Part 11: link


    “Morgana, where would toi like to go for dîner tonight?” Uther Pendragon asks from behind his massive mahogany desk, not looking up from the ledger in front of him.
    “I won’t be joining toi for dîner tonight, Father,” she answers.
    “No? toi have plans? With whom?”
    “I’m taking Arthur out. I do want to see him while I am in town, toi know.”
    “Arthur who?” Uther asks coldly.
    “Your son,” she réponses back, just as cold.
    “I do not have a son.”
    “Honestly, Father,” she says, exasperated. “You need to lighten up on him. Try to reach out. Mend fences.”
    “Enough with your hippie feel-good talk, Morgana! He defied me one too many times and I am better off without him. I have toi to take over my empire when I am gone. He can continue to gad about doing his little drawings and live like a pauper. I’ll have none of it.”
    “He has a girlfriend.”
    “So?”
    “Just thought toi might like to know. She sounds like a lovely person, actually.”
    “Don’t care. She’s probably another ridiculous artist like him. Probably has purple hair,” he mutters.
    “Arthur tells me that she works in publishing, actually. For Will Gaius.”
    “Hm,” Uther grunts noncommittally, and Morgana feels she may have made a little headway. Perhaps.
    “See toi tomorrow, Father,” she says, leaning over and s’embrasser his forehead before she leaves.

    “Do I look okay?” Gwen asks again, fretting over her skirt, picking bits of invisible lint from her shoulder.
    “Guinevere, toi look fine. Beautiful. Honestly, why are toi worried?”
    “Because it’s your sister. The one toi a dit can be a bitch. I want her to like me. Especially since it sounds like she’s your only family right now.”
    “Hey, we’re family,” Gwaine chimes in, looking up from the shoulder blade he is inking a skull on.
    “She will like you. Just relax and be yourself and she will l’amour you. And remember, she’s not perfect,” he leans closer, adding, “she dated Helios for an entire mois when we were younger, and she insists upon having casual sex with Gwaine. So tuck those little tidbits away and remember them if toi feel intimidated.”
    “Helios, really? Yuck.”
    “We all have a relationship ou two that we’d like to forget,” he chuckles, grabbing his bag. “Gotta go change. I promise I’ll be back before she gets here.” He leans down and kisses her.
    “Hey, Girlie,” Phil calls to her, surprising both Gwaine and Gwen. She walks over.
    “Don’t sweat Morgana,” Phil says plainly.
    “Easier a dit than done, but thank you.”
    “Look, here’s the thing. I like you, and I don’t like anyone. So she’ll like you.”
    Gwen looks at the other woman, in her tight black clothes and merlot lips and hair. Somewhere under there is a nice person, she notes, but she knows better than to say it. She has lovely green eyes. “Thank you, Phil, that… helps a lot, actually,” she says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.    
    Phyllis looks at Gwen, studying her a moment. “I’d l’amour to do toi up like a proper punk sometime. Just to see.”
    Gwen laughs suddenly. “Drag would lose his bloody mind!”
    “I know,” Phil cracks the tiniest of smiles. “That’s part of why I’d like to do it.”
    “Okay, I’m back. Phil, stop telling Gwen horror stories about my sister, please.”
    “She was actually reassuring me, Arthur,” Gwen says, turning to see Arthur standing in a dark red t-shirt, plain but strangely elegant, and a pair of black trousers. He’s cleaned up his boots as best he can, and removed his nose ring. “Look at you, all spiffed up,” she says, walking over to him and placing her hands on his chest, feeling that his chemise is not cotton but something else, something finer, softer.
    “I feel like a tool.”
    “That’s because toi are a tool,” a smooth voice declares from behind Gwen.
    “And toi are a cow,” Arthur shoots back, smiling at her over Gwen’s shoulder.
    Guinevere turns around to see a stunning woman with alabaster skin and ebony hair, long and straight. She is about the same height as Gwen, slender and graceful. She moves like a panther, Gwen thinks, watching her glide over and embrace her brother tightly.
