian somehow threw directly to her on the dresser.
“You should have brought a comfortable pair for the reception,” Arthur says, pulling the garter that he knows Leon shot directly to him off of his sleeve and dropping it beside the bouquet.
“I was going to, but I was in a rush and forgot,” she shrugs, flinging the seconde shoe in the general direction of the small suitcase she’s brought along. “Oh!” she exclaims, surprised. Arthur has grabbed her around the waist from behind and lifted her from her feet.
He steps back two steps and sits on the bed, pulling her with him, into his lap, his arms still around her waist. He worms his nose into her hair, burrowing into her curls until his lips find her neck.
“Smells different,” he complains, his lips still at her skin.
“Well, I don’t use the same products as the salon, obviously,” Gwen says, tilting her head to the side for him, leaning back into him. “My stuff is much cheaper,” she laughs, lifting her hand to cup his cheek.
“I like yours better,” Arthur says, s’embrasser her jaw, working his way to her lips, his fingers brushing the underside of her breast.
“It’s what you’re used to,” she giggles. He flops backward onto the lit and rolls them to the side. She flips around to face him and kisses his lips.
“Well, yes, but I still like whatever toi use better,” he insists. “Now, my love,” he pauses, grinning at his use of the endearment, “what shall I do with you?”
“Hmm…” Gwen narrows her eyes and taps her chin with her finger, appearing to be deep in thought.
“Dare?” Arthur says, raising an eyebrow hopefully.
“Well, then… I dare toi to rub my feet,” she purrs, s’embrasser him again.
He leans back and looks at her. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I can work with that.”
“You’re a creative man, I’m sure toi can,” she answers, shifting on the lit slightly. “But first I want out of this dress.”
“Now that is plus like it,” he says, leaping to his feet now. He first unbuttons his chemise and finishes undressing himself, till he is just in his boxeur, boxer briefs.
“Are toi warm enough?” he asks suddenly, his hand poised over the thermostat on the mur that controls the heater.
“Up a notch ou two, please,” she says, standing and turning her back to him so he can pull her zipper.
Arthur adjusts the heat and then steps over to happily oblige, humming his approval as he slowly lowers the zipper. “Ooo, is this new?” he asks, sliding his hands inside against the strapless black bustier he has discovered.
“Perhaps,” she grins over her shoulder at him.
“Is there more?” His voice is soft, low and husky now, and it sends shivers down Gwen’s spine.
“You’ll see,” she teases.
“This is why toi changed in the bathroom, toi naughty thing,” he says, easing her dress down her arms and off.
Gwen just chuckles and catches the dress before it falls completely to the floor, stepping out and walking over to put it back on its hanger, shaking her head as she steps around the pieces of Arthur’s discarded suit.
“What?” he says vaguely, mostly distracted par watching her walk away from him. The bustier has a matching black thong.
“You’re going to need to have your suit cleaned and pressed if toi leave it like this.”
“Going to have to anyway because it’s all sweaty,” he shrugs. “Now come back here.”
She saunters back over to him, swinging her hips seductively, her lips curving into a smile as his eyes roam up and down.
“Stockings, too, hmmm…” he nods approvingly, his hand reaching immediately for the place on her thigh where the haut, retour au début edge of her stockage, empoissonnement meets her thigh, tracing it with his finger.
“You approve, then?” she asks, sliding her hands on his chest.
“Definitely,” he nods, lowering his head to hers for a kiss, plunging his hands into her hair now, scattering hairpins as he threads his fingers into her hair, groping and pulling them gently out as he finds them.
“Arthur!” she starts giggling against his lips. “That does feel good, though,” she admits.
He looks down at her, grins, then captures her lips again, pushing her gently back down on the bed. He finds one plus hairpin and pulls it free, tossing it on the nightstand, where it bounces once and lands on the carpet.
“I think that’s all of them,” he declares, then sits back and looks at her lying there on the large bed, the black lingerie contrasting against her light-brown skin.
Gwen lifts a foot up and pushes his chest with it. “Get to work, Pendragon,” she orders, reminding him of his assigned task.
