Chapter 19
1,573 Years Ago
I sigh, grasping at my beard as I survey the hand-drawn map atop the table, looking to be enlightened with a way to win the battle that the Saxons have drawn us into, yet again. It is looking more and more like we may need to quash this fight once and for all; take it to them instead of waiting for them to show up on our doorstep.
I eye Excalibur, displayed on the wall, wondering if it is time to go to the fight myself, with the blade that made me king.
The door to my study opens without a knock, nor any heavy boots thudding along the stone floors. I don’t have to glance over to know that it’s Guinevere who has shut the door again and is quietly padding around to my back.
Her hands land on my shoulders and she leans forward, pressing her cheek against mine as she looks down at the map, too.
“Saxons still?” she murmurs.
There is a melancholy note in her tone that makes my heart ache for her. For us. For all three of us. I dismiss her question without acknowledging it, pulling her around my chair and into my lap.