    “Morgana, this is Guinevere,” Arthur presents Gwen to his sister. “Guinevere, my sister Morgana.”
    Morgana holds her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Guinevere.”
    “Gwen,” Gwen says, taking the other woman’s hand and grasping it, smiling warmly. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
    “You, too. I was nervous,” Morgana confesses, and Gwen laughs.
    “You! I was about to die over here!”
    “Well, then you’re both equally ridiculous, aren’t you?” Arthur says. “Shall we go?”
    “One moment,” Morgana says as Gwaine stands, peeling his gloves off. Arthur rolls his eyes as Morgana stalks over to Gwaine.
    “Hello, Lover,” she purrs at him, stroking his chest with her hand. “I’ll be back later for dessert,” she says, leaning in close to him.
    “I’ll be here, Minx,” he says, wrapping his arm around her waist, his hand sliding down to rest on her buttocks.
    “Good,” she answers, her lips just inches from his.
    “Mo,” Arthur says sharply. “Reservations.”
    Morgana steps back, away from Gwaine, to rejoin Arthur and Gwen. “All right, let’s go,” she says brightly, striding from the shop.
    “Wow, that was…” Gwen says quietly to Arthur.
    “Disturbing? Uncomfortable?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I can come up with plus if toi like.”
    “That’s all right, Arthur, really.”

    “Oh, I thought you’d like to see this,” Morgana says suddenly, reaching down into her purse. She produces a photograph, and Arthur makes a grab for it.
    “Ah, ah,” Morgana pulls it away from his reaching fingertips, passing it to Gwen.
    Gwen takes it, smiling. “Oh, my!” she exclaims. “Look at you, blondie!” He appears to be about sixteen in the picture, thinner than he is now, with golden blonde hair falling across his forehead. He is cute, montrer the beginnings of the handsome man he is to become. It is a football photo, and he is in blue shorts and a matching jersey, with long blue socks and white trainers and a football under his arm.
    Arthur leans over to see which picture Morgana has chosen to humiliate him with, and relieved when he sees it. “Oh. That one. Okay.”
    “I’m saving the naked toddler pictures for suivant time I see you,” Morgana winks at Gwen, who laughs, looking back and forth between the boy in the picture and the man seated beside her. “Though I’m sure they would hold no surprises for you,” Morgana adds, and Arthur almost chokes on his water, which he was drinking at the time.
    “Funny. I can believe this is you, but I can’t,” Gwen says. She studies Arthur, trying to picture him now with that blonde hair. It looks very shiny and soft. The perfect hair for running my fingers through.
    “That’s actually one of the last pictures of me before I, um, changed my style,” he says, reaching for the photo again. Gwen surrenders it reluctantly, and he sees her eyes lift to look at his stiff Mohawk hairdo. “I know, now you’re wishing I’d grow it out and stop doing this, right?”
    “No!” she says immediately, then, “a little, maybe. Just out of curiosity. Your hair, toi can do what toi please with it,” she shrugs and smiles at him.
    “See, that’s why I like her,” he tells Morgana. “She’s smart.”
    “Because she doesn’t try to change toi ou run your life, toi mean,” Morgana says.
    Their nourriture arrives and Arthur looks at Gwen. “Did I mention that my sister can be very direct?”
    “No, toi didn’t, but I did notice, and frankly, I find it admirable,” Gwen says, nodding at Morgana.
    “Hey, you’re right, Arthur, she is smart,” Morgana says with a smirk. She stabs her steak with her fork and saws off a bite. “Father is well, if toi care.”
    “Of course I do. He’s the one who doesn’t want anything to do with me, remember?” Arthur answers, tucking in to his steak as well. “I’ll talk to him if he calls me, but I won’t be reaching out.”
    “Yes, yes, I know, we’ve had this conversation a thousand times,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes.
    Gwen studies her chicken, unsure where this conversation is going to go. I kind of feel a little outside here.