“Your wish,” he says, lifting her foot and s’embrasser the sole once before pressing his thumbs into it, massaging and kneading.
“You’re not going to take my stockings off first?” she asks, running her own hands through her hair now, double-checking for any hairpins.
“Oh, no,” he says, his eyes alight. “Those are definitely staying on.”
“Arthur, is there something I should know about you? Oh, that feels good…”
“Hmm? No, don’t think so. Other one,” he sets the first one down and she gives him the other one. “I don’t have a fetish ou anything, if that’s what you’re implying. I just… like your legs, and they look really good in these stockings.”
“Really?” she says, raising her eyebrows at him.
“Really,” he declares, s’embrasser the pad of her big toe. Gwen closes her eyes and lets him finish what he is doing. She knows he’ll be done well before she’s ready for him to finish, but she’s going to enjoy it while she can.
“Don’t fall asleep on me, little one, I have plans for toi yet.”
“I won’t.” She smiles, eyes still closed. “I’m just enjoying this.”
“Good,” Arthur says, sliding his hands up her calf, leaning vers l'avant, vers l’avant over her. He bends down and kisses her knee, then moves higher, feathering kisses up her thigh.
He works his way up, depositing a single moist Kiss in her cleavage before softly s’embrasser the end of her nose.
“Hi,” she opens her eyes now and looks at him.
“Hi, yourself,” he answers. Gwen tilts her chin up and kisses him, her hands slipping around his torso to rest on his back.
He returns her kiss, warm and wet, luxuriating in each other, their tongues pressing and caressing each other in a slow, seductive dance.
Arthur’s hand comes to rest over her breast, and she arches into his palm, moaning softly in the back of her throat.
He pulls his lips from hers for a moment, and she pushes him, trying to roll him over on his back.
“Oh, okay,” he says absently, allowing her to déplacer him onto his back. She climbs over him and pulls his slip, caleçons off now, dropping them gently on the floor beside the bed.
Arthur closes his eyes now, expecting to feel the slight weight of her soft little body climbing over him. “Oh!” he grunts in surprise when he instead feels her warm, wet mouth surrounding his length, sucking him inside.
She lifts her head and slides him out, then back down again, taking him in deep, her slender fingers around the base of him. She licks up one side and down the other, s’embrasser the tip in between, then swirls her tongue around him before pulling him back in, sucking hard.
Arthur groans her name, his hand gripping her hair, holding tightly but not pulling, his other hand groping until he finds her hip, where he splays his hand against her curve, flexing his fingers into her pliant flesh.
“Ah,” he gasps, and moves his hand to tap her shoulder, “stop…”
“Too much?” she teases, mercifully releasing him. Then she bends down and kisses his shaft one plus time, just to be a little wicked.
“Bloody…” he curses, sliding his hands up her sides as she climbs up over him, sitting on his stomach. “How do you… ah,” he says, his fingers exploring her bustier, looking for a way in. He finds small hook-and-eye clasps down the middle and starts working on them, his brow furrowed in concentration as he opens each tiny clasp.
“Had to get one that had a front closure, ou I would have needed your help getting it on,” she says.
“I would have been happy to help,” he says.
“It would have ruined the surprise, silly.”
“Right,” he says absently, distracted again now as the vêtement falls open and drops. Gwen reaches behind her and tosses it away, leaning vers l'avant, vers l’avant into Arthur’s exploring hands.
Arthur flips them now, moving Gwen beneath him again, reaching for her panties immediately, peeling them down and off.
“These are quite damp,” he observes, rubbing them between his fingers a moment before chucking them over his shoulder.
“Your fault,” she says, pulling his shoulders down.
“I know,” he says smugly, s’embrasser her briefly before moving over to Kiss her neck, up to her ear. “I l’amour you,” he whispers in her ear again, his tongue sweeping lightly along the edge of it.
“I know.” It is her turn to answer smugly now, and his low chuckle against her neck draws a smile across her face.
Arthur moves to take a waiting nipple into his mouth, suckling, licking, biting gently as he moves his other hand down between her thighs, slipping his fingers into her moist center.
