“So are you,” she whispered back before dipping her head down to press a kiss to my chest, just over my heartbeat.
Her hair, which she had taken out of her usual braid at some point, floated down around me, the curls tickling my bare skin as she explored, her fingers stumbling over each and every scar I bore.
“You all seem to be marked by your battles,” Guinevere said softly as she gently pushed me back amongst the covers and crawled over me.
“Arthur’s foster-father, Sir Ector, told me that scars meant you were victorious—if I had no scars then that would mean I had fallen in battle or was too cowardly to ride into battle at all,” I explained, pulling the hand that was skirting down my abdomen up so that I could kiss the inside of her palm. “Let me do that, sweetling.”
Her face flushed at the endearment and she nodded before rolling off of me so that I could remove my trousers.
I stood, yanking at the stays with my one hand while Guinevere’s eyes seemed to be locked on the other. Without myshirt’s sleeve covering it, my scarred stump was bare for her to see and I nearly hid it behind my back.
“If Sir Ector told you such a thing, then why do you not apply that logic to your lost hand? You survived that day,” Guinevere pointed out as she sat up on her knees, the linen shift she was wearing riding up her silky smooth thighs.
It was not as if I had never considered those words before, but most scars usually meant one could go back into battle. Mine had removed me from it completely. “It made me less of a knight.”
My trousers dropped to the floor and I had to avoid her gaze as she set her sights on my cock which was standing at painful attention, seemingly ready for her perusal.
“Has anyone ever said such a thing to you before?” Guinevere asked as she reached out to snag my arm and pull me back into the bed.
“Not to my face,” I replied dryly, running my hand through my hair. “But most treat me as though I am different.”
“Different is not bad,” Guinevere said, gently lifting my wrist and pressing her lips to the mound of scar tissue. “I’m different from almost everyone here and people treat me as such—do you think I am any less deserving of love?”
“Of course not!” I told her with a scoff. “Never could I dream of saying such a thing.”
“Okay, then what about Merlin? He’s not really even human. Does that mean he doesn’t deserve our love and our friendship?”
Merlin had been odd from the start when he walked out of the mist as a child claiming that Arthur was the king of kings. No one had believed him then and had treated him as a bit of a pariah. It had only been Sir Ector and my family that had fed the skinny child and let him live amongst us as family.
“No, I would not think such a thing,” I said, my eyes still on where her lips were kissing every inch of my scarred stumpwithout a bit of disgust. “I see your perspective, sweetling, but I fear it will take time for me to truly understand it.”
“Does that mean you want me to put my clothes back on?” Guinevere asked, hiking up her dress so I could get a view of slick folds and the curve of the underside of her breast.
“Gods no!” I rasped, a growl rattling out of my chest. My inner-alpha, which remained quiet most of the time, seemed to stir from its long slumber as if it were a wyvern sleeping atop its pile of gold, ready to collect another beautiful bauble for its collection. The bauble being the woman in front of me. “There is nothing in this world that could stop me now.”
That seemed to be the exact right answer, because Guinevere let out a little squeal and threw her arms around my neck. “Good, because I want to see what that cock of yours can do.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bedivere’s hand pressed into my stomach as he slid in from behind, his thick cock filling every inch of me as he purred into my ear.
He was not a patient lover, a fact I realized quickly when he tore my linen shift in half with his hand and tossed it over the side of the bed.
Every interaction with the man ever since we had begun felt so hungryand I was loving every minute of it.
Bedivere’s hand drifted up from my stomach to cup my throat just underneath my jaw, his fingers tightening as he finally hilted himself all the way inside of me, his half-swollen knot nudging at the entrance of my pussy like a promise of what was yet to come.
“It feels as if you are trying to clamp my cock off, sweetling,” he groaned, his words strained as he applied light pressure to my throat.
I’d never been the kind of girl who thought I would enjoy being choked during sex, but I was quickly warming up to the idea as Bedivere’s hips rolled back and jerked forward, making both of us moan.
“I want to face you,” I said, pulling myself away from him for a moment, ignoring his low growl of discontent as I slid off of his cock and flipped around so that we were facing each other.
Bedivere wasted no time lifting my thigh and tucking it over his, bringing the head of his cock right back up to my slick entrance.
We stared at each other and I reached up to brush his silver-streaked hair out of his eyes. Then my fingers trailed down his sharp cheekbones and the bridge of his nose before tracing his lips.
“Do I pass muster?” he asked as he softly pushed inside of me again. The hunger from before had abated for a moment and all I could hear was the sound of Bedivere’s soft purr and the occasional pop and crackle from the fireplace on the other side of the room.
