Page 18 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

He turned to her, about to speak, when laughter spilled from her lips. Reaching towards him, she brushed crumbs out of his beard. “How did you survive without me?” She whispered, fingers lingering on his jaw.

“I have no idea,” he grinned, discarding the tray of food beside him. In a single motion, he had her atop him, legs straddling his waist.

Her belly did a flip, lips tugging upwards. “You’re bolder behind closed doors, knight.” She crooned, running her hand through his hair.

“How could I not be?” He pressed a kiss to her pulse point. “You’re sitting here, wearing nothing but my tunic, and I am expected to keep my hands off of you?”

“No,” she grinned, eyes fluttering shut. “Never.” She adjusted herself in his lap, already feeling him hardening beneath her.

“Careful, queen.” He growled, hand on the back of her neck. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against the shell of his ear. “If memory serves me, I had no trouble finishing last night.” She rolled her hips gently, causing him to hiss.

“Wicked thing.” Fingers dug into her skin, whether to stop her or help her. She wasn’t sure yet. She gave her hips another jerk, bearing down on the length of him. “Guinevere, please.” But he groaned as she moved.

His hips bucked up into her, moving of their own accord. “This — We can’t-” But she couldn’t hear him. She pressed her lips to his throat, grazing her teeth gently across his skin. His head fell back against the bed frame with a quiet, desperate groan.

She shifted, grinding against his erection where it hit just right. “Is this,” she panted against the skin of his throat. “Is this what you’ve been holding back, knight?”

She felt him jolt again, pulling a soft whimper from the back of her throat. She rocked against him, her fingers now clinging to his shirt. “Please, Lance, please.” She whispered, gasping as his hand left her hair.

He traced down the lines of her curves like he was committing them to memory, worshiping her with touch alone. “We shouldn’t.” His hand found her breast, passing his thumb lightly over her nipple. “I should stop this.” His voice was raw, but he didn’t pull away from her.

She moaned at the action, her head falling back. “Then stop. Don’t touch me again,” she whispered, trying not to lose herself in the way he was rutting up into her.

He repeated the motion, pinching her nipple above the fabric of his shirt. His lips found hers, and they came together in a sloppy kiss. This wasn’t the reverence from moments earlier - this was all tongue and teeth.

This was fire and brimstone.

“Lance,” she breathed, feeling herself teetering higher. Her hips moved faster against him, his body lurching in time with hers.One hand slipped underneath her shirt, and her grip on his tunic tightened as he cupped her breast, running another featherlight touch over her hardened peak.

A moan left her lips as heat gathered in her core, spreading warmth across her skin. Pressing his clothed erection against her in such a way — she could see stars.

“Come on, baby.” He grunted, fingers finding her hips once more, moving her against him. “Come on,” His breathing was labored.

She rolled her hips harder, and he cursed. With one final pass of his thumb tweaking her nipple roughly, she fell apart on his lap. Whimpering his name like a prayer, clinging to him like he was the only ship on a rough sea.

He followed with a raspy bellow, her name tumbling off his lips, over and over again. An act of worship. Gripping her so tight, she begged her body to bruise. His face immediately flushed, mouth gaping.

She pressed her lips to his cheek, his nose, the corner of his mouth, doing all she could to fight off the shame that she could see rising in his eyes. “You’re allowed to want things, Lancelot.” She whispered, lips brushing his. “You’re allowed to feel.”

He didn’t answer, eyes closing, head falling back on the bed behind them. Gwen shifted, untangled her legs from around him, and curled up in his lap, pressing her cheek to his chest, digging her fingers into his shirt.

Stretching up, she pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You’re warm.” She purred, nestling herself deeper into his heat.

As she sat there, listening to the erratic beat of her heart, she felt herself, once more, growing tired. She had never remembered being so tired before.

“Let’s take a nap,” she whispered around a yawn.

He stiffened beneath her. “Aye,” but his voice was thick, like there was something he wasn’t saying.

“Lance? Are you well?” She pulled back, trying to meet his eyes.

“M’fine.” He mumbled, running a hand down his face. She went to stand, but he grabbed her forearm, holding her in place.

“I want to lie down, Lance,” she said with a pout, trying to worm out of his grip. “You’ve exhausted me again. I’ve had a fright, remember? Doctor’s orders.” She smiled, but he didn’t return it.

“What’s going on?” She asked again, brow knotting as she studied him.

He muttered something so quickly, so quietly, that she hadn’t been able to understand a word.

“What?” She shook her head, at a loss.

“I said-” His voice bordered on exasperation. “I came in my pants like a fresh-faced boy.” His cheeks reddened, avoiding her gaze at all costs.

“I know,” she whispered with a smile, straddling his lap again. She took his face in her hands. “I was there, remember?” Her fingers danced across his cheekbone, her touch light as a feather.

“Don’t-” His voice was tight, “Don’t laugh at me, Gwen. I-”

Her eyes sparkled, “I’m not laughing.” Her lips found hers, kissing him softly. “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“Stop,” pleading, his hands found her hips again, trying to hold her still as she rocked gently. “You’ll kill me, Guinevere.”

“Twice, Lancelot.” She whispered, the mirth from her voice making way for something a little softer. “After a pleasureless lifetime, you have undone my very being twice in the last day.” She pressed her forehead against his. “And you?”

Laughter bloomed inside of her, tumbling out of her mouth. “You didn’t need me naked, didn’t even need a bed.” She rolled her hips, a sweet sense of satisfaction washing over her as he groaned.

As she felt him, half-hard, beneath her.

Guinevere shifted gently in his lap, dragging the hem of his tunic a little higher on her thighs. “Are you going to say anything?” she asked softly, brushing her nose against his jaw.

He cleared his throat. Then cleared it again. Still, he wouldn’t look at her.

“I…” His voice cracked, and he shook his head with a breathy laugh. “This has never happened to me before.”

She tilted her head, fingers still lazily tracing shapes over his chest. “You mean the breakfast part? Or the part where I made you come in your pants without even getting undressed?”

His groan was somewhere between a laugh and a plea for mercy. He finally met her eyes, red-cheeked and sheepish. “Guinevere.”

“What?” she asked, smile slow and devastating. “I think it’s sweet.”

“It’s mortifying ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve had more lovers than I can count. Men. Women. I’ve done things I’m sure the clergy have never even dreamed of.” His eyes flicked to hers, a little dazed. “But I’ve never come in my godsdamned trousers. Like a boy.”

She smoothed his hair back, cheeks flush with pride, a smile continuing to tug on her lips. “You’re a mess,” she whispered, running her hand down his chest. “A wonderful, soaked mess.”

His head fell back against the footboard, another groan tearing from his lips.

“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.

Not if.

Not perhaps.

Not maybe .

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 she needed .

“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 mess you made, dove. Then I’ll be by your side.”