“Oh… ah…” she gasps, then sighs, her fingers in his hair. He moves to the other breast while his fingers drive her to the brink of madness below. “Now, Arthur, please…” she gasps, reaching for his length to guide him inside.
So help me, I am her puppet. Arthur groans and lowers himself just as she tilts her hips up to him, drawing him in, and he slides excruciatingly slowly into her, exhaling loudly as he does so.
“Oh, Arthur, I l’amour you,” Gwen whispers, bringing her legs up around his hips, wrapping herself around him.
Arthur reaches for her thigh, feeling the edge of her stockage, empoissonnement beneath his palm, slipping his thumb underneath the elastic at the top.
Is he going to try and take them off now? Gwen finds herself wondering, but no, he just keeps his hand there, his thumb beneath, fingers above, as he moves swiftly in and out, his other hand twined with hers beside her head, leaning on it for support.
Gwen’s free hand comes up over her breast now, squeezing it, and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut. If I watch that I will lose it completely.
“Arth…”
Groaning again, he feels her hand déplacer to his chest, its soft fingertips tracing the contours of his muscles.
Arthur opens his eyes and looks at her, at her face in the faint light of the hotel room. He slows his thrusts just slightly, but it is enough to make her open her eyes and look up at him.
Their eyes lock on each other, and she reaches up and cups his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. He turns his head and kisses her palm, still watching her face, Lost in her eyes.
“Oh…” Guinevere sighs, long and drawn out and plaintive. She gasps and tightens around him, climaxing uncharacteristically quietly but still intensely. “Oh my,” she whispers, breathless, pulling his shoulders toward her.
He leans down and kisses her tenderly, softly. Then he stills, thrusting deep and gathering her into his arms all at once, pulling her tightly up against his chest as he releases into her, whispering her name.
They sink back down together, Arthur moving them so she is nestled against him again, easing himself out of her when she untangles him from her legs.
“That was… something,” he says quietly after a time. He is toying with her curls absentmindedly.
“It was quite breathtaking, yes,” she says, s’embrasser his chest.
“Mine was pretty… intense, too,” he admits. Because I realized just moments before exactly how much I l’amour toi and I would do anything to be with toi for the rest of my life.
“Arthur?”
“Yes, Love?”
“Take my stockings off now, please.”
Part 14: link
“I’ll see toi later,” Gwen says, leaning up to Kiss Arthur before he heads into the men’s area of the spa for his massage.
“Should I wait for you?”
“I’ll probably be longer than toi will,” she says. “I’m having both my hair and my nails done. So I’ll meet toi back in the room.”
“You look really good in my shirt, par the way,” he smirks at her, s’embrasser her one plus time.
Gwen hadn’t anticipated having her hair professionally done for the wedding, and only had pullover shirts along. So she borrowed the button-down chemise Arthur had worn the précédant day, tied at the waist with the sleeves rolled up, so she wouldn’t have to pull anything over her head to put her dress on later. The fact that it smelled of him was just a bonus. She grins at him over her shoulder and disappears through the door.
xXx
An heure and a half later, Gwen comes back into their hotel room, coiffed and manicured and looking lovely. Arthur is lying sideways on the bed, limbs splayed, his face completely relaxed. She approaches his head and leans over to Kiss him, upside-down. “How was your massage?” she asks, sitting on the bed.
“Great. I feel like a hundred dollars,” he says, smirking at her.
“A hundred… dollars?” she asks, her face quizzical.
“Caddyshack, 1980? Classic movie, Guinevere, come on…” he rolls his eyes.
“Can’t say I’ve seen it,” she shrugs.
“Oh we will definitely be remedying that situation, and soon,” he promises, sitting up. “You look absolutely gorgeous,” he declares.
“Thank you. I had them leave it mostly down, because I know toi like it down,” she says, smiling shyly at him.
“I do like it up, too,” he says. “Gives me unfettered access to that delicious neck of yours. But I’m glad toi kept it down. Did they trim it as well?” he asks, touching a curl lightly, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Just a bit. Had some divisé, split ends. Do toi like my nails?” She holds her hands out for inspection. They are painted deep burgundy, so dark that it is almost black, and the very tips are edged with metallic gold.
