“Iwon’tleave,” he growled, his mouth at her throat, his breath a brand. “I’m not walking out that door, not now, not ever — you aremine. Do you understand me?”
She moaned, writhing beneath him. “Yes. Lancelot…”
“No.” His voice was a whip crack. “You don't get to moan my name like that and thenfight mefor control.”
“I’m not fighting you,” she rasped, eyes glittering like shattered glass.
“Fucking, finally.” His teeth found the sensitive spot on her throat, alternating between less-than-gentle nips and a brand. He let go of her wrists, gripping ruthlessly at her hips. He turned her over, stomach pressing into the mattress.
A gasp escaped her lips as she felt his hands tearing at the fastenings that held her dress together. “I hate these dresses,” Lancelotsneered, the sound of ripped fabric as loud as their combined breaths. “If it were up to me, you’d wear nothing butmytunics. Nothing but breeches.”
The cool of the air brushed down her spine, followed by his mouth, hot and urgent.
But then it was gone. His weight, his hands —gone. She gasped, twisted to look, but his voice cracked across her like a whip.
“Don’t move.”
She froze.
“Do you know what it does to me? To watch him lord over you like you’re a plaything. To watch him try tocontrol you, and-” His hand slid up her calf, slow and deliberate. “And know that you’ve taken it formy sake.”
She was bared to him, her dress in pieces on either side of her, sleeves still clinging to her arms.
“Lancelot,”
“Quiet,” His palm continued to climb, smoothing over her thigh. His fingers dipped between her legs, her hips rising to meet his touch. “So wet already,” he murmured. “You like it when I take control, don’t you?”
She nodded, afraid her voice would betray her.
His hand came down, sharp, not cruel, on the curve of her ass. She gasped, tried to rise on her elbows, but he caught her again, forcing her back down with a hand between her shoulders.
Then he spread her legs and just…stared. She writhed, desperate, humiliated by how wet she was already. By how he hadn’t even touched her yet.
“Please,” she whispered.
“I’m not finished.” He gripped her hips, angled her upwards slightly, and pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance — but didn’t push. Just held it there.Throbbedthere.
She rocked backwards, a cry in her throat as she sought his pressure. “Lancelot-” She felt him hovering over her, caging her. She writhed beneath his grasp, trying to force him to move.
To doanything.
But he didn’t budge. Didn’t even twitch.
“Up,” He demanded, his hands flexing around her waist. “On your knees.”
Guinevere obeyed. She couldn’t think past his erection, past the pleasure she was desperate to receive. Once up on her hands and knees, she turned her head, trying to look at him.
Lancelot’s hands drifted down to her thighs, pressing them together. His cock slid between her legs, brushing against her entrance, just skimming through her heat.
“Please, Lancelot,” she rocked back again, but found no relief as he thrusted between her thighs.
“What, queen?” He growled, bucking his hips. “You were so keen to make demands of me moments ago.” A deep laugh rumbled from his chest, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.
“I am your sword,” another thrust, another desperate wave of need for him.
“Your shield.” His hands left her legs, curling around her throat, pulling her up, flush against his chest.
“Your champion,” Her hands clutched at his arm, eyes rolling in the back of her head as she felt him adjust himself, once more dragging the tip of his dick against her.
