Part 3: link


    Much to her surprise, Arthur helps her clean up the kitchen, drying dishes for her and attempting to figure out where things go.
    “Just set them on the table, Arthur,” she laughs. “I’ll put them away later.”
    Gwen takes his hand and leads him back to the living room. She finally spots where her knickers landed, and bends to pluck them from the magazine rack with a smirk. She ponders them a moment, and walks to the bathroom and tosses them in the hamper rather than putting them back on. I have a feeling they’ll only end up on the floor again anyway, she ruefully (hopefully?) thinks.
    She joins him on the sofa, snuggling close to him. “If آپ need to go…” she starts, suddenly realizing that he may have someplace to go یا something to do.
    “I don’t. Unless آپ want me to go.”
    “I don’t,” she says quietly.
    They sit together quietly a bit, just touching, caressing, giving each other small kisses.
    “So what is it that آپ do, Guinevere?” he asks finally.
    “I work at Taliesin Publishing,” she says.
    “Really? Are آپ an editor?” he asks, sounding strangely hopeful.
    “No, I’m William Gaius’ receptionist,” she says, a little sadly. “I would like to someday be an editor, but it’s harder for a woman.”
    “I’m sure you’re brilliant,” he says supportively. “William Gaius, eh? He’s very important.”
    “You seem to know a lot about it,” she says, looking up at him, puzzled.
    “Merlin is a writer. He’s been trying to get something, anything read سے طرف کی Gaius for three years now.”
    “Oh?” Gwen sits up and looks at him. “What has he written?”
    “Some story about a wizard,” he says, making a face. “It sounds weird, I know, but he’s actually really talented.”
    “Have آپ been دوستوں a very long time?”
    “As long as I can remember. Another thing my father is less than thrilled with, in fact.”
    “Why on earth would he object to Merlin? He seemed really sweet.”
    “Because he’s,” Arthur leans in conspiratorially, whispering, “poor!”
    Gwen gasps in mock horror, hands flying to her mouth. “No! Say it isn’t so!”
    Arthur laughs. “Exactly. So worried about appearances, the mighty Uther Pendragon. All front, no substance,” he sighs. “Anyway. So آپ answer phones and greet people all day?”
    “Pretty much,” she shrugs.
    “That must be exhausting.”
    “What?”
    “Having to be friendly like that all دن long. I know it would wear me the hell out.”
    “You know, it is, some days. Like if I’m feeling particularly bitchy, I still have to be nice.”
    He looks sideways at her. “I cannot imagine آپ ever being bitchy.”
    “That’s because we’ve only just met,” she says, touching the tip of her finger to his nose.
    He laughs, “No, I’m sure that’s not it. You’re a good girl, remember?”
    She smiles, and leans back against his shoulder, fingers idly tracing the dragon tattooed on the other.
    “Tell me about this,” she says.
    “Nothing to tell, really. I drew it, Gwaine stuck it. Took an entire week.”
    “Really?”
    “Well, it’s big. Can’t do it all in one go, آپ know.”
    “No, actually, I didn’t know that.”
    “Great art takes time,” he says with mock seriousness.
    She pulls on his shoulder, climbing up to straddle his lap to inspect the entire thing, peeking around at his back, at the other half of the dragon.
    “It’s really cool,” she declares, her hands touching, her hair brushing against his skin. He sits as patiently as he is able, her proximity intoxicating him.
    He slides his hands up, rubbing circles on her back. She kisses his shoulder, then leans back and kisses his lips.
    “Do آپ have any others?” she asks, fairly sure she would have seen them if he had.
    “Not yet. I’m sure I’ll get more, but I have to design something first.” He rests his hands on her hips.
    “That makes sense.”
    “Do you have any?” he asks, grinning.
    “I think آپ know I—”
    The phone rings, cutting her off. She sighs and climbs off his lap, walking over to the phone.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi Gwen,” the voice on the other end greets.
    “Freya, how are you?”
    “Good. I was wondering what آپ were doing today. I’m looking for someone to go shopping with.”
