Part 8: link
“Stay,” he asks, taking her hands in his.
“Arthur, I’d amor to…”
“But…”
“But, I have to work tomorrow morning. I have nothing to wear, no toothbrush, and no car. You’ll have to take me home,” she says gently.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“But if tu want to pack yourself a small bag…”
He hops up before she even finishes her sentence and heads back to the bedroom and bathroom to carelessly throw a few essentials into a small duffel bag. He returns two minutos later.
“Ready,” he announces.
Guinevere laughs and stands. “I think we had better clean this up first,” she says, motioning to the pizza box and the remains of their dinner.
“Oh. Right.”
They finish cleaning up, and before they leave, Gwen finds Iggy perched in the windowsill glaring down at them. She pulls a chair over and stands on it, bringing her face close to his furry naranja one.
“Iggy, Arthur is going to stay at my house tonight. You’ll be a good boy, right?” she coos to him, scratching him behind his ears. After a moment o two, he gives in and purrs for her, leaning his face adelante, hacia adelante to nuzzle her nose. “Thank you, Baby.” She kisses the parte superior, arriba of his head and hops down to see Arthur staring at her again, bemused and impressed.
“Let’s go,” she says to him, breezing past. She stops and picks up her purloined shoes and turns back to him. “Here. Just for transport, mind,” she says, shoving the sandals into his bag with a laugh.
“You’re no fun at all,” he says, trying unsuccessfully to pout.
As they walk up to Gwen’s door, she can hear her phone ringing on the other side, so she scrambles to unlock the door and sprints to the phone.
“Hello?” she gasps.
“Guinevere? What’s wrong? Are tu all right? I’ve been trying to call tu all day!”
“Daddy, I’m fine, just out of breath. I was just coming in and I heard the phone ringing so I ran.”
Arthur pulls her sandals out of his bag and makes a big mostrar of waving them around in the air for her to see before setting them down.
She stifles a giggle and waves a hand at him. Stop it, shut up!
“So where have tu been all day?”
“Well, I went to breakfast and church with Freya, and then I spent the día with, um, a friend.”
Arthur’s eyebrows raise and he gives her a sideways look.
“A friend? That sounds suspicious.”
“I’ve got a boyfriend, Daddy, is that what tu want to hear? I was with him all day.”
“Ha ha, very funny, Gwen.”
“Dad, I’m serious. I met someone.”
“You did?” he asks weakly.
“Yes,” she answers, glancing over at Arthur, who is removing his boots and looking rather smug about himself.
“Name?” he asks.
She sighs, hearing him pull out a pad of paper and a pencil. “So you’re doing this now?”
“First thing tomorrow morning. Name.”
“Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur looks at her, and she mouths I told tu so, to him, and he laughs quietly.
“That name is familiar… He’s not Uther Pendragon’s disowned son, is he?”
“How could tu possibly know that?”
“I didn’t make DI por being oblivious, child. And that man is in the news all the time. So it is him, then.”
“Dad, I can hear the judgment in your voice. And I don’t like it at all,” she says, immediately going on the defensive.
“Well, if his own father doesn’t even approve of him, how can tu expect me to?”
“Ooh,” she fumes. “You’re really ignorant sometimes. tu know nothing about him o his father, and you’ve already made your mind up! tu have no idea what the reasons his father has for disowning him are!”
“And tu do?”
“Yes, I do. And they are childish, selfish, and ridiculous reasons that have nothing at all to do with his character as a person. So until tu know the entire truth and, oh, perhaps deign to meet the gentleman, I’ll thank tu to keep an open mind!”
Arthur stares. He can’t hear Gwen’s father, but he has a pretty good idea what he’s saying. She’s defending me. To her own father. And she’s not backing down.
“Gwen…”
“Promise me o I am hanging up right now.” She waits. “Dad?”
“I promise,” he finally relents. She knows he’s still going to have his opinions, but at least he’ll keep them to himself. At least for a while.
“You always tell me how much tu trust me, but actions speak louder than words, Dad.”
“I do trust you, Gwennie.”
“But tu don’t trust him.”
“No.”
“Go ahead and do all the background checks tu want on him. His record is clean.”
“How do tu know that?”
“He told me. I warned him that you’d check him out.”
“Well, I suppose the fact that it didn’t scare him away is something,” he allows.
“Hold on,” Gwen says. She turns to Arthur. “What’s your middle name?”