“Very cool.” He takes her hand and pulls it to the lamp, peering at her nails. “Okay, so it is red. Just really dark red. Very sexy,” he declares, s’embrasser her knuckles. “And so soft, too…” he rubs his thumb against the back of her hand for a moment before lifting it to his face, stroking his cheek along her skin.
“All right, I know where this is leading. I just spent good money to have my hair done and toi will not be messing it up.” She withdraws her hand from his and pats his cheek.
“Not right now, anyway,” he grins at her. “Wait, toi didn’t charge it to the room? I thought toi agreed to let me…”
“Yes, I did,” she sighs. “So I misspoke. I just spent your good money to have my hair done, is that better, Mr. Picky?”
“Yes,” he nods, looking at the clock. “Probably should get dressed,” he mutters.
“Honestly, toi are impossible sometimes,” Gwen mumbles to herself, going to retrieve her dress.
“What was that?” Arthur asks.
“What was what?” she asks, innocently. He peers suspiciously at her for a moment, but then he shrugs and goes back to pulling shoes and socks out of his bag.
xXx
“Gwen, toi look lovely,” Uther Pendragon says, finding Gwen and Arthur inside the church. He pecks her cheek and sits beside her in the pew, so she is between Arthur and Uther.
“Thank you, Mr. Pendragon, toi look rather dashing yourself,” she smiles at him.
“I do believe I told toi to call me Uther,” he reminds her, arching an eyebrow at her.
“Sorry. Upbringing,” she says par way of explanation.
“Well, toi were raised correctly, then,” he declares. “Arthur,” he greets his son.
“Thank toi for noticing me, Father,” he teases.
“Sorry, Arthur, toi look lovely as well.”
“That’s better.”
Gwen laughs at the two men, swatting Arthur with her program.
Arthur looks at his watch. 4:05. “They’re late,” he says.
“Weddings never start on time,” Gwen says, and Uther is nodding in agreement on the other side of her. She lifts her hand and moves a curl off her shoulder.
“Gwen, that is a lovely bracelet,” Uther says, nodding at Gwen’s silver marguerite, daisy bracelet.
“Thank you. It was a birthday gift from Arthur,” she holds her arm out for Uther to take a look.
“He chose it himself? No one helped him?” Uther says, smirking over at his son.
“Yes, Dad, I did, shut it.”
Just then the musique starts up and everyone shifts in their seats to watch the bridesmaids proceed up the aisle.
Mithian looks gorgeous. Leon looks handsome. They both look completely smitten. When they are instructed to sit, Arthur takes Gwen’s hand and holds it in his lap, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb absently.
Is he picturing the same things I am picturing, sitting here watching them get married? Gwen cannot help but wonder. She tries to put those thoughts aside, but they are insistent, prodding thoughts that any normal young woman would be having at a wedding. Every girl dreams of being a princess for a day, she decides.
It’s Arthur’s turn to read. He squeezes her hand and walks gracefully to the podium. His eyes rest on Gwen for just a moment before he begins.
“A lire from First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verses one through thirteen. If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong ou a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”
He glances up from time to time as he reads, addressing the crowd, completely at ease in front of them. His eyes never rest on any one person for any amount of time. Except for Guinevere. Arthur’s eyes return to her again and again as he reads.
“Love is patient and kind; l’amour does not envy ou boast; it is not arrogant ou rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable ou resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. l’amour bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”
Gwen smiles a small smile, glancing over to Leon and Mithian for a moment, but her eyes are drawn back to Arthur like an irrepressible magnet.
“So now faith, hope, and l’amour abide, these three;” Arthur’s eyes lock on Gwen, “but the greatest of these is love.”
xXx
Dinner is a sumptuous affair. The prime rib is perfect. The champagne is excellent. Gwen and Arthur are seated with Uther and some other people from Pendragon Insurance.
Speeches. Toasts. The clinking of cutlery on glasses insisting that the bride and groom kiss.
Cake is cut, and it, too, proves decadent and ridiculously delicious. Gwen watches, interested, as a 20-piece band sets up on a stage at one end of the hall.
“Interesting choice for music,” she comments, nodding, seeing saxophones and trombones and trumpets.