    “Um, actually, I have company,” Gwen says, glancing at Arthur, who is not trying to hide the fact that he is listening. He waves.
    “Company? آپ never have company.”
    “Well, I do today. I’ll call آپ later, okay?”
    “Wait, is he cute?”
    “Yes, he is. Have fun shopping.”
    “Wait!”
    “What?”
    “You’d better give details,” she warns.
    “Okay, I will talk to آپ later,” she says, “’bye, Freya.”
    She hangs up and starts back to the sofa.
    “So what am I?” he asks.
    “Hmm?”
    “You said, ‘Yes, he is.’ I presume that was something about me,” he smirks at her.
    “Oh. She asked if آپ were cute.”
    “Cute?” he makes a face. “I prefer ‘rakishly handsome.’ یا ‘devilishly good-looking.’ That has a nice ring,” he says, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa.
    “There’s nothing wrong with cute,” Gwen says, hands on her hips.
    “Makes me sound like a… a puppy.”
    She leans forward, kissing his lips, soft and wet. “You are all those things.” She kisses him again. “But آپ are also cute.”
    He frowns, and she straddles his lap again, hitching her سکرٹ, گھیرنا up around her knees. “Yes, cute.” She kisses him again. “And sweet.” Another kiss, a little longer. “And wonderfully charming.” Gwen kisses him yet again, opening her mouth this time, sweeping her tongue into his mouth while he runs his hands up her legs, under her skirt.
    She breaks the kiss, looking down at him. “Yes,” she says decisively. “I quite like you.”
    He laughs, his fingers caressing her thighs. “Well, good, because I quite like you, too.”
    “Now that that’s settled,” she smiles again and leans آگے to kiss him again, but something stops her. His stare. He’s studying me. I’m beginning to learn that look, the look he gets when he’s looking at me with his artist’s eyes. “Arthur?”
    “I am definitely going to draw you. And paint you. A lot,” he says, leaning آگے to kiss her now, his hands sliding around to grasp her rear.
    “Arthur,” she says as he starts kissing her neck again. She can feel the stiff length of him growing beneath her. I’m having مزید sex today than I’ve had in the last three years, she absently thinks. She feels Arthur’s hands moving again, upward, shoving at her dress. Again.
    Gwen sighs into his lips. “You are incorrigible,” she mutters, yanking her dress off over her head.
    He only growls and dives into her breasts, lavishing them with soft kisses and bites, his tongue craving the taste and feel of them.
    He suddenly stands, lifting her with him easily.
    “Arthur!” she squeals, hanging on.
    “Wow, آپ don’t weigh anything at all,” he says, planting another kiss on her lips as she wraps her legs around him.
    He somehow manages to open his jeans and lets them fall, stepping out of them as she nibbles his ear, running her tongue along the outer shell, sucking his earlobe into his mouth. The earring is an interesting sensation, she thinks, biting just hard enough to make him groan. She releases his earlobe and nibbles her way up the curve of his ear, then snakes her tongue inside for just a second.
    He shudders as a chill runs down his body from the touch of her tongue, and she bends her head further to kiss his neck.
    Gwen lets go with one hand, reaching down for him, stroking him, leaning back slightly, and she realizes that somehow he’s moved them, bracing her against the wall. Arthur dips his head, taking an erect nipple into his mouth, suckling it lovingly, teeth taunting, tongue soothing.
    She is so good, he thinks, relishing her skillful hand on him, her slender fingers and soft palm driving him further than he would like. He gropes for her wrist, attempting to still her hand.
    “Stop,” he gasps, breathing heavily.
    “Oh,” she realizes what he wants and returns her hand to grasp his shoulder. She grinds her hips against him, wanting the contact, needing the contact. How can he do this to me, make me want him so fiercely?
    “Guinevere,” he says her name, his voice low, soft but husky with desire.
    “Oh, God, I love how آپ say my name,” she gasps, pushing her hips against him again.