“David.”
“Dad? His middle name is David, if that will help tu with your inquiries,” she says, smirking at Arthur, who laughs again.
“Is… is he there right now? I thought I heard a man’s voice when tu put me on hold.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God,” he groans, “so he probably heard everything, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Great…”
“Hey, tu made that bed, old man,” she says lightly.
“Yes, yes. I’ll let tu know what I find out tomorrow.”
“You won’t find anything,” she says. “Will he?” she asks Arthur, but it is más of a confirmation than a question.
“Nope,” Arthur answers, speaking loudly enough for her father to hear.
“Okay, Gwen, I’ll let tu get back to your… guest. Now that I know you’re alive and unharmed.”
“Thanks, Dad. amor you.”
“Love you, too.”
She hangs up the phone and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Well, that was fun,” she says sarcastically, slumping onto the sofá and removing her shoes.
“You were brilliant, Sweet,” he says, sitting beside her and pulling her feet up into his lap. “Thank tu for defending me.”
“You’re welcome. Unfortunately my father suffers from the same condition most fathers have. tu know, the one where no man is good enough for his little girl?”
“Ah, I’ve heard of that. No cure, I’m afraid. But as I dicho before, if tu were my daughter, I’d be the same way. Probably lock tu away in a tower somewhere,” he jokes, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on the bottom of her foot.
“How medieval of you,” she says, leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a moment while he amuses himself with her feet.
Not surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for her toes to end up in his mouth, and she chuckles, resigned to her fate.
It does feel really good, she thinks, eyes still closed. I’ll have to make sure to take good care of them for him.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, slowly opening her eyes to look at him through hooded lids.
“Immensely,” he says, pressing his lips to the sole of her foot, and she presses her other foot against his groin, finding him already growing hard.
“So I see,” she smirks at him, moving her foot in his lap, making him groan.
“Oh, keep doing that,” he says, closing his eyes.
She moves her foot slowly, and he turns toward her to allow her easier access to him. He sets down the foot he is holding and picks up the other, switching them.
“Have to give equal time, tu know,” he mutters while she giggles.
“Good, my leg was getting tired.”
He laughs, but then she presses and rubs again, stopping his laughter and replacing it with a gasp, sucking air in between his teeth.
“Hold on,” he says, releasing her foot for a segundo and he drops his hands to his jeans, unfastening them and pulling them down slightly. He takes her foot and places it on his bare member. “Yes, that’s better,” he moans, picking up her other foot again.
Okay, we’re doing this again, Gwen thinks, but he is enjoying himself so much that she can’t help but indulge him, sliding her foot on him again.
“Guinevere…” he breathes her name, pressing her foot to his chest, holding it against him. “I… I think tu need to stop…”
“Oh?” she asks, not stopping. She gives him a devilish smile and his eyes widen.
He takes the foot from his chest and, studying her, carefully watching her reaction, slides it down to registrarse the other, placing both of her feet against him, trapping his manhood between them.
She holds his gaze, silently giving consent as he shows her what to do, how to stroke him between the soles of her small soft feet.
Mother of God, she’s okay with it, he thinks, and lets his head fall back, yanking at his shirt, pulling it up, working it over his head.
Guinevere scoots closer, getting a little tired. This is so strange, she can’t help but think as she continues running her feet up and down his shaft, watching him slowly lose his mind as he comes closer and closer. I do like watching him. His muscles straining, the emotions plain on his beautiful face, the hypnotic motion of her feet on his beautiful shaft…
It is beautiful, she notes with a little amusement, having never before putting that particular adjective with that particular piece of anatomy.
Her reverie is interrupted as Arthur groans loudly and takes her ankles in his hands, helping her move, faster and harder, until he comes with another loud groan, spilling onto his chest.
Gwen’s feet relax against his thighs and they are both breathing heavily. Arthur reaches over, groping for a box of tissues on an end mesa, tabla so that he can clean himself up. He carefully inspects her feet, gently wiping a few places that got wet.
“Um…” he starts, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. I hope I didn’t push her too far.
“Yes?” she asks as he readjusts his jeans, pulling them back up. “It’s all right, Arthur. I’m not put off,” she says, guessing. To prove her point, she climbs to the other end of the sofa and into his lap, leaning up to kiss him.
“You’re not? Really?” He sounds unsure.