“Ah, yes, that was one of the things that they had in common,” Arthur nods. “They both l’amour old jazz music.”
“So they hired a big band for their wedding reception,” Gwen nods.
“Of course,” Arthur nods, as if it should be obvious. “Honestly, I wasn’t surprised when Leon came slinking into my office to beg for Mithian’s number. That double rendez-vous amoureux, date was the strangest rendez-vous amoureux, date I’d ever been on.”
“Hit it off right away, did they?” Gwen asks, looking longingly at her cake plate and deciding it would be bad form to pick it up and lick up all the crumbs and streaks of icing.
“Like a house on fire,” Arthur says. “You want plus cake, don’t you?”
“No. Yes. Shouldn’t.”
“We’ll divisé, split one,” he whispers conspiratorially, and dashes off in chercher of another piece.
He returns triumphant, a piece of chocolat cake in his hand.
“Where did toi purloin that?” she asks.
“Leon’s grandfather. Diabetic, and apparently Gran is a force to be reckoned with,” he chuckles. “Very strict with him. I happened past at the correct time. She was about to stab him in the hand with her fork to prevent him from digging in.”
“You are lying,” Gwen says, her own fork hovering over a corner of the cake.
“I am completely serious,” he says raising his right hand in the air as if he were in court. “Look,” he indicates with his head where the grandparents are seated, and sure enough, Gwen sees a sullen-looking old man seated beside a very smug-looking old woman. The old man looks like Leon in fifty years. Then Gran leans over and pats Granddad’s hand and kisses his cheek, and it appears all is forgiven.
Gwen smiles wistfully and digs her fork into the moist cake.
The musique starts up shortly, and Leon and Mithian have their first dance to “I’ve Got toi Under My Skin.”
“The band is good,” Gwen declares, speaking in Arthur’s ear now. He nods, turning his face quickly to Kiss her while she is still so near.
“Mithian needs a stepstool,” he réponses in Gwen’s ear then, and she laughs. Mithian is about the same height as Gwen, and there is a one-foot height difference between the bride and groom.
“Doesn’t look like she minds at all,” Gwen says then.
The band plays a good mixture of slow and fast, and actually plays a wide range of balançoire, swing tunes, from Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and Royal Crown Revue.
Arthur has been itching to dance with Gwen, but Uther whisks her away to the dance floor before Arthur even gets a chance. Then Mithian grabs him, telling him that he cannot deny the bride a dance on her wedding day, even pushing Leon at Gwen when he tries to cut in.
After very inexpertly attempting to dance to “One O’Clock Jump,” Arthur gives up quickly on any fast dancing, heading back to drape his now slightly-damp veste over the back of his chair.
Gwen comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his middle. “Ugh, you’re sweaty,” she says, letting go almost immediately.
Arthur turns around and tips her chin up so he can Kiss her. “Next slow one is mine. Even if Prince Harry himself were to come strolling in and demand the suivant dance from you, toi will tell him no.”
“Yes, Sire,” she teases, even curtseying. Then she reaches for her glass of water.
A new song starts, a slow one. “The Nearness of You.”
“Aha,” Arthur says, grabbing Gwen’s hand and heading back to the dance floor with her.
“You are the only one I’ve been wanting to dance with, toi know,” Gwen says, looking up at him, her arms around his neck, his around her waist.
“Good,” he declares, grinning for a moment before his face changes slightly. He is still smiling, but his face is softer, warmer. He pulls her a little closer and she rests her head on his chest, turning her face to the side. She closes her eyes and listens to his heartbeat while they dance, trusting him to keep her on her feet.
She feels him sigh and looks up again. He still has that same soft, inscrutable look on his face.
“Truth,” he says, s’embrasser her forehead.
He wants a truth? Now? “You’ve gone quiet, Arthur. What’s on your mind?” she asks, and realizes that her own cœur, coeur is pounding a bit now.
“I was just thinking,” he says, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “I was thinking about… how much I l’amour you.” He drops his head down to hers, brushes his lips against her cheek, and says, his lips caressing her ear, “I l’amour you, Guinevere.”
