Part 2: link
They reach their chambers, and Arthur opens the door for her. She enters and he follows, taking care to lock the door behind them.
He turns to her and gently removes the crown from her head, setting it carefully on the heavy long mesa, tabla there. Then he removes his own crown and tosses it gently beside hers, careless por comparison. He turns back to her, lifts his hands to her forehead and gently rubs it with his thumbs, massaging away the marks the crown has left indented in her skin there.
Arthur once again pulls her into his arms, besar her briefly before raising one hand and brushing his knuckles lightly against the skin of her cheek, caressing down to her neck, coming to rest at the exposed tops of her breasts, which are rising and falling with her deep, rapid breathing.
Gwen reaches down and undoes his sword belt, discarding it to the floor with a loud clatter that makes her giggle.
“Why do tu have to wear all this? Were we in danger of being attacked during my coronation?” she asks, helping him remove his chainmail.
“It’s traditional. Plus, lately, one never knows,” he says ruefully, stealing a kiss once the mail camisa, camiseta is over his head. There are advantages to having a wife who knows armor, he thinks, much preferring her assistance over Merlin’s.
“Your outfits can be as complicated as mine, tu know that?” she asks as he steals another kiss, this time longer, searing heat into her interior.
“At least I don’t have ridiculous laces o rows of tiny buttons,” he complains.
“Yes, about that: Stop ruining my dresses. The maids are becoming cruzar, cruz with tu and I am más embarrassed each time I have to bring them one to mend. We’ve been married only a week and it’s been three dresses already, Arthur.” She stops and looks at him with her hands on her hips. “I appreciate your… enthusiasm, but I promise tu I will start mending them myself in spite of your wishes, if tu continue to treat my dresses like rags.”
He knows she is serious about this. I’m actually surprised she hasn’t started mending them herself already, he thinks, familiar with her often flagrant disregard for his wishes in such matters. “Yes, Love,” he says, striving to appear contrite.
He is down to his camisa, camiseta and trousers, having just stepped out of his boots. Mindful of Guinevere’s reciente request—no, command—he gently turns her around and starts to work on the row of laces down the back of her dress, cursing softly as he does so.
She obligingly moves her hair out of the way and distinctly hears him muttering something about “Blasted laces” and “feel like a maid.”
“If tu prefer, I can call a maid in, and…”
“No,” he says firmly. He leans against her, and says softly against her neck, “Despite my grumblings, undressing tu is one of my greatest pleasures.”
Gwen’s eyes drift close and he brushes his lips against the tender skin where her neck meets her shoulder. He then bites it lightly and she yelps and giggles as he returns his attention to her dress.
Why is he undressing me here? she wonders, realizing they are still just inside the chamber doors, not in the sleeping quarters.
“There we are,” Arthur announces, and Guinevere feels the dress loosen and he slides it from her shoulders.
The dress falls, pooling in a great mass around her legs. She starts to step out of it when Arthur lifts her bodily from the dress, leaving it there.
“Oh!” she exclaims in surprise. She kicks her shoes off in mid-air, and they drop to the floor.
He carries her in her thin shift the few steps over to the long table, kicks a chair out of the way, and sets her down so she is seated atop the table, facing him.
“Arthur, what…” she starts and her words are once again stopped, this time por a kiss as he leans into her, leaning her back into the arms he has wrapped around her back.
He kisses her passionately, and she returns his passion, her hands around his neck, up into his hair, then down, pulling insistently at his shirt.
“God, I amor it when tu get aggressive,” he groans, breaking away and pulling his camisa, camiseta off before reaching down for the hem of her shift, pulling it upwards, running his hands along her legs as he goes.
He scoots the prenda, prendas de vestir up almost to her hips, and she wiggles slightly to allow him to release it from beneath her so he can pull it up over her head. She takes the opportunity to reach down and undo his trousers, and he lets them fall and steps out of them.
Guinevere pulls him to her, spreading her knees apart so he can come close. She leans adelante, hacia adelante and kisses his neck, his collarbones; her hands tracing the lines of the muscles on his broad shoulders. Arthur buries his face in her hair, besar her ear, her neck.
He lets a hand drop between her legs, touching, stroking, bringing forth moans of pleasure from her that make him smile. He bends to take a breast in his mouth, besar and sucking, spurred on por her hands in his hair, holding him to her.
Arthur eases her back onto the mesa, tabla and leans over her, sliding easily into her. Her elbow bumps into their discarded crowns and she absently shoves them further down the table, out of reach.