“Well, it was… different. But tu were so clearly enjoying yourself so much that it was kind of… fun. I… liked watching you,” she admits.
He stares.
“Now, I’m not saying I’ll be up for that all the time, of course. It’s quite a workout for me, tu realize,” she laughs lightly.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says, nuzzling her hair.
“Why suddenly so unsure of yourself?” she asks, reaching her hand up to stroke his cheek.
“Because I realized that I just had tu do something that I actually have a rule about.”
“What?” she turns and looks at him, confused.
“No foot-jobs until at least a mes into a relationship,” he says, quite seriously.
Gwen laughs, though, unable to help herself. “A ‘foot-job?’ Is that what I just did?”
He nods. “What’s so funny, anyway?”
“I don’t know, that sentence, and how seriously tu dicho it. It just made me laugh. I honestly have never had the kinds of conversations I have with tu with anyone else,” she smiles. “I mean that in a good way.”
“You are unbelievable,” he says, gazing down at her. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead.
“So why the rule?”
“Ah. I discovered quite early on and quite unpleasantly, I might add, that it can be a deal-breaker. Just a little too odd, I guess,” he shrugs.
“Well, I haven’t tossed tu out on your bum, Arthur, so relax,” she says, leaning over to kiss him again.
“And I do appreciate that,” he says, besar her now, his hands roving around the exposed skin of her waist. “And I will make it up to you. I do believe I owe tu an ‘O’ now,” he grins.
She laughs again, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. “Are tu keeping score?”
“Well, if I am, I believe you’re one up on me already anyway, because if memory serves, tu got an extra one yesterday, over there—” he points to the kitchen, “—on the floor.”
“Wrong. I was in the chair.”
Arthur laughs now, squeezing her. “You are correct, of course.” He nibbles her ear a bit. “So: Fair’s fair. Do you have any kinks tu wish me to indulge in with you?”
Do I? I don’t know. “Um, I don’t know, honestly,” she says, thinking.
“Aw, come on, don’t make me be the freak in the relationship,” he says, then realizing the ridiculous nature of his statement, he starts laughing again.
“Right, like that’s even a competition,” Gwen says amidst her own laughter, reaching up to toy with his still-askew Mohawk.
“Well, if tu think of something,” Arthur gets back to the point, recovering and nuzzling her neck, “do let me know.”
“You will be the first to know, I promise. I will admit, you’ve got me thinking now,” she says thoughtfully.
“Intriguing,” he says, now sliding his hands along the smooth skin of her thighs. He looks down at her and kisses her nose. “I like your freckles,” he says suddenly.
“Oh, God, I hate them,” she says, bringing a hand up to cover her nose.
“Why?” he asks, gently removing her hand and placing más kisses on the freckles dotting her cheekbones.
“Why else? I used to get teased when I was a girl.”
“Ignorant, foolish children,” he says quietly, punctuating his statement with más kisses.
“I know. They just made me insecure about them.”
“If they knew how beautiful you’d grow up to be, I’m sure they’d happily eat those words,” he says, traveling to her neck now.
“They are unusual, tu have to admit.”
“That’s why I like them.”
“You are so strange.”
“Yep,” he agrees, tracing the line of her collarbone with his tongue, and she sighs contentedly.
The harsh campana of the alarm clock jerks Guinevere awake, confused. She reaches over and slams the parte superior, arriba of it, silencing it, and turns back into the warm pair of arms that have been holding her close all night.
Stupid clock. Usually I wake up before it goes off. Of course, usually I’m not up half the night engaging in carnal pleasures with an irresistibly handsome and wonderful man.
She leans her head forward, kisses his chest, and attempts to get out of bed.
“No,” Arthur’s sleepy voice protests, his arms tightening.
“Arthur, darling, I have to go to work. And I presume tu do as well.”
“Probably should do. I’m just too cozy,” he says, holding her tight again, “and you’re too warm and delectable.”
“And I stink and need to shower. Let go.”
“You smell good to me,” he says, but he releases her.
“Well, we’ve already established that you’re strange, so that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Can I registrarse you?” he asks, sitting up.
“No,” she says as she walks out. “You’ll be too distracting.”
Gwen lets the hot water run down her body, and her mind drifts back to last night and Arthur’s hands and lips running down her body.