Gwen’s eyes close again and she feels her stomach drop in the most delicious fashion, a warm tingle reaching from her cœur, coeur down to her groin. She reaches up and holds his head in place. “I l’amour you, too, Arthur,” she breathes, answering him.
Arthur lifts his head a moment to gaze down into her eyes.
A crafty smile spreads slowly across Gwen’s face. “Dare.”
“Kiss me,” he says, understanding immediately.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he says quietly, the corner of his lips curving into a small smile.
He remembers! “I know, I just wanted to see if toi would say it again.”
“Kiss me, Guinevere,” he says, his voice low, again washing over her skin like a caress.
“Okay,” she whispers, lifting her face to his, pressing her lips to his, gently at first, their lips soft, pliant, moist. Arthur turns his head just slightly and parts his lips just enough to emballage, wrap around her lower lip, tugging softly until she opens her mouth beneath his, her tongue coming vers l'avant, vers l’avant to meet his.
If either of them realize that their feet are no longer moving, neither of them care.
The song ends and they reluctantly break their kiss, staring into each other’s eyes. Gwen catches some motion in the corner of her eye, and she turns her head to see that quite a large number of people are staring at them. She blushes and starts giggling, embarrassed.
“What?” Arthur asks.
“People are staring,” she says, pulling him from the floor, back to their seats when the suivant song starts.
“Hey! toi two are stealing our spotlight!” Leon declares loudly, but he is trying not to laugh.
“Sorry,” Gwen apologizes. Arthur sits and pulls Gwen into his lap before she can take her own seat.
“He’s teasing, don’t mind him,” Mithian says, smiling at them as if she knows exactly what happened between them out there on the dance floor. “We’re going to do the bouquet and garter toss after the suivant song, so don’t even think about escaping back up to that little l’amour nest you’ve got upstairs,” she warns, grinning.
xXx
“I need to get out of these shoes,” Gwen declares, walking into their room, tossing the bouquet that she swears Mithian somehow threw directly to her on the dresser.
“You should have brought a comfortable pair for the reception,” Arthur says, pulling the garter that he knows Leon shot directly to him off of his sleeve and dropping it beside the bouquet.
“I was going to, but I was in a rush and forgot,” she shrugs, flinging the seconde shoe in the general direction of the small suitcase she’s brought along. “Oh!” she exclaims, surprised. Arthur has grabbed her around the waist from behind and lifted her from her feet.
He steps back two steps and sits on the bed, pulling her with him, into his lap, his arms still around her waist. He worms his nose into her hair, burrowing into her curls until his lips find her neck.
“Smells different,” he complains, his lips still at her skin.
“Well, I don’t use the same products as the salon, obviously,” Gwen says, tilting her head to the side for him, leaning back into him. “My stuff is much cheaper,” she laughs, lifting her hand to cup his cheek.
“I like yours better,” Arthur says, s’embrasser her jaw, working his way to her lips, his fingers brushing the underside of her breast.
“It’s what you’re used to,” she giggles. He flops backward onto the lit and rolls them to the side. She flips around to face him and kisses his lips.
“Well, yes, but I still like whatever toi use better,” he insists. “Now, my love,” he pauses, grinning at his use of the endearment, “what shall I do with you?”
“Hmm…” Gwen narrows her eyes and taps her chin with her finger, appearing to be deep in thought.
“Dare?” Arthur says, raising an eyebrow hopefully.
“Well, then… I dare toi to rub my feet,” she purrs, s’embrasser him again.
He leans back and looks at her. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I can work with that.”
“You’re a creative man, I’m sure toi can,” she answers, shifting on the lit slightly. “But first I want out of this dress.”
“Now that is plus like it,” he says, leaping to his feet now. He first unbuttons his chemise and finishes undressing himself, till he is just in his boxeur, boxer briefs.
“Are toi warm enough?” he asks suddenly, his hand poised over the thermostat on the mur that controls the heater.
“Up a notch ou two, please,” she says, standing and turning her back to him so he can pull her zipper.
Arthur adjusts the heat and then steps over to happily oblige, humming his approval as he slowly lowers the zipper. “Ooo, is this new?” he asks, sliding his hands inside against the strapless black bustier he has discovered.
