Page 121 of Propriety
“But you,” he pushed into her, just the head of his cock sliding through her heat. “You,beloved, you’re mine.”
She whimpered, rolling her hips, desperate for him. With his hand around her throat, his mouth on her neck, and his other hand slipping up to cup her breast, he sheathed himself inside of her, to the hilt.
Gwen’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, hips jerking as he set the pace. His fingers tightened around her throat, not constricting — claiming.
“I will stand for you,” He panted, his breath ragged against her skin. His fingers tweaked her nipple, pinching. “I willfightfor you.”
His thrusts came quicker. She tried to meet him, but her own movements were erratic, the catch of her breath barely enough.
“Lancelot,” she breathed, releasing his wrist, snaking up behind his head to hold him against her.
Fingernails dug into his scalp.
Teeth bore into her skin.
Whimpers turned into moans.
“And we,mon amour,” He dropped his hand from her chest, sliding it between her legs to circle her clit. “We will tear Camelot down with our own hands.” He pressed his thumb against her.
And she shattered with a cry. Were it not for his hands holding her — the way theyalwaysheld her — she would have collapsed into a heap.
He continued rutting into her, his own words becoming nonsense as pleasure overtook him. The twitch of his cock, the warmth of his spend spilling inside of her, was almost enough to send her over the edge again.
Her vision swam, fingers clutched at his arms, his wrists, just to stay grounded. “Fuck,” he snarled as he continued to grind into her, chasing the last bit of pleasure she could offer him. “Fuck you, Guinevere.”
She made a half-hearted noise of protest at his words, too boneless to argue.
“Fuck you for falling in love with me.” His hands were shaking as he brushed her hair off of her shoulder. “Fuck you for being the only person alive that can have this effect on me.”
A gentle smile washed across her features as she melted fully into him. “Fuck you.” His lips were against her neck again, softer this time. “For thinking I’d let him kill you to save me.”
Her body trembled against his. His breath still came in shudders, forehead pressed against her shoulder. “Fuck you,” He whispered, quieter now, “for making me want to live.”
Her laugh cracked on a sob. She twisted in his arms — weak and boneless, but no less furious — and gripped his face between her hands. He slipped out of her with her movements, leaving an ache of emptiness inside of her. “Thenlive, you idiot. Stop throwing yourself on swords like it proves something.”
“And you?” he growled, eyes flashing. “Begging me to touch you just so you could forgethim? Is that what you call surviving?”
“I wanted to feel something.I wanted to feelyou.” Her voice shook. “Is that so unforgivable?”
Lancelot didn’t answer, just pulled her closer to him, crushing her against his chest. His hand came to cradle the back of her neck.
“I don’t want your death, you idiot,” she whispered through unshed tears. “I want your life. Your stupid, broken, stubborn life.” Aquiet sob escaped her lips as her fingers searched for purchase on his skin. “You don’t get to die for me and call it devotion.”
He closed his eyes like it hurt to hear. Maybe a piece of her wanted it to.
“If you die, Lancelot, he wins.” Her voice choked around the words, a truth she wasn’t ready to express just yet. He didn’t speak. Just pressed his face to the side of her throat and held her like he could anchor them both that way. His arms were shaking, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
“He wins,” she whispered again. “I lose you. I loseeverything.”
Lancelot let out a long breath, ragged and low. His mouth brushed her skin. “You have me,” he said, like a prayer. “As long as I can breathe. And after, if I can find a way.”
Her breath hitched. Her hands found his hair, his jaw, desperate just totouchhim — like she could press her love into his bones. “You don’t get to leave me,” she whispered. “Not when I finally found you.”
He drew back, just enough to meet her eyes. There was fire there still — but quieter now.
Banked.
Wrecked.
