“Then what’s one more time?”
She kissed him once more, slow, filthy, all tongue and teeth, before pulling back just far enough to straddle his hips again. Her thighs braced on either side of him, a wicked glint in her eyes as she looked down.
Lancelot was already half-hard again beneath her, twitching in anticipation where he rested against her slick folds. She rolled her hips once — slow and taunting — coating him in her arousal without letting him in.
His hands gripped her thighs hard. “Gwen.”
“What?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head. “You said you were ruined. I thought I’d finish the job.”
He groaned, his head tipping back against the pillow. “Please.”
She leaned forward, bracing herself on his chest. “There’sthe voice I love,” she purred, dragging the head of him through her wetness. “So good for me. So obedient.”
He arched up, trying to thrust into her, but she pinned his hips down with her weight. “Ah, ah,” she scolded. “My turn.”
“Gods, yes,” he gritted out. “Take what you need. Please-”
She sank down on him in one slow, deliberate motion, gasping as he filled her. His eyes flew open, wild and dark, watching her with something close to worship.
Guinevere rolled her hips once, slow and sinuous, and his hands flew to her waist, not to control, but to hold on.
“That’s it,” she breathed, rocking again, harder this time.
He nodded, unable to speak.
She rode him like a queen claiming her throne — steady, commanding, devastating. Her nails raked down his chest as she leaned forward, their lips brushing with every ragged breath. Each time she dropped her hips, she swallowed the way he choked her name like it was a prayer.
“Gwen,” he gasped. “I’m… I can’t-”
She ground her hips down, her clit catching just right against him. Guinevere grinned down at him, breath hitching as she dragged him even deeper inside. She could feel him trembling beneath her — every muscle taut, every breath a gasp.
She’d never had it like this.
She’d never beenin control. Even with Lancelot, she let him lead — it was safe. But this…? This was a new freedom in itself. This was a miracle. A baptism.
This wasliving.
“Please,” he choked out, voice breaking like he’d forgotten how to hold himself together.
“Pleasewhat, Lancelot?” Her voice was a dark purr, almost cruel in its softness.
He swallowed hard, sweat slick on his chest, his hands clutching at her thighs like they were the only thing tethering him to this plane. “Please let me finish.” It was a whisper. A confession. A prayer.
Guinevere leaned forward, licking a long, slow path up the side of his throat, her hips never ceasing their merciless rhythm.
He let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and amoan, his cock throbbing inside her, barely holding on. His voice was ragged now, desperate. “Gwen, I’m begging you — please, please, let me…”
She slammed down onto him, grinding hard, her own climax building tight in her stomach.
“Guinevere… please — I need you, need to feel you come around me, gods, please… let me come with you…”
She reached between them, rubbed tight circles against her clit, and locked eyes with him as she fell apart with a cry. Her body clenched around him, shaking with release.
That was all it took.
Lancelotshouted, hips jerking up wildly as he spilled inside her, clinging to her like she was the only solid thing in a crumbling world. He was gasping her name like a litany, as if saying it over and over might save him.
She collapsed onto his chest, both of them wrecked, their bodies sticky and tangled and trembling.