“Perhaps,” she grins over her shoulder at him.
“Is there more?” His voice is soft, low and husky now, and it sends shivers down Gwen’s spine.
“You’ll see,” she teases.
“This is why toi changed in the bathroom, toi naughty thing,” he says, easing her dress down her arms and off.
Gwen just chuckles and catches the dress before it falls completely to the floor, stepping out and walking over to put it back on its hanger, shaking her head as she steps around the pieces of Arthur’s discarded suit.
“What?” he says vaguely, mostly distracted par watching her walk away from him. The bustier has a matching black thong.
“You’re going to need to have your suit cleaned and pressed if toi leave it like this.”
“Going to have to anyway because it’s all sweaty,” he shrugs. “Now come back here.”
She saunters back over to him, swinging her hips seductively, her lips curving into a smile as his eyes roam up and down.
“Stockings, too, hmmm…” he nods approvingly, his hand reaching immediately for the place on her thigh where the haut, retour au début edge of her stockage, empoissonnement meets her thigh, tracing it with his finger.
“You approve, then?” she asks, sliding her hands on his chest.
“Definitely,” he nods, lowering his head to hers for a kiss, plunging his hands into her hair now, scattering hairpins as he threads his fingers into her hair, groping and pulling them gently out as he finds them.
“Arthur!” she starts giggling against his lips. “That does feel good, though,” she admits.
He looks down at her, grins, then captures her lips again, pushing her gently back down on the bed. He finds one plus hairpin and pulls it free, tossing it on the nightstand, where it bounces once and lands on the carpet.
“I think that’s all of them,” he declares, then sits back and looks at her lying there on the large bed, the black lingerie contrasting against her light-brown skin.
Gwen lifts a foot up and pushes his chest with it. “Get to work, Pendragon,” she orders, reminding him of his assigned task.
“Your wish,” he says, lifting her foot and s’embrasser the sole once before pressing his thumbs into it, massaging and kneading.
“You’re not going to take my stockings off first?” she asks, running her own hands through her hair now, double-checking for any hairpins.
“Oh, no,” he says, his eyes alight. “Those are definitely staying on.”
“Arthur, is there something I should know about you? Oh, that feels good…”
“Hmm? No, don’t think so. Other one,” he sets the first one down and she gives him the other one. “I don’t have a fetish ou anything, if that’s what you’re implying. I just… like your legs, and they look really good in these stockings.”
“Really?” she says, raising her eyebrows at him.
“Really,” he declares, s’embrasser the pad of her big toe. Gwen closes her eyes and lets him finish what he is doing. She knows he’ll be done well before she’s ready for him to finish, but she’s going to enjoy it while she can.
“Don’t fall asleep on me, little one, I have plans for toi yet.”
“I won’t.” She smiles, eyes still closed. “I’m just enjoying this.”
“Good,” Arthur says, sliding his hands up her calf, leaning vers l'avant, vers l’avant over her. He bends down and kisses her knee, then moves higher, feathering kisses up her thigh.
He works his way up, depositing a single moist Kiss in her cleavage before softly s’embrasser the end of her nose.
“Hi,” she opens her eyes now and looks at him.
“Hi, yourself,” he answers. Gwen tilts her chin up and kisses him, her hands slipping around his torso to rest on his back.
He returns her kiss, warm and wet, luxuriating in each other, their tongues pressing and caressing each other in a slow, seductive dance.
Arthur’s hand comes to rest over her breast, and she arches into his palm, moaning softly in the back of her throat.
He pulls his lips from hers for a moment, and she pushes him, trying to roll him over on his back.
“Oh, okay,” he says absently, allowing her to déplacer him onto his back. She climbs over him and pulls his slip, caleçons off now, dropping them gently on the floor beside the bed.
Arthur closes his eyes now, expecting to feel the slight weight of her soft little body climbing over him. “Oh!” he grunts in surprise when he instead feels her warm, wet mouth surrounding his length, sucking him inside.
She lifts her head and slides him out, then back down again, taking him in deep, her slender fingers around the base of him. She licks up one side and down the other, s’embrasser the tip in between, then swirls her tongue around him before pulling him back in, sucking hard.