I swear he kissed every inch of me, she recalls, and suddenly the ducha, ducha de is much too warm as she remembers his lips on her skin, his hands caressing and gentle, his tongue driving her insane with pleasure while she writhed on the bed, gasping his name and begging for more.
She washes automatically, her mind still distracted, busy thinking about him. Arthur. He’s amazing. Special. Yes, the sex is phenomenal, but is it because he’s just really good at it, o is it because I really like him and that’s what makes it so mind-blowing?
I couldn’t be in amor with him, could I? I’ve known him two days.
Could I?
No. No. I am careful. Notoriously slow.
Yeah, right, says the girl who tumbled into cama with him the same morning she met him.
No. I’m not thinking about this right now. Besides, I don’t know how he feels. If he loves me.
Stop it.
Two days only.
But he wanted a committed relationship after only one.
Shut. Up.
Gwen sticks her head under the shower, rinsing her body and hopefully, her brain, willing her confused thoughts down the drain with the soap.
I do have a job to get to today. Don’t want to be distracted.
Of course, it’s not like I’m performing brain surgery o attempting to división, split an atom.
Just enjoy being with him for now. Don’t over-analyze it. Yes. That’s it.
She towels off, slips her dressing vestido on, and pads back to the bedroom to find Arthur sitting up and thumbing through a book.
“All yours, if tu would like to shower,” she says casually, dutifully ignoring the way the muscles of his chest look in the morning sunlight.
“This is total pornography,” he says, indicating the book. It’s one of the trashy romance novels she can’t stay away from.
“I know, it’s ridiculous.”
He drops the book to the floor, and sits up. “You locked the door, tu naughty thing.”
“I knew tu wouldn’t be able to resist,” she says, ducking her head to remove the towel she has wrapped around it.
“I had to pee.”
“Had?” she peeks at him, a little worried.
“Yeah, but since the door was locked, I just used the cocina sink.”
She stares. “Um…”
He bursts out laughing. “Guinevere, I’m joking! I wouldn’t do that,” he says, swinging out of the bed, naked and unconcerned. “Not in your house, anyway,” he mutters cryptically as he walks past.
“Arthur!”
“Still joking, yes,” he says as he bends to kiss her cheek and squeeze her rear as he passes her on the way to the bathroom.
Part 10: link
“Stay,” he asks, taking her hands in his.
“Arthur, I’d amor to…”
“But…”
“But, I have to work tomorrow morning. I have nothing to wear, no toothbrush, and no car. You’ll have to take me home,” she says gently.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“But if tu want to pack yourself a small bag…”
He hops up before she even finishes her sentence and heads back to the bedroom and bathroom to carelessly throw a few essentials into a small duffel bag. He returns two minutos later.
“Ready,” he announces.
Guinevere laughs and stands. “I think we had better clean this up first,” she says, motioning to the pizza box and the remains of their dinner.
“Oh. Right.”
They finish cleaning up, and before they leave, Gwen finds Iggy perched in the windowsill glaring down at them. She pulls a chair over and stands on it, bringing her face close to his furry naranja one.
“Iggy, Arthur is going to stay at my house tonight. You’ll be a good boy, right?” she coos to him, scratching him behind his ears. After a moment o two, he gives in and purrs for her, leaning his face adelante, hacia adelante to nuzzle her nose. “Thank you, Baby.” She kisses the parte superior, arriba of his head and hops down to see Arthur staring at her again, bemused and impressed.
“Let’s go,” she says to him, breezing past. She stops and picks up her purloined shoes and turns back to him. “Here. Just for transport, mind,” she says, shoving the sandals into his bag with a laugh.
“You’re no fun at all,” he says, trying unsuccessfully to pout.
As they walk up to Gwen’s door, she can hear her phone ringing on the other side, so she scrambles to unlock the door and sprints to the phone.
“Hello?” she gasps.
“Guinevere? What’s wrong? Are tu all right? I’ve been trying to call tu all day!”
“Daddy, I’m fine, just out of breath. I was just coming in and I heard the phone ringing so I ran.”
Arthur pulls her sandals out of his bag and makes a big mostrar of waving them around in the air for her to see before setting them down.
She stifles a giggle and waves a hand at him. Stop it, shut up!
“So where have tu been all day?”
“Well, I went to breakfast and church with Freya, and then I spent the día with, um, a friend.”
Arthur’s eyebrows raise and he gives her a sideways look.
“A friend? That sounds suspicious.”
