Page 31 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

Guinevere stood silently as the maids filled her basin up with water. She was afraid to move. The inside of her thighs were sticky. She worried that even a single step could release a dam.

The women left with a bow, and the queen turned and locked the door shut.

Lancelot came back into view, dragging his thumb across his lips as he drank her in. “You are an angel,” He murmured, “Or a wicked, wicked incubus. I can’t decide.”

Gwen opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut again, scowling.

“Tongue tied?” His hands dropped to the ties on his breeches. “I think I’ll soak my tired bones .”

Her eyes tracked his movements, watching as he slowly untied the ragged pants. She hadn’t — even after all this time, she’d never seen him.

“You sure you don’t want to come closer?” He teased, “View’s better over here.” He shimmied his trousers down just a smidge, the deep lines carved into his abdomen becoming more pronounced.

She couldn’t speak. Her tongue was leaden in her mouth, body wracked with desire, with want .

His hands froze. She stepped towards him, desperately trying to keep herself from sprinting.

It was her turn.

She knelt before him, grinning.

“Stand up,” His voice was tight as he tried to fight against his own desires.

All it did was cause Gwen to burn harder.

Her fingers slipped just underneath the band of his pants, and a rumble built in his chest. “Guinevere, you have to stop.” He clenched his jaw, fists tight at his side.

“No,” she breathed, sliding his breeches down further.“I won’t.”

His breathing hitched.

Her heart pounded.

Her thumb caressed his hip bone with the faintest of touch, and his head fell back.

She felt invincible.

With no further suspense, she pushed his pants down, letting them drop to the floor.

He was magnificent.

He was huge .

Already hard, his cock twitched as she dragged her finger along the underside of it, relishing the way he pulsed under her touch.

Her breath hitched as she wrapped her fingers around him, the weight of him heavy, hot, real in her hand. He twitched again at her touch, and Lancelot groaned — quiet and guttural.

“You shouldn’t-” His voice started, wrecked.

She pulled her tongue up the length of him and watched the words die in his throat. “Still want me to stop?”

He choked on a laugh that turned into a growl. “No.”

Guinevere smiled, slow and wicked, and then sank lower, lips parting as she took the tip of him into her mouth. His hips bucked reflexively, and she steadied him with a palm against his thigh, the other wrapped tight around the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered reverently.

She hummed in satisfaction, and he shuddered .

One of his hands gripped the edge of the tub, the other tangling in her hair. Not to guide her — he never once forced her head to move.

It was like she was anchoring him.

“I’m not going to-” His words trembled, fingernails scraping against her scalp.

Lancelot bucked again, causing Gwen to gasp around him. Tears pricking in her eyes as he hit the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” He groaned, “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t answer. Why would she? He did not need to apologize, and the warmth that pooled in her legs was just as addicting as the feel of him beneath her touch. Hollowing her cheeks, she took him deeper.

“Gwen-” His voice was strained, fingers tight in her hair. “Stop, I’m-”

She stroked the base of his erection, her fingers dancing along the throbbing veins.

He came with a shudder, her name half-spoken on his lips, head thrown back. His cock pulsed on her tongue as he spilt into her mouth.

She swallowed him down like a prayer.

“Fuck.” His eyes were still screwed shut. She pulled back, looking up at him.

He was a god.

Broken.

Filthy.

Scarred.

Hers.

“I think…” His breath still came in unsteady gasps. “I think I’ll take that bath now.”

Slowly, as if in a trance, he kicked his pants off and stepped into the tub, hissing as the hot water washed over him. “My queen,” he sank down into the water, moaning gently. “Please, join me.”

She was already pulling her dress off, smiling. “No funny business, knight.” She wagged a finger at him, taking his hand as she stepped in.

They sat facing each other, his legs framed hers, their knees knocking.

“I was supposed to be helping you scrub the grime off of you.” She grinned, gently splashing him.

“You, mon amour , have helped me plenty. I can bathe myself.” He snatched her hand from beneath the water, pressing his lips to her palm, her wrist, her fingertips. “What I do need, love, is to tell me where you learned that .”

A deep blush traveled up her cheeks as she avoided his gaze.

“Shit.” He dropped her hand, taking her chin in his fingers. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I-” There was a panicked look in his eyes. “I’m so stupid. I’m an idiot.”

Unable to meet his tender gaze, she reached for his hand, drawing her fingers over a scar on his wrist. “I didn’t… learn it in kindness.” He r voice wavered. “But you…” She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t fall apart. Not now. “Thank you.”

He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “Thank me?” His jaw dropped open. “Why, love?”

“I get to rewrite it with you.” She was going to cry, she felt it. “I get to reframe loveless touches and harsh commands. I get to love, Lancelot.”

He gently grabbed her thighs, scooting her closer to him. He kissed her softly as they cramped together in the tub. “I love you, Guinevere.”

They sat in the gentle quiet of the morning. Exchanging gentle kisses, tender laughs, and lingering touches. Maybe the water chilled, maybe her fingers wrinkled, but she didn’t care. He was here.

He’s alive.

“Lancelot?” She asked, looking up at him. He had shifted them, pulling her back against his chest. His hands laced together over her stomach as he pressed soft kisses to her neck.

“Hmm?” He asked, nuzzling his nose behind her ear.

“Why did Sir Gawain and Sir Percival not come back to Camelot at the same time as you?”

He chuckled against her skin. “Our horses didn’t make it.”

“Zeus?” Gwen gasped, eyes wide.

He nodded, fingers coming up to brush the tear off of her cheek. “We were about a fortnight from the kingdom on foot. We rested in a town one night and I… procured a horse.”

“Lancelot!” Guinevere turned her head, trying to meet his gaze. “You stole someone’s horse?”

“Hush, you petulant thing.” She could hear the grin in his words. “ I left it at the stable on the outskirts of Camelot, saying I found him lost.”

“No one knows you’re here?”

“Just you, my love. Only you.”

They finally left the bath, Lancelot wrapping her up in a linen towel with a smile. He quickly fetched some clean clothing that he had left behind, tugging a clean pair of breeches once he was back in the room.

“We can’t just… stay locked in here forever.” Guinevere bit her bottom lip as she sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Of course we can.”

“Lance, Gawain, and Percival know you didn’t perish. Arthur will want to know about the Grail.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He snapped, his voice harsher than she had ever heard it.

“Lancelot-” she stuttered, hand coming up to her heart. “I didn’t ask you to, dear.”