“Oh,” she whispered softly, feeling him twitch beneath her. “Oh, you want to go again?” She tangled her hands in his hair, forcing him to face her. “I won’t even make you take your trousers off.”
With something akin to a growl, he moved, standing. A breathless laugh escaped her as he deposited her on the bed. She couldn’t help that her eyes were drawn below his waist.
To the stain that graced his breeches.
Her face tinged with heat, and the rest of her body followed suit. “When I fuck you, Guinevere,” His voice was a rasp, eyes hooded as he adjusted himself through his pants. “You’ll be begging for me.” He palmed himself again. “I won’t forget this.”
“I hope that’s a promise.”
“It’s a threat.”
When.
Notif.
Notperhaps.
Notmaybe.
When.
Her heart galloped into her throat as she watched him rustle through his bag, procuring another pair of breeches. “Take your nap, highness.” He taunted, stepping away from the bed.
“I want you here.” Admission slipped from her lips easily. She could never just… ask for what she wanted, what sheneeded.
“I’m here.” His voice was softer now, and even with his back to her, she could hear the smile in his words. “Let me clean up the messyoumade, dove. Then I’ll be by your side.”
16
Guinevere woke up wrapped up in his arms for the third morning in a row. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, their legs tangled together beneath the blanket. His warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breath — it all felt sonormal, like something she could’ve had forever if her life had spun differently.
“Are you finally awake?” His voice rumbled from beneath her, sleep-rough and teasing, fingers brushing her hips in that soft, possessive way she was starting to crave. “We’ve got to get a move on,mon amour.” He sat up, tugging her with him like she was an extension of himself. “Time to go.”
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. He tilted her chin up and kissed her — quick, familiar, like it belonged to their morning routine.
Her heart flipped. Stupid, uncontrollable thing.
And then — even though shehatedherself for doing it — her mind wandered back to Arthur. To mornings spent in polite silence, to perfunctory kisses on the forehead, to touches that felt more like ceremony than care. She couldn’t remember a single time he’d kissed her just because he wanted to.
She smiled softly, feeling her cheeks heat.
Outside, the barn was quiet, save for the scuff of hooves andcreak of leather. She watched as Lancelot prepped the horse, sleeves rolled, hands steady. He didn’t look like a man who had lost control the day before. He looked like a knight again — calm, capable, composed.
At least until the boy walked in.
“Did you hear that King Arthur is hosting a celebration?” The stable hand chirped, hauling hay into the troughs.
“What?” The knight turned on him, clutching the reins tightly. Gwen saw his jaw tense, his back stiffen.
“Yeah! The town crier made the announcement last night. The king is celebrating 4 years of ruling with Queen Guinevere.”
Her pupils widened, pulling her hood up over her head. She took a few steps towards where they stood talking, laying a hand on her knight’s arm. “Thank you, sire.” Gwen nodded towards the boy, tugging on Lance’s arm. “Let’s go, darling.” A name for the boy’s benefit. A word that tasted like ash on her tongue.
Once out of the stable, she saw his composure start to falter. “Time to go back,” He said through clenched teeth, like it was the only thing keeping him from screaming.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, fingers digging into his arm. “Please, I can’t go back.”
He cradled her face in his hands, pressing his forehead against hers. “We have to, Gwen.” She didn’t know when she started trembling. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