    “I trust she knows?” Morgana asks, pointing at Gwen with her fork.
    “Yes, she does.”
    “Good. Always like to get all the unpleasantness right out in the open, me,” Morgana says with a nod. “And toi know about our mum, then?”
    Gwen nods. “I’m very sorry about that. It must have been difficult.”
    “Sometimes,” Morgana allows. “The worst part was puberty. For me anyway. I mean, can toi imagine having to have that discussion with your father? Oh. Wait. toi have a father, right? I mean, toi obviously have a father, but he was around? Not, um, dead ou absent ou anything?”
    Gwen laughs, “No, my dad is great. Mum not so much, but that’s another story altogether,” she says, glancing at Arthur. “And yes, that would be horrid, I agree.”
    “But he was much easier on me than he was on Arthur,” Morgana continues.
    “Mo…” Arthur sighs.
    “No, she needs to know this,” Morgana argues. “If toi like her half as much as toi say toi do, toi should want her to know that Father was a cold unfeeling bastard to toi and so not only do toi have a chip on your shoulder about how toi live your life, but you’re also overprotective and can sometimes behave like a Lost little boy.”
    Arthur drops his forehead to the table, wishing really to crawl beneath it.
    Gwen is staring, fork in mid-air where she had raised it when Morgana started her little speech. “Um, yes,” she says carefully, setting her fork down. “I was kind of beginning to learn that he has a bit of a protective side.” She reaches over and puts her hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Beneath the table, she slips her foot out of her shoe and slides her toes up under the hem of his pantalon leg, creeping it up to rest on his calf.
    Arthur sits back up. “Thank you, Morgana. Once again, your plain-spoken nature has rendered me speechless in front of someone important to me.”
    “Anytime, Love,” she says, taking a drink of her wine.
    Arthur looks at Gwen, feeling her little foot on his veau like a security blanket, and he smiles at her. Thank you.
    They eat quietly for a few minutes, and Morgana decides to shift focus, asking Gwen questions about her job, her father, her mother (about which Gwen gives her standard vague answers), does she have any siblings, her hobbies. She is fascinated par Elyan’s déplacer to Chicago, and is excited about Gwen’s upcoming trip.
    “When are toi going? Are toi simply too excited?”
    “I leave suivant Wednesday. And I am excited, but now I’ll have someone to miss when I’m there,” she says, looking at Arthur.
    “Ah, but you’ll have someone to come back to as well,” Morgana adds.
    “Good point.”
    “I’m not thrilled she’s going, but I can’t really stop her, can I?” Arthur says.
    “No,” both women chorus, and they both start laughing. Arthur doesn’t rejoindre in.
    “Arthur, I will be fine. I will miss you, too, but it’s only ten days.”
    “I know. It’s just…”
    “Too many aléatoire wankers to worry about, yes,” Gwen says, remembering his words from Monday at the pub.
    “Yes.”
    “Arthur. I’ll be with my brother. Yes, he’s my younger brother, but he’s every bit as protective as toi are. Not to mention the fact that you are my boyfriend.”
    “Okay, Gwen promises she will not run off with some aléatoire Chicago wanker while on vacation, and Arthur promises not to have a thrombo about her going. Deal?” Morgana chimes in.
    “Sounds good to me,” Gwen says.
    “Well, yeah, toi got the easy part of the bargain,” Arthur grumbles.
    “Arthur…” Morgana warns, flicking his ear.
    “Ow! Okay. Bloody hell, you’re on her side already? You’re my sister.”
    “Yeah, which means I’m sick to death of your ugly face,” Morgana laughs. Gwen almost shoots water out her nose, and raises her napkin to her face, coughing and sputtering.
    Arthur pounds on her back. “You okay, Sweet?”
    “Yeah,” she croaks. “That one just took me par surprise. I’ll have to learn not to drink while you’re talking, Morgana.”
    The waiter comes back to takes their plates, and asks if they cared for any dessert. Arthur immediately jumps on it, ordering an pomme crumble with vanilla ice cream and extra caramel sauce.