“Oh…” Gwen gasps, slightly shocked por what they are doing. Not what so much as where.
Arthur bends over and kisses her as he thrusts, his hands holding her face gently, lovingly. He leans back with a groan as he feels her legs come up to circulo, círculo his waist. His hands stroke the skin of her stomach, up to her breasts, holding them in his hands, running his palms across her taut nipples.
“Arthur,” she whispers, dropping her head back, sinking back flat onto the mesa, tabla as she brings her hands up over his, holding them, guiding them, encouraging them.
He bites his lower lip, gazing down at her. Beautiful, wise, and passionate. How on earth did I get so lucky?
Guinevere is starting to gasp beneath him, her head tossing from side to side. “Oh… Arthur… oh… oh…”
Her legs tighten around him and her hips lift from the table, shoving against him as she climaxes with several más gasps. Her hands clutch at his, still on her breasts, and he responds por thrusting harder, faster, feeling his own come upon him quickly, encouraged por the vision beneath him on the table.
He roars and drives deeply within her, releasing into her with a giant flood of sensation that leaves him weak.
Arthur leans down to kiss her, and she rises up on her elbows again to meet him.
“I amor you, my queen,” he says to her.
“And I amor you, my husband.”
He eases away from her and helps her down from the table, pulling her into his arms, standing flush against each other.
I just amor the feel of her.
His body is so warm and inviting.
They finally make it to the bed, snuggled close together.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Arthur says after a time.
“What? On the table?” Gwen lifts her head and looks at him.
“Yes. The table.”
“For how long?” Now I’m quite curious.
“Since the castillo of Fyrien.”
“When I brought the dresses?”
“Yes. Why do tu think I didn’t get up?”
Guinevere laughs suddenly at this, burying her face into his neck.
“After that it was pretty much any time tu were in here.”
“You’re joking.” She lifts her head.
“I’m not. tu would be shocked if tu knew some of the thoughts that have come into my head about tu over the past several years,” he admits, eyes smoldering slightly as he looks at her.
Not half as shocked as tu would be if tu knew I was probably having the same thoughts, Gwen thinks. She considers confessing. Perhaps another time.
She raises her eyebrows at him. “Now I’m intrigued.”
He blinks at her. “Really?”
She nods, blushing slightly. She hides her face in his neck and finds herself saying, “I’ve had some thoughts of my own, actually.” Damn. I wasn’t going to say anything.
Arthur laughs. “Now I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t make me say…” she pleads.
“No, I won’t. Not right now, anyway,” he teases, besar her.
Gwen yawns, and Arthur leans over to blow out the candles on the bedside table.
They lay together in silence for a while, just holding each other.
“You remember how I would sometimes suddenly dash away from you?” he asks, tracing the lines of her back with his finger.
She looks up. “Yes?”
“Most of those times I left because if I had stayed with tu any longer I would have tossed tu over my shoulder and carried tu off to do the most un-chivalrous things to you.”
“Arthur!”
“Honest. Although sometimes tu were the one that would dash away.”
“You know why I did that,” she frowns slightly.
“Yes, I do,” he says, caressing her cheek and leaning down to kiss her nose. “You couldn’t let yourself believe that it could happen. That we could happen.”
She nods.
“Yes, but there’s más to it than that, I think. You’ve always been stronger than me,” he says, besar her again.
Gwen rolls onto her stomach, rests her head on her hands atop Arthur’s chest and looks at him, her expression puzzled. This is high praise from him.
“Well, not physically stronger, obviously. But you’ve had to deal with so much más hardship in your life than I have, and somehow tu always come through and continue to be the most kindhearted and generous person I know. That can only come from the wisdom and inner strength that tu have always had in abundance. It is one of the many reasons why I amor tu so much.”
“I didn’t know tu felt that way, Arthur,” she says tenderly, clearly touched por his words. “I was just trying to live my life.”
“If everyone lived their lives that way, there would be no wars.”
“That may be overstating things a bit,” she protests.
“Perhaps a little. Still, I was always amazed at your ability to walk away from me when it was always so difficult for me to walk away from you.”
“It wasn’t as easy for me as tu may think,” she admits.
“Well, I’m actually glad to hear that, because I had been feeling a little hurt that tu could so easily escape. Hmm. Think of all the kisses tu missed out on…” he teases, lifting her chin up to illustrate his point.
“We’ll only have the rest of our lives to make up for them,” she smiles.
“And that is exactly what I intend to do, my sweet.”