Arthur groans her name, his hand gripping her hair, holding tightly but not pulling, his other hand groping until he finds her hip, where he splays his hand against her curve, flexing his fingers into her pliant flesh.
“Ah,” he gasps, and moves his hand to tap her shoulder, “stop…”
“Too much?” she teases, mercifully releasing him. Then she bends down and kisses his shaft one plus time, just to be a little wicked.
“Bloody…” he curses, sliding his hands up her sides as she climbs up over him, sitting on his stomach. “How do you… ah,” he says, his fingers exploring her bustier, looking for a way in. He finds small hook-and-eye clasps down the middle and starts working on them, his brow furrowed in concentration as he opens each tiny clasp.
“Had to get one that had a front closure, ou I would have needed your help getting it on,” she says.
“I would have been happy to help,” he says.
“It would have ruined the surprise, silly.”
“Right,” he says absently, distracted again now as the vêtement falls open and drops. Gwen reaches behind her and tosses it away, leaning vers l'avant, vers l’avant into Arthur’s exploring hands.
Arthur flips them now, moving Gwen beneath him again, reaching for her panties immediately, peeling them down and off.
“These are quite damp,” he observes, rubbing them between his fingers a moment before chucking them over his shoulder.
“Your fault,” she says, pulling his shoulders down.
“I know,” he says smugly, s’embrasser her briefly before moving over to Kiss her neck, up to her ear. “I l’amour you,” he whispers in her ear again, his tongue sweeping lightly along the edge of it.
“I know.” It is her turn to answer smugly now, and his low chuckle against her neck draws a smile across her face.
Arthur moves to take a waiting nipple into his mouth, suckling, licking, biting gently as he moves his other hand down between her thighs, slipping his fingers into her moist center.
“Oh… ah…” she gasps, then sighs, her fingers in his hair. He moves to the other breast while his fingers drive her to the brink of madness below. “Now, Arthur, please…” she gasps, reaching for his length to guide him inside.
So help me, I am her puppet. Arthur groans and lowers himself just as she tilts her hips up to him, drawing him in, and he slides excruciatingly slowly into her, exhaling loudly as he does so.
“Oh, Arthur, I l’amour you,” Gwen whispers, bringing her legs up around his hips, wrapping herself around him.
Arthur reaches for her thigh, feeling the edge of her stockage, empoissonnement beneath his palm, slipping his thumb underneath the elastic at the top.
Is he going to try and take them off now? Gwen finds herself wondering, but no, he just keeps his hand there, his thumb beneath, fingers above, as he moves swiftly in and out, his other hand twined with hers beside her head, leaning on it for support.
Gwen’s free hand comes up over her breast now, squeezing it, and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut. If I watch that I will lose it completely.
“Arth…”
Groaning again, he feels her hand déplacer to his chest, its soft fingertips tracing the contours of his muscles.
Arthur opens his eyes and looks at her, at her face in the faint light of the hotel room. He slows his thrusts just slightly, but it is enough to make her open her eyes and look up at him.
Their eyes lock on each other, and she reaches up and cups his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. He turns his head and kisses her palm, still watching her face, Lost in her eyes.
“Oh…” Guinevere sighs, long and drawn out and plaintive. She gasps and tightens around him, climaxing uncharacteristically quietly but still intensely. “Oh my,” she whispers, breathless, pulling his shoulders toward her.
He leans down and kisses her tenderly, softly. Then he stills, thrusting deep and gathering her into his arms all at once, pulling her tightly up against his chest as he releases into her, whispering her name.
They sink back down together, Arthur moving them so she is nestled against him again, easing himself out of her when she untangles him from her legs.
“That was… something,” he says quietly after a time. He is toying with her curls absentmindedly.
“It was quite breathtaking, yes,” she says, s’embrasser his chest.
“Mine was pretty… intense, too,” he admits. Because I realized just moments before exactly how much I l’amour toi and I would do anything to be with toi for the rest of my life.
“Arthur?”
“Yes, Love?”
“Take my stockings off now, please.”
Part 14: link