    “I’m waiting for when his eating habits catch up with him,” Morgana says, leaning towards Gwen. “It’s simply unfair.”
    Gwen nods in agreement. “Very.”
    “Not going to happen,” Arthur says smugly.
    When his dessert comes, he has to fend off both women as their spoons come searching for a taste. He wraps his arms around his bowl protectively, hunching around it, looking furtively about to see if there’s an empty table, tableau nearby where he can go and enjoy his dessert undisturbed.
    “Come on, Gollum, toi have to share The Precious,” Morgana cajoles.
    Gwen nearly falls off her chair laughing at this, wiping her eyes with her napkin. Arthur loves seeing her laugh so much that he allows her three bites of his dessert.
    They let him finish his dessert, and when he sets the empty bowl aside with a satisfied look on his face, Morgana looks at Gwen and asks, “You know he’s a pervert, right?”
    Arthur groans and leans back in his chair.
    “Um, yes?” Gwen asks, hoping that Morgana’s just referring to his foot fetish, but also wondering why and how his sister knows about it.
    “Well, at least she let me enjoy my dessert,” Arthur mutters. “Morgana,” he says, turning to his sister, “she knows. She’s fine with it. Not that it’s any of your business.”
    “Sorry,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. “I just wanted to make sure that my little brother is being honest with this darling girl.”
    “I am, and I’m not your little brother, Mo.”
    “Hey, I’ll always be nine minutes older than you.”
    “Can I ask something?” Gwen says, angling her head at Morgana.
    “Of course. I’ve certainly asked toi plenty of questions tonight.”
    “How do toi even know about his… proclivities?”
    “Ooo, good word, that. I shall have to remember that one. If toi must know, I kind of walked in on him and a girlfriend once, back, oh, around the time that that football photo was taken. They were just having a snog in the lounge, and I didn’t know they were in there. I wandered in to find him with a mouth full of toes,” she says, making a face.
    “Ah. I’m… kind of sorry I asked now,” Gwen says, chuckling.
    “She broke up with me pretty quickly after that,” Arthur says, taking a drink. The waiter brings the bill, and sets it in front of Arthur. He pushes it over towards Morgana, who laughs.
    “Hey, you’re the one with the money,” he says.
    “Can I leave the tip?” Gwen offers.
    “Thank you, but no. This is my treat.” She pulls a or credit card from her bourse, sac à main and slides it into the pocket in the leather folder containing the bill.
    She didn’t even look at the bill, Gwen notes.

    Morgana drives them back to Excalibur, parking her car outside and going inside with them.
    “Gwaine lives upstairs,” Arthur mutters to Gwen.
    “Ah.”
    “Well, Gwen, it was very nice to meet you, and I hope to see plus of you,” Morgana says, glancing at her brother.
    “Yes, I had a wonderful time, Morgana, thanks again for dinner.”
    Morgana leans in and gives Gwen a hug, and whispers in her ear, “Take care of him. He needs it.”
    Gwen smiles at her when they part, montrer she understands.
    “Brother,” Morgana says, “don’t scare this one away.” She pulls him to her for another hug, kisses him on the cheek, and says, “Love you. Be good.”
    “Yes, toi too. And if toi can’t be good—”
    “Be careful,” she finishes with a smile. “All right. Take her home. I’m going to go upstairs and do some naughty things to a certain rascally Irishman.”
    “Ack! Don’t want to know!” Arthur exclaims, retrieving the bag containing his jeans and chemise from the jour before taking Gwen’s hand and leading her back outside to his motorcycle.
    “Well, that was horrifying. For me, I mean. She was her normal self, and par that, I mean she was completely relentless.”
    “I had fun,” Gwen says simply.
    “Of course you did,” he says. “You weren’t the one being placed under the microscope.”