“I’ve got a boyfriend, Daddy, is that what tu want to hear? I was with him all day.”
“Ha ha, very funny, Gwen.”
“Dad, I’m serious. I met someone.”
“You did?” he asks weakly.
“Yes,” she answers, glancing over at Arthur, who is removing his boots and looking rather smug about himself.
“Name?” he asks.
She sighs, hearing him pull out a pad of paper and a pencil. “So you’re doing this now?”
“First thing tomorrow morning. Name.”
“Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur looks at her, and she mouths I told tu so, to him, and he laughs quietly.
“That name is familiar… He’s not Uther Pendragon’s disowned son, is he?”
“How could tu possibly know that?”
“I didn’t make DI por being oblivious, child. And that man is in the news all the time. So it is him, then.”
“Dad, I can hear the judgment in your voice. And I don’t like it at all,” she says, immediately going on the defensive.
“Well, if his own father doesn’t even approve of him, how can tu expect me to?”
“Ooh,” she fumes. “You’re really ignorant sometimes. tu know nothing about him o his father, and you’ve already made your mind up! tu have no idea what the reasons his father has for disowning him are!”
“And tu do?”
“Yes, I do. And they are childish, selfish, and ridiculous reasons that have nothing at all to do with his character as a person. So until tu know the entire truth and, oh, perhaps deign to meet the gentleman, I’ll thank tu to keep an open mind!”
Arthur stares. He can’t hear Gwen’s father, but he has a pretty good idea what he’s saying. She’s defending me. To her own father. And she’s not backing down.
“Gwen…”
“Promise me o I am hanging up right now.” She waits. “Dad?”
“I promise,” he finally relents. She knows he’s still going to have his opinions, but at least he’ll keep them to himself. At least for a while.
“You always tell me how much tu trust me, but actions speak louder than words, Dad.”
“I do trust you, Gwennie.”
“But tu don’t trust him.”
“No.”
“Go ahead and do all the background checks tu want on him. His record is clean.”
“How do tu know that?”
“He told me. I warned him that you’d check him out.”
“Well, I suppose the fact that it didn’t scare him away is something,” he allows.
“Hold on,” Gwen says. She turns to Arthur. “What’s your middle name?”
“David.”
“Dad? His middle name is David, if that will help tu with your inquiries,” she says, smirking at Arthur, who laughs again.
“Is… is he there right now? I thought I heard a man’s voice when tu put me on hold.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God,” he groans, “so he probably heard everything, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Great…”
“Hey, tu made that bed, old man,” she says lightly.
“Yes, yes. I’ll let tu know what I find out tomorrow.”
“You won’t find anything,” she says. “Will he?” she asks Arthur, but it is más of a confirmation than a question.
“Nope,” Arthur answers, speaking loudly enough for her father to hear.
“Okay, Gwen, I’ll let tu get back to your… guest. Now that I know you’re alive and unharmed.”
“Thanks, Dad. amor you.”
“Love you, too.”
She hangs up the phone and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Well, that was fun,” she says sarcastically, slumping onto the sofá and removing her shoes.
“You were brilliant, Sweet,” he says, sitting beside her and pulling her feet up into his lap. “Thank tu for defending me.”
“You’re welcome. Unfortunately my father suffers from the same condition most fathers have. tu know, the one where no man is good enough for his little girl?”
“Ah, I’ve heard of that. No cure, I’m afraid. But as I dicho before, if tu were my daughter, I’d be the same way. Probably lock tu away in a tower somewhere,” he jokes, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on the bottom of her foot.
“How medieval of you,” she says, leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a moment while he amuses himself with her feet.
Not surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for her toes to end up in his mouth, and she chuckles, resigned to her fate.
It does feel really good, she thinks, eyes still closed. I’ll have to make sure to take good care of them for him.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, slowly opening her eyes to look at him through hooded lids.
“Immensely,” he says, pressing his lips to the sole of her foot, and she presses her other foot against his groin, finding him already growing hard.
“So I see,” she smirks at him, moving her foot in his lap, making him groan.
“Oh, keep doing that,” he says, closing his eyes.
She moves her foot slowly, and he turns toward her to allow her easier access to him. He sets down the foot he is holding and picks up the other, switching them.
“Have to give equal time, tu know,” he mutters while she giggles.
“Good, my leg was getting tired.”
