Till Death Do Us Part: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Vows Duet Book 1)

Chapter 3

1,574 Years Ago

I have been standing, hidden deep in the shadows, simply watching my wife and my best knight fucking in the darkened room. The entire court is asleep.

All of Camelot is.

Or it should be.

Guinevere releases a breathy moan, her fingers clawing at Lancelot’s bare shoulders as he drives into her. Her milky white legs wrap around his waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into the equally pale globes of his ass peeking out above his breeches. Chemise shoved up to her hips, I can almost see where they are connected, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window.

“Arthur,” Guinevere whispers, her tone begging. “Come.”

The corners of my mouth tilt up as I step forward. “Is my queen needy for more than one cock?”

The pink that blooms on her cheeks wars with the look of desire she gives me. “Please,” she whimpers, reaching a hand out for me.

Lancelot does not take her eyes off Guinevere. “She needs us both, Your Grace.”

My prick hardens further at the thought. Lancelot and I have been working our sweet lady up to this for weeks. Without waiting for my verbal response, he pushes off the wall, keeping Guinevere speared atop him, and walks to the center of the room. He turns, lying back on the round table gifted to me at my wedding by my father-in-law. He shifts a few more times before he’s laid across the table, his trousers around his ankles. Guinevere straddles his hips, her brilliant long copper-colored hair draped over her like a cape.

I move, striding to the edge of the table and snatching Guinevere’s chemise, pulling it over her head. Despite having had both me and Lancelot deep inside her cunt many times before, a flush of modesty travels along her chest and arms, turning her skin the color of the reddest roses. Even her soft breasts tinge with color around her dusky pink nipples.

I gather her voluminous hair in my hands, twisting it together and jerk her head to the side, making her look me in the eye as she sits astride the knight. “Does my queen want two cocks at once?”

Her body moves more aggressively in response to my inquiry, making Lancelot spit out a curse as he grips her waist. Her eyes never leave mine as she does. It’s only when I take my free hand and gently stroke it from the top of her head to her chin that she sighs out her answer.

“Yes. Both.”

I loosen the ties and kick my breeches off without delay, climbing onto the table behind her. With gentleness, I press on her back until she is lying flat against Lancelot, her cheek pressed to his chest, stopping her from grinding on him. He eyes me as I stroke along her face again, trying to ease the tension I see building already.

I knew it from the first time I saw Guinevere and Lancelot gaze at one another, the same day that she arrived here from her father’s kingdom—the day before we were to be wed. There was something between them that needed no kindling to grow, and she had not even looked upon me, her future husband, yet.

Envy had made me brutish with the way I had intruded between them, glaring at my knight with a reprimand strong enough to make him flinch and lower his gaze. But it was when I turned to her, my future queen, that I felt as if the air had been robbed from my lungs.

Her green eyes had been wide and nervous, like a doe caught in the middle of a hunt, and her hair had been plaited down her back, dotted with little wildflower blossoms. She had seemed so young. She was, twenty years old, compared to my nearly-forty years. I had seen no woman more beautiful than Guinevere before, or since, that day. In that moment, I had wanted everything with her I had never wanted with anyone else—no matter what the cost was.

As it turned out, the cost was allowing her to love Lancelot, as well. After we had married, she was happy and loving with me. But I could sense the strain she faced any time Lancelot was in the vicinity; could sense the desire between them; could see the way she was deteriorating without him. Neither acted on their lust—not until I interceded and allowed it, calling Lancelot to our bedchamber that first night many months ago now.

It was then that I discovered how I enjoyed watching my queen being fucked by another man. Not just any man—only Lancelot, and only because I could not deny that there was something within them both which spoke of a deep connection beyond our mortal comprehension. It was not mere lust. It was something much more profound.

I yearned to have such a connection with Guinevere, too, with every ounce of my soul.

I gaze down at my wife, my hand on her cheek, pulling myself from thoughts of the path that brought us to this moment. “Ready, sweet lady?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “I need thee, Arthur.”