    He lifts his head, capturing her earlobe between his teeth now, slipping his tongue down her neck. “Guinevere,” he says again, whispering it in her ear, his warm breath in her ear like a caress.
    “Oh…” she sighs, clinging to his shoulders. “I need you, Arthur,” she says, her eyes closed, head dropping back against the wall. “Now.”
    Arthur reaches down and moves her, and she takes him inside her, squeezing her legs around him to pull him in as far as he can.
    He groans and bites her neck, relishing the feel of her warmth surrounding him. Planting his feet, he thrusts into her while she rides him, their hips slamming together in a spontaneous rhythm.
    “Arthur…” she gasps again, so softly that he almost doesn’t hear it. He wills his eyes open to watch her, her beautiful skin flushed and glowing with a light sheen of perspiration, succulent lips parted. Her tongue darts out to unconsciously lick them and his eyes close again. Too much to bear, he thinks, but forces his eyes open anyway.
    Lovely soft whimpers are escaping from those lush lips now, and Arthur loses his mind, thrusting harder, leaning his head آگے into her to suck at her neck, tasting her sweat, salty and sweet, loving the feel of her fingernails digging into the muscles of his shoulders.
    Just as he is about to explode, she cries out her release, and he follows swiftly, his head buried in the curve of her neck, where it meets her shoulder, pressing his face into her.
    Guinevere can feel his groan as a vibration against her neck and she realizes that she’s probably left marks in his shoulders with her fingernails. She relaxes her grip on him and rubs his skin softly, gently, apologizing with her hands.
    “Sorry,” she whispers, looking to check for any damage.
    “No…” he says, easing out of her. “Don’t apologize.” He sets her on her feet. “I actually love it, آپ know.”
    “You’re odd,” she says as he lets her down to her feet.
    “Kinky, remember?” he grins at her, and she laughs.
    “As آپ say,” she says dismissively, waving her hand casually. He bends down and kisses her again.

    “You really are a beautiful man, do آپ know that?” she asks, watching him pull his jeans on again. She’d offered her dressing گاؤن, gown to him, but as it was lavender and feminine, her thin summer one, he respectfully declined. So she put it on instead.
    “Of course I know that,” he jokes, posing.
    “Okay, that’s the last time I compliment you,” she laughs.
    “What time is it?” he suddenly asks, looking around for a clock.
    “Um, 3:15,” she says. “Where has the دن gone?”
    “We’ve been shagging it away, Sweet.” He sits on the sofa again, a curious look on his face.
    “What is it?”
    “Do آپ have any candy? یا some biscuits یا something?”
    “Need a fix, hey?”
    He grins.
    She walks to the باورچی خانے, باورچی خانہ and returns a moment later with four chocolate chip cookies. She hands three to Arthur and keeps one for herself.
    “Mmm,” he says, downing nearly half the cookie in one bite. “Did آپ make these?” he asks, his mouth full.
    She nods.
    “Gotta keep آپ around,” he says, studying the cookie as she sits beside him, curling her legs beneath her.
    “So. آپ mentioned a sister and a father. Any other family?”
    “No. My mum died in childbirth,” he says, finishing the last cookie.
    “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, her hands to her mouth.
    “It’s all right. We were just too much for her, I guess,” he says, a little sadly.
    “We?”
    “Morgana is my twin sister.”
    She blinks. “Oh,” she says, still a little shocked and embarrassed.
    “Technically she’s nine منٹ older than me,” he rolls his eyes.
    “And I’m sure she reminds آپ of that fact frequently, yes?”
    “Of course. The funny thing is, we don’t even really look alike.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black leather wallet, from which he withdraws a photo. “She looks like Father, and from what I’ve heard and seen in photos, I favor our mum. Funny how that worked out,” he says, shrugging.
    Gwen takes it. “She’s very beautiful,” she says, noting the alabaster skin and raven hair. Raven hair. Wait a minute. She looks up at Arthur, studying him. Blue eyes. Golden skin tone. Light eyebrows and eyelashes. Light chest hair. “You’re really a blonde, aren’t you?”