    “Arthur,” she says, pulling him close and s’embrasser him, “you don’t need to worry. She didn’t scare me away at all.” She kisses him again. “I don’t think any less of you.” Another kiss. “I liked learning plus about toi from your sister. Different point of view, toi know.” She pulls his head down to hers and kisses him fully, plunging her tongue into his mouth, sucking at his lips.
    “Oh, toi had better be prepared to continue this behind closed doors,” he groans when she finally releases him.
    “Take me to my flat and I’ll get some things, and then we can go to yours.”
    “Excellent,” he says, climbing on his motorcycle.
    Gwen slides her arms around his waist, holding tightly, resting her head on his back. “I miss Iggy anyway,” she says, just before he starts his bike.

    Half an heure later, they’re at Arthur’s, where Gwen is immediately accosted par Iggy when she bends to remove her shoes.
    “Hello, Iggy, I missed you, too, Baby,” she coos at the cat, who rubs against her shins affectionately, purring shamelessly. She scoops him up, an Arthur cringes.
    “No… don’t… he doesn’t like to be picked… Oh. Should have known,” Arthur shrugs and walks away.
    “What do toi feed this cat, Arthur? He weighs a ton.”
    “Sausages. And no one a dit toi had to pick him up.”
    She laughs and sits on the canapé with Iggy in her lap, scratching his ears and giving him l’amour while Arthur goes back to change clothes.
    He comes back out a couple minutes later in another pair of athletic shorts and plops down suivant to her.
    “You don’t like shirts much, do you?” she asks, plus amused than anything.
    “Are toi objecting?”
    “Merely observing.”
    “It’s hot out. Besides, that’s just one plus thing you’ll have to take off,” he grins at her, and she laughs.
    “All right, Iggy, off,” Arthur gently nudges the cat off Gwen’s lap. “My turn now.”
    He leans over to Kiss her, pulling her close.
    “Arthur,” she manages, “I want…”
    “Me, too,” he says, trailing down her neck.
    “I want to see the paintings,” she clarifies, then gasps lightly as his lips find her favori spot where her neck meets her shoulder.
    He ignores her for a few plus moments, s’embrasser her neck some more, tasting her skin, smelling the lilas scent of her hair coming from the few tendrils hanging loose. Her hair is twisted up, so he has unlimited access to her neck and he’s in no hurry to stop what he’s doing.
    “Arthur,” she gently prods.
    I’ll come back to this later. He sighs. “Okay.”
    He leads her over to his easel, and shows her the first painting, the one he’d already started.
    “Wow, this is coming along well. Your memory is amazing, Arthur,” she says. He even remembered the beauty mark on my cheek.
    “This one is okay. I’m far plus interested in this one right now,” he says, pulling the other one up to the easel.
    “I can tell,” she says, awestruck par how far he’s gotten on it and how real it looks. She steps in front of Arthur, right in front of the canvas, to get a better view of it.
    I want to touch it, but I know I shouldn’t. “What are toi going to do with the background? Surely you’re not going to place me in your cluttered bedroom,” she asks, her voice quiet, eyes not leaving the canvas.
    “I haven’t decided yet,” Arthur says, close behind her, his arms reaching around her waist. “There will be a window involved. I might have toi looking out at a garden, all dewy in the morning sunlight. ou it might be night, a dark sky with the stars and moon…” he trails off, and vaguely Gwen is aware of the fact that he is unbuttoning her chemisier as he is talking.
    “It certainly won’t be a fat ginger cat batting a shabby red cloth souris around on the floor, which is what toi were really looking at,” he says, his lips at her neck again, his hands sliding against her skin inside her opened shirt.
    “I like the garden idea,” she says, leaning back against him.
    “You would pick the plus difficult option,” he mutters, pressing his hips vers l'avant, vers l’avant into her back so she can feel his arousal against her.
    “But I’m right, aren’t I?” she breathes, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek.
    He turns her around in his arms and crashes his lips down against hers, s’embrasser her soundly.
    “Yes, toi are,” he says, just before taking her hand and dragging her to his bedroom, patience used up.