He laughs, but then she presses and rubs again, stopping his laughter and replacing it with a gasp, sucking air in between his teeth.
“Hold on,” he says, releasing her foot for a segundo and he drops his hands to his jeans, unfastening them and pulling them down slightly. He takes her foot and places it on his bare member. “Yes, that’s better,” he moans, picking up her other foot again.
Okay, we’re doing this again, Gwen thinks, but he is enjoying himself so much that she can’t help but indulge him, sliding her foot on him again.
“Guinevere…” he breathes her name, pressing her foot to his chest, holding it against him. “I… I think tu need to stop…”
“Oh?” she asks, not stopping. She gives him a devilish smile and his eyes widen.
He takes the foot from his chest and, studying her, carefully watching her reaction, slides it down to registrarse the other, placing both of her feet against him, trapping his manhood between them.
She holds his gaze, silently giving consent as he shows her what to do, how to stroke him between the soles of her small soft feet.
Mother of God, she’s okay with it, he thinks, and lets his head fall back, yanking at his shirt, pulling it up, working it over his head.
Guinevere scoots closer, getting a little tired. This is so strange, she can’t help but think as she continues running her feet up and down his shaft, watching him slowly lose his mind as he comes closer and closer. I do like watching him. His muscles straining, the emotions plain on his beautiful face, the hypnotic motion of her feet on his beautiful shaft…
It is beautiful, she notes with a little amusement, having never before putting that particular adjective with that particular piece of anatomy.
Her reverie is interrupted as Arthur groans loudly and takes her ankles in his hands, helping her move, faster and harder, until he comes with another loud groan, spilling onto his chest.
Gwen’s feet relax against his thighs and they are both breathing heavily. Arthur reaches over, groping for a box of tissues on an end mesa, tabla so that he can clean himself up. He carefully inspects her feet, gently wiping a few places that got wet.
“Um…” he starts, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. I hope I didn’t push her too far.
“Yes?” she asks as he readjusts his jeans, pulling them back up. “It’s all right, Arthur. I’m not put off,” she says, guessing. To prove her point, she climbs to the other end of the sofa and into his lap, leaning up to kiss him.
“You’re not? Really?” He sounds unsure.
“Well, it was… different. But tu were so clearly enjoying yourself so much that it was kind of… fun. I… liked watching you,” she admits.
He stares.
“Now, I’m not saying I’ll be up for that all the time, of course. It’s quite a workout for me, tu realize,” she laughs lightly.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says, nuzzling her hair.
“Why suddenly so unsure of yourself?” she asks, reaching her hand up to stroke his cheek.
“Because I realized that I just had tu do something that I actually have a rule about.”
“What?” she turns and looks at him, confused.
“No foot-jobs until at least a mes into a relationship,” he says, quite seriously.
Gwen laughs, though, unable to help herself. “A ‘foot-job?’ Is that what I just did?”
He nods. “What’s so funny, anyway?”
“I don’t know, that sentence, and how seriously tu dicho it. It just made me laugh. I honestly have never had the kinds of conversations I have with tu with anyone else,” she smiles. “I mean that in a good way.”
“You are unbelievable,” he says, gazing down at her. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead.
“So why the rule?”
“Ah. I discovered quite early on and quite unpleasantly, I might add, that it can be a deal-breaker. Just a little too odd, I guess,” he shrugs.
“Well, I haven’t tossed tu out on your bum, Arthur, so relax,” she says, leaning over to kiss him again.
“And I do appreciate that,” he says, besar her now, his hands roving around the exposed skin of her waist. “And I will make it up to you. I do believe I owe tu an ‘O’ now,” he grins.
She laughs again, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. “Are tu keeping score?”
“Well, if I am, I believe you’re one up on me already anyway, because if memory serves, tu got an extra one yesterday, over there—” he points to the kitchen, “—on the floor.”
“Wrong. I was in the chair.”
Arthur laughs now, squeezing her. “You are correct, of course.” He nibbles her ear a bit. “So: Fair’s fair. Do you have any kinks tu wish me to indulge in with you?”
Do I? I don’t know. “Um, I don’t know, honestly,” she says, thinking.
“Aw, come on, don’t make me be the freak in the relationship,” he says, then realizing the ridiculous nature of his statement, he starts laughing again.
“Right, like that’s even a competition,” Gwen says amidst her own laughter, reaching up to toy with his still-askew Mohawk.