Part 4: link
They reach their chambers, and Arthur opens the door for her. She enters and he follows, taking care to lock the door behind them.
He turns to her and gently removes the crown from her head, setting it carefully on the heavy long mesa, tabla there. Then he removes his own crown and tosses it gently beside hers, careless por comparison. He turns back to her, lifts his hands to her forehead and gently rubs it with his thumbs, massaging away the marks the crown has left indented in her skin there.
Arthur once again pulls her into his arms, besar her briefly before raising one hand and brushing his knuckles lightly against the skin of her cheek, caressing down to her neck, coming to rest at the exposed tops of her breasts, which are rising and falling with her deep, rapid breathing.
Gwen reaches down and undoes his sword belt, discarding it to the floor with a loud clatter that makes her giggle.
“Why do tu have to wear all this? Were we in danger of being attacked during my coronation?” she asks, helping him remove his chainmail.
“It’s traditional. Plus, lately, one never knows,” he says ruefully, stealing a kiss once the mail camisa, camiseta is over his head. There are advantages to having a wife who knows armor, he thinks, much preferring her assistance over Merlin’s.
“Your outfits can be as complicated as mine, tu know that?” she asks as he steals another kiss, this time longer, searing heat into her interior.
“At least I don’t have ridiculous laces o rows of tiny buttons,” he complains.
“Yes, about that: Stop ruining my dresses. The maids are becoming cruzar, cruz with tu and I am más embarrassed each time I have to bring them one to mend. We’ve been married only a week and it’s been three dresses already, Arthur.” She stops and looks at him with her hands on her hips. “I appreciate your… enthusiasm, but I promise tu I will start mending them myself in spite of your wishes, if tu continue to treat my dresses like rags.”
He knows she is serious about this. I’m actually surprised she hasn’t started mending them herself already, he thinks, familiar with her often flagrant disregard for his wishes in such matters. “Yes, Love,” he says, striving to appear contrite.
He is down to his camisa, camiseta and trousers, having just stepped out of his boots. Mindful of Guinevere’s reciente request—no, command—he gently turns her around and starts to work on the row of laces down the back of her dress, cursing softly as he does so.
She obligingly moves her hair out of the way and distinctly hears him muttering something about “Blasted laces” and “feel like a maid.”
“If tu prefer, I can call a maid in, and…”
“No,” he says firmly. He leans against her, and says softly against her neck, “Despite my grumblings, undressing tu is one of my greatest pleasures.”
Gwen’s eyes drift close and he brushes his lips against the tender skin where her neck meets her shoulder. He then bites it lightly and she yelps and giggles as he returns his attention to her dress.
Why is he undressing me here? she wonders, realizing they are still just inside the chamber doors, not in the sleeping quarters.
“There we are,” Arthur announces, and Guinevere feels the dress loosen and he slides it from her shoulders.
The dress falls, pooling in a great mass around her legs. She starts to step out of it when Arthur lifts her bodily from the dress, leaving it there.
“Oh!” she exclaims in surprise. She kicks her shoes off in mid-air, and they drop to the floor.
He carries her in her thin shift the few steps over to the long table, kicks a chair out of the way, and sets her down so she is seated atop the table, facing him.
“Arthur, what…” she starts and her words are once again stopped, this time por a kiss as he leans into her, leaning her back into the arms he has wrapped around her back.
He kisses her passionately, and she returns his passion, her hands around his neck, up into his hair, then down, pulling insistently at his shirt.
“God, I amor it when tu get aggressive,” he groans, breaking away and pulling his camisa, camiseta off before reaching down for the hem of her shift, pulling it upwards, running his hands along her legs as he goes.
He scoots the prenda, prendas de vestir up almost to her hips, and she wiggles slightly to allow him to release it from beneath her so he can pull it up over her head. She takes the opportunity to reach down and undo his trousers, and he lets them fall and steps out of them.
Guinevere pulls him to her, spreading her knees apart so he can come close. She leans adelante, hacia adelante and kisses his neck, his collarbones; her hands tracing the lines of the muscles on his broad shoulders. Arthur buries his face in her hair, besar her ear, her neck.
He lets a hand drop between her legs, touching, stroking, bringing forth moans of pleasure from her that make him smile. He bends to take a breast in his mouth, besar and sucking, spurred on por her hands in his hair, holding him to her.
Arthur eases her back onto the mesa, tabla and leans over her, sliding easily into her. Her elbow bumps into their discarded crowns and she absently shoves them further down the table, out of reach.