    Arthur pulls her to the center of his room, just beyond the foot of his low bed. “Don’t move,” he tells her, slowly walking around her.
    What is he up to now? Gwen wonders, anticipation tingling within her.
    Arthur stands behind her again and slowly peels her soft lavender chemisier from her shoulders, easing it down, off her arms, watching as the fabric skims over her lush brown skin like a caress. He tosses it to the side, where it lands atop of a couple of his own rumpled shirts.
    He leans vers l'avant, vers l’avant and kisses her shoulder, lips parted slightly, touching his tongue to her skin as he does so.
    Sliding his hands down her back, he finds a zipper at the back of her skirt, which he lowers. Slowly. Then he eases the plum-colored jupe down over her hips, hands flat against her body, feeling her curves as he does so. The waist of the jupe clears the flare of her hips and falls to the floor in a puddle around her feet.
    He glides his hand down her arm and takes her hand in his, steadying her as she delicately steps out of the garment.
    Guinevere stands obediently, cœur, coeur pounding like a basse, bass drum, breathing becoming ragged, hot moisture beginning to accumulate between her legs as Arthur drinks her in with his eyes once again, memorizing her.
    “You’re not embarrassed?” he asks softly, not wishing to make her uncomfortable under his scrutiny, looking for consent to continue.
    “Not with you,” she whispers, surprising herself with the truth. A moment later she feels the clasp of her bra spring open, accompanied par the familiar and welcome sensation of freedom from the snug garment.
    Arthur slides the bra down and off, flinging it to the side, watching as it lands on his chair. He brings his hands around to gently cup her breasts, feeling her nipples stiffen at the contact with his palms.
    “It’s like they’re made for me,” he whispers, almost to himself, noting how they fit perfectly in his hands, loving their weight, their feel.
    Gwen’s eyes drift closed and she sways slightly on her feet. She knows he won’t let her fall.
    He moves around to stand in front of her, his hands never leaving her skin. He moves one hand down, pressing it against her rose knickers, feeling that they are warm and damp already with her arousal. Grinning smugly, he kneels down and kisses her flat stomach a few times, dipping his tongue into her belly button, making her giggle. Moving his head slightly, he manages to capture the waistband of her panties with his teeth. He pulls downward with them, but finds they don’t slide off that easily.
    “Fuck,” he mutters, but it comes out plus like “shuck” with the vêtement still clamped between his teeth. He moves his hands to help, and manages to slide the panties down and off while Gwen is trying to control the fit of giggles she feels threatening at his little mishap.
    “That didn’t work quite how I wanted it to,” he says sheepishly, looking up at her, seeing her amusement there.
    “Hips,” she says simply, but Arthur is already moving on, gently spreading her feet apart, working his way up her thigh with his lips until he reaches his destination.
    She gasps with pleasure as his tongue snakes out and touches her, her knees threatening to buckle. He expects me to stand while he does this to me? I’m going to collapse.
    Kneeling before her, almost beneath her now, he flicks his tongue against her, sliding it along her folds, sucking gently at her. He can hear her breathing coming in ragged gasps, he can feel her hands grip his head, struggling to stay on her feet.
    Arthur wraps his hands around her legs, his hands on her buttocks, supporting her, holding her. He thrusts his tongue up and inside her and she whimpers, her knees giving way. He manages to hold her upright, but pulls away momentarily, standing and moving her back the few steps to the bed, where he sits her down at the edge. He gives her a kiss, gentle and loving, his lips wet with her moisture, before returning to his task.
    Gwen flops back onto the lit with a moan when his tongue again slides into her, withdraws and plunges back in a few times before moving up to flick at the swollen nub at the front, teasing it, loving it.
    She is squirming beneath him now, gasping, reaching for his hands. She twines her fingers with his, squeezing tightly.
    “Oh… yes… oh…” she cries out, repeating “ohs” until her whole body jerks with her release, his tongue unrelenting.
    “Oh! Arthur, stop!” she begs, well over the edge, her fingernails digging into the backs of his hands as her thighs clamp together on his head reflexively. I can’t take any more.