“Well, if tu think of something,” Arthur gets back to the point, recovering and nuzzling her neck, “do let me know.”
“You will be the first to know, I promise. I will admit, you’ve got me thinking now,” she says thoughtfully.
“Intriguing,” he says, now sliding his hands along the smooth skin of her thighs. He looks down at her and kisses her nose. “I like your freckles,” he says suddenly.
“Oh, God, I hate them,” she says, bringing a hand up to cover her nose.
“Why?” he asks, gently removing her hand and placing más kisses on the freckles dotting her cheekbones.
“Why else? I used to get teased when I was a girl.”
“Ignorant, foolish children,” he says quietly, punctuating his statement with más kisses.
“I know. They just made me insecure about them.”
“If they knew how beautiful you’d grow up to be, I’m sure they’d happily eat those words,” he says, traveling to her neck now.
“They are unusual, tu have to admit.”
“That’s why I like them.”
“You are so strange.”
“Yep,” he agrees, tracing the line of her collarbone with his tongue, and she sighs contentedly.
The harsh campana of the alarm clock jerks Guinevere awake, confused. She reaches over and slams the parte superior, arriba of it, silencing it, and turns back into the warm pair of arms that have been holding her close all night.
Stupid clock. Usually I wake up before it goes off. Of course, usually I’m not up half the night engaging in carnal pleasures with an irresistibly handsome and wonderful man.
She leans her head forward, kisses his chest, and attempts to get out of bed.
“No,” Arthur’s sleepy voice protests, his arms tightening.
“Arthur, darling, I have to go to work. And I presume tu do as well.”
“Probably should do. I’m just too cozy,” he says, holding her tight again, “and you’re too warm and delectable.”
“And I stink and need to shower. Let go.”
“You smell good to me,” he says, but he releases her.
“Well, we’ve already established that you’re strange, so that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Can I registrarse you?” he asks, sitting up.
“No,” she says as she walks out. “You’ll be too distracting.”
Gwen lets the hot water run down her body, and her mind drifts back to last night and Arthur’s hands and lips running down her body.
I swear he kissed every inch of me, she recalls, and suddenly the ducha, ducha de is much too warm as she remembers his lips on her skin, his hands caressing and gentle, his tongue driving her insane with pleasure while she writhed on the bed, gasping his name and begging for more.
She washes automatically, her mind still distracted, busy thinking about him. Arthur. He’s amazing. Special. Yes, the sex is phenomenal, but is it because he’s just really good at it, o is it because I really like him and that’s what makes it so mind-blowing?
I couldn’t be in amor with him, could I? I’ve known him two days.
Could I?
No. No. I am careful. Notoriously slow.
Yeah, right, says the girl who tumbled into cama with him the same morning she met him.
No. I’m not thinking about this right now. Besides, I don’t know how he feels. If he loves me.
Stop it.
Two days only.
But he wanted a committed relationship after only one.
Shut. Up.
Gwen sticks her head under the shower, rinsing her body and hopefully, her brain, willing her confused thoughts down the drain with the soap.
I do have a job to get to today. Don’t want to be distracted.
Of course, it’s not like I’m performing brain surgery o attempting to división, split an atom.
Just enjoy being with him for now. Don’t over-analyze it. Yes. That’s it.
She towels off, slips her dressing vestido on, and pads back to the bedroom to find Arthur sitting up and thumbing through a book.
“All yours, if tu would like to shower,” she says casually, dutifully ignoring the way the muscles of his chest look in the morning sunlight.
“This is total pornography,” he says, indicating the book. It’s one of the trashy romance novels she can’t stay away from.
“I know, it’s ridiculous.”
He drops the book to the floor, and sits up. “You locked the door, tu naughty thing.”
“I knew tu wouldn’t be able to resist,” she says, ducking her head to remove the towel she has wrapped around it.
“I had to pee.”
“Had?” she peeks at him, a little worried.
“Yeah, but since the door was locked, I just used the cocina sink.”
She stares. “Um…”
He bursts out laughing. “Guinevere, I’m joking! I wouldn’t do that,” he says, swinging out of the bed, naked and unconcerned. “Not in your house, anyway,” he mutters cryptically as he walks past.
“Arthur!”
“Still joking, yes,” he says as he bends to kiss her cheek and squeeze her rear as he passes her on the way to the bathroom.
Part 10: link