    “What?” he says, attempting to look sincere. She reaches out and lightly yanks a bit of chest hair, causing him to yelp. Then she reaches up and runs her fingertips along his eyebrow, and he drops his head.
    “Yeah, I dye my hair black. Looks cooler, right?” he asks, peeking up at her, only to find her laughing at him.
    “All right, shut it,” he says, snatching the picture back from Gwen’s fingers and tucking it back into his wallet. “Okay, how about you?” he asks.
    “My hair is naturally this color,” she says.
    He sighs and looks at the ceiling, trying to hide his smile. “I meant how about your family? آپ haven’t کہا anything about them. Are they horrid?”
    “Not at all. My parents are divorced. Mum lives in France. She works the reception ڈیسک at the Hotel Britannique, so I don’t see her often. Dad is a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard.”
    Arthur’s eyebrows rise slightly.
    “Do I… need to be worried?” she asks.
    “No! No, I’m just surprised. I don’t know what I thought your father would do for a living, but cop wasn’t on the list,” he chuckles. “I’ll have آپ know that I have a spotless record. Not even a parking ticket.”
    “Good. Because if he ever meets you, he’ll check.”
    “Understood. If آپ were my daughter, I’d do the same. Any brothers یا sisters?”
    “I have a brother, Elyan. He lives in America.”
    “Wow, how’d he end up there?”
    “He was always a bit of a wanderer. Always wanted to go to America, though I can’t imagine why.”
    “Where does he live? New York? LA?”
    “Chicago. He’s a pastry chef at the Hilton.”
    “Oh, got to meet him,” Arthur says, grinning.
    “For the sweets, I presume.”
    “Of course.”
    Just then Arthur sits straight up and he looks sharply towards the door.
    “Wha—” Gwen starts to ask, but then Arthur stands just as she hears the chimes from the neighborhood ice cream وین floating through the door. He’s like a dog sensing his master is coming home, she thinks, amused as he walks to the door, barefoot and clad only in his jeans.
    She stands and follows, watching at the window while he strides casually to the وین and purchases two ice cream bars.
    “Okay, آپ cannot deny your cuteness now,” she says, smirking at him as he hands her an ice cream.
    He grunts, tearing the paper off his and tossing it in the trash bin before heading back into the living room with his treat.
    “Thank you, سے طرف کی the way,” Gwen says, unwrapping hers as well. It is a simple chocolate-covered ice cream on a wooden stick. His is the same, except it seems to be disappearing faster than hers.
    “Told آپ I was a sugar junkie,” he says.
    “And yet آپ still have that body. It’s so unfair,” she says, taking a bite.
    Arthur watches her eat the ice cream bar. This was a better idea than I realized. His eyes do not leave her as her delicate گلابی tongue licks the ice cream, her lips suck at it, her teeth crunch through the hard chocolate coating.
    The ice cream is no match for the summer heat, and while Arthur has finished his, Gwen’s is starting to melt. Melted vanilla drips down from the bar and onto her hand. She curses quietly and licks the drip from her wrist and up her forearm.
    Arthur sucks in his breath, watching her tongue on her beautiful skin, mind reeling with the تصاویر that are coming into his brain. He shifts in his نشست and she looks up at him, seeing him watching her.
    “Messy,” she mumbles, but the heat in his gaze is not missed.
    Two bites left, and a drip falls between the halves of her dressing gown, onto her chest.
    “Shit,” she says, reaching down to wipe it.    
    “Leave it,” he says roughly. She drops her hand obediently and finishes the rest of her ice cream just as he leans forward, parting the روب, چغہ just enough to tuck his head in, slowly and deliberately licking the melted ice cream from between her breasts.
    Gwen closes her eyes and leans her head back slightly, sighing as his tongue travels, following the curve of her breast before trailing it up to her throat, to her neck.
    “I know there’s no ice cream there, Arthur,” she says, and he lifts his head to kiss her lips.
    “Your lips are cold,” he says.
    “I was just eating ice cream.”

Part 5: link