“Oh…” Gwen gasps, slightly shocked por what they are doing. Not what so much as where.
Arthur bends over and kisses her as he thrusts, his hands holding her face gently, lovingly. He leans back with a groan as he feels her legs come up to circulo, círculo his waist. His hands stroke the skin of her stomach, up to her breasts, holding them in his hands, running his palms across her taut nipples.
“Arthur,” she whispers, dropping her head back, sinking back flat onto the mesa, tabla as she brings her hands up over his, holding them, guiding them, encouraging them.
He bites his lower lip, gazing down at her. Beautiful, wise, and passionate. How on earth did I get so lucky?
Guinevere is starting to gasp beneath him, her head tossing from side to side. “Oh… Arthur… oh… oh…”
Her legs tighten around him and her hips lift from the table, shoving against him as she climaxes with several más gasps. Her hands clutch at his, still on her breasts, and he responds por thrusting harder, faster, feeling his own come upon him quickly, encouraged por the vision beneath him on the table.
He roars and drives deeply within her, releasing into her with a giant flood of sensation that leaves him weak.
Arthur leans down to kiss her, and she rises up on her elbows again to meet him.
“I amor you, my queen,” he says to her.
“And I amor you, my husband.”
He eases away from her and helps her down from the table, pulling her into his arms, standing flush against each other.
I just amor the feel of her.
His body is so warm and inviting.
They finally make it to the bed, snuggled close together.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Arthur says after a time.
“What? On the table?” Gwen lifts her head and looks at him.
“Yes. The table.”
“For how long?” Now I’m quite curious.
“Since the castillo of Fyrien.”
“When I brought the dresses?”
“Yes. Why do tu think I didn’t get up?”
Guinevere laughs suddenly at this, burying her face into his neck.
“After that it was pretty much any time tu were in here.”
“You’re joking.” She lifts her head.
“I’m not. tu would be shocked if tu knew some of the thoughts that have come into my head about tu over the past several years,” he admits, eyes smoldering slightly as he looks at her.
Not half as shocked as tu would be if tu knew I was probably having the same thoughts, Gwen thinks. She considers confessing. Perhaps another time.
She raises her eyebrows at him. “Now I’m intrigued.”
He blinks at her. “Really?”
She nods, blushing slightly. She hides her face in his neck and finds herself saying, “I’ve had some thoughts of my own, actually.” Damn. I wasn’t going to say anything.
Arthur laughs. “Now I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t make me say…” she pleads.
“No, I won’t. Not right now, anyway,” he teases, besar her.
Gwen yawns, and Arthur leans over to blow out the candles on the bedside table.
They lay together in silence for a while, just holding each other.
“You remember how I would sometimes suddenly dash away from you?” he asks, tracing the lines of her back with his finger.
She looks up. “Yes?”
“Most of those times I left because if I had stayed with tu any longer I would have tossed tu over my shoulder and carried tu off to do the most un-chivalrous things to you.”
“Arthur!”
“Honest. Although sometimes tu were the one that would dash away.”
“You know why I did that,” she frowns slightly.
“Yes, I do,” he says, caressing her cheek and leaning down to kiss her nose. “You couldn’t let yourself believe that it could happen. That we could happen.”
She nods.
“Yes, but there’s más to it than that, I think. You’ve always been stronger than me,” he says, besar her again.
Gwen rolls onto her stomach, rests her head on her hands atop Arthur’s chest and looks at him, her expression puzzled. This is high praise from him.
“Well, not physically stronger, obviously. But you’ve had to deal with so much más hardship in your life than I have, and somehow tu always come through and continue to be the most kindhearted and generous person I know. That can only come from the wisdom and inner strength that tu have always had in abundance. It is one of the many reasons why I amor tu so much.”
“I didn’t know tu felt that way, Arthur,” she says tenderly, clearly touched por his words. “I was just trying to live my life.”
“If everyone lived their lives that way, there would be no wars.”
“That may be overstating things a bit,” she protests.
“Perhaps a little. Still, I was always amazed at your ability to walk away from me when it was always so difficult for me to walk away from you.”
“It wasn’t as easy for me as tu may think,” she admits.
“Well, I’m actually glad to hear that, because I had been feeling a little hurt that tu could so easily escape. Hmm. Think of all the kisses tu missed out on…” he teases, lifting her chin up to illustrate his point.
“We’ll only have the rest of our lives to make up for them,” she smiles.
“And that is exactly what I intend to do, my sweet.”
Part 4: link