I reach out, dipping my fingers into the wetness spilling from her cunt, and it’s ample. I drag my fingers upwards, spreading her juices out and over her puckered opening. I go between her two holes, my fingertips dragging along the underside of Lancelot’s cock and slipping past the ring of muscle in her backside, as I work to make her slippery for my own cock.

Guinevere is writhing with desperation by the time I’m satisfied she’s wet and ready. I wet my fingers one more time and wrap them around my prick, spreading her juices on me, too.

“Arthur,” Lancelot grits out. “Make haste.”

I smirk at the way his desperation matches hers, and line my cock up with her opening. Without asking her again, I press forward, watching in the moonlight as her asshole stretches tight around the tip of my cock, trying to keep me out.

Guinevere hisses out a breath. “It pains me,” she whimpers.

“Be still, my love,” Lancelot murmurs, wrapping his arms around her. “Let Arthur enter. Let us have thee.”

His words do wonders as I press in harder. There is a few seconds that her opening resists the intrusion before it allows me to slip through. All three of us moan at the same time, Guinevere’s higher pitched and tinged with pain. I grip her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with my thumb. As soon as I feel her body adjust and relax, I thrust forward steadily, until my hips are flush against her ass, her whimpers alternating between pained and pleasure-filled.

Lancelot and I lock eyes over Guinevere’s head, making me pause. I swallow hard when I feel his hand land atop of mine on her shoulder, his fingers curling around to hold it. Without looking away, I nod at him and pull back until only the head of the cock remains inside.

This time, when I push back in, Lancelot shifts, pulling his cock back at the same time. I can feel the ridges of him as we move together, separated only by a thin layer of Guinevere’s skin.

Guinevere gasps, her back trying to arch while Lancelot holds her tight. “Oh my…”

I take that as an invitation to lean forward, pinning her against Lancelot. I thrust steadily, making both Guinevere and Lancelot moan as I rub against his cock in her cunt. I feel her body fluttering around me as I pick up my speed, my body clapping against hers, Lancelot’s hand still gripping mine while I hold on to her shoulder for leverage.

Guinevere makes the sweetest sound, a cross between a gasp and a curse, just like she always does before orgasm. Lancelot’s fingers bite into the flesh of my hand, drawing my attention back to him. The second we lock eyes, Guinevere reaches her peak, a keening sound escaping her, her body bucking fruitlessly between us. She clenches tight around me, and I assume the same is true for her sweet cunt wrapped around Lancelot.

“Fuck,” he bites out, right before his eyes roll up in his head.

The feeling of her pleasure, and seeing Lancelot’s, puts me over the edge. I let out a low groan, filling her hole with my seed.

Slowly, my movement halts and I pitch forward, resting my forehead against Guinevere’s back. The heavy breaths of her and Lancelot wane, as do mine. I move upright and start to pull away, but am held fast by Lancelot’s hand, still clutching at my own.

I glance at him and we share a look I am not sure I can explain; I am not sure I should explain. He blinks and then releases my hand, air chilling the dampness of our mingled sweat that lingers on it.

I step down from the round table, watching as Lancelot gently extracts himself from Guinevere by lifting her. She languidly rolls herself onto the table next to him, stretching out with a soft groan. Lancelot clambers off and yanks his breeches up, tucking his softened cock away and retying the fastenings without glancing at me. I retrieve my own breeches, putting them on, but leave them unfastened. He plucks his tunic from its discarded place on the ground and tugs it on over his head.

When he finally looks at me, I can see the fear on his face. I know why. I know it is because something more transpired between the two of us tonight. I give him a rueful smile and put my arm around his shoulders in camaraderie, turning my attention to Guinevere when I feel him let out a sigh of relief. It steals my breath, the sight of her splayed nude across the grand round table my knights will meet around at dawn tomorrow, the moon making her skin glow like she’s an otherworldly being that is only gracing us with her temporary presence.

“I love thee both,” Guinevere sighs, her voice sleepy. “I prayed for a love such as this.”

Her words have more meaning than any kingdom.