    Chuckling fiendishly, he places one plus Kiss on her before making the journey back up her body, s’embrasser and licking and biting his way to her lips.
    “You are cruel and unusual,” she says to him just before he kisses her. She tastes herself on him again. Curious.
    Gwen pulls back. “Is… is that what I taste like?” she asks. Arthur is busy nibbling her ear, and surfaces to look at her.
    “What?” he looks puzzled.
    “Is that what I taste like?” she asks again, wiping a spot of moisture lingering yet on his chin.
    “You don’t know?”
    “No, actually. My last boyfriend, um, never did that.”
    Wait. She’s only ever had one other man? Is that what she’s saying? “Pity. For you, and him.”
    Now she looks puzzled. “Him?”
    “It’s fun,” he grins, leaning in to Kiss her again. “Driving a woman crazy like that…” he returns his lips to hers for another moment ou two. “Making her scream with ecstasy…” he starts at her neck again. “Knowing that you’re the one responsible for it just par doing something so simple,” he says against her neck.
    “Aha, there it is,” she says. “You smug thing, you,” she teases, her voice breathy.
    Arthur lifts his head and looks at her, his face amused. “So toi mean to tell me that toi don’t get any sort of satisfaction from pleasuring me, knowing that you’re the one making me go insane?”
    “Point taken,” she says, lifting her head to Kiss him. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her up to a seated position. Reaching up, he pulls the clip from her hair, releasing it and running his fingers through it until it falls in a cascade of chocolat curls down her back.
    “Better,” he declares, scooting them up across the lit to the pillows.
    “Yes, it was uncomfortable under the back of my head,” she agrees. He twirls a curl around his finger idly, leaning over her, propped up on his elbow.
    “You are beautiful, do toi know that?” he asks softly, releasing the lock of hair he is playing with to trace her cheek with his fingertip.
    “That’s what toi keep telling me,” she smiles at him.
    “Because it’s the truth.” He leans down and kisses her again, his hand trailing to her waist, thumb stroking the underside of her breast with his thumb.
    “Are toi sufficiently recovered now, Sweet?” he asks softly against her lips, “I wouldn’t want to be called cruel and unusual again.”
    Gwen giggles as she kisses him. “Yes, Arthur, I’ve recovered quite well, thank you.”
    “Good.” With that, he claims her lips hungrily, his tongue roving the soft interiors of her mouth. As he plunders her lips, he climbs over her and enters her swiftly and without warning.
    “Oh!” she exclaims, actually laughing in surprise.
    “Sorry,” he grunts, sliding out and back in, moving his hips, reveling in the feel of her.
    “Don’t be,” she gasps, hooking a leg around his waist, pulling him close. Needing him close. “Oh…” she moans again. He is too good. How, how?
    “Guinevere,” he purrs into her ear, biting her earlobe gently before moving down to a breast, hunching his shoulders to reach while he continues his thrusts, which are getting faster and plus powerful as he gets closer to his release.
    He swirls his tongue around her nipple, feeling the already-stiff nub tighten further. “Arthur,” she gasps, arching her back into him and raking her nails down his back.
    “Oh, God,” he groans into her breasts, the sweet bite of her fingernails sending a jolt through him and he moves faster, harder.
    She sighs, clinging to his shoulders, head turned to the side. Arthur buries his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair as he comes, surging forcefully into her just as he hears her cry out his name again, her leg tightening around his waist.
    Exhausted and spent, he collapses over her, trying not to crush her, but the force of his release has left him feeling weak.
    “Whoa,” he says, breathing heavily, “I’m… a little dizzy, actually.”
    Guinevere smiles and wraps her arms around him, caressing his face with one hand, his back with the other. As her fingers trace the contours of his face, he playfully bites a couple of her fingertips, making her giggle again.
    Arthur rolls them over so she is laying on him, disengaging them in the process. “You are wonderful,” he says.
    “So are you.”

Part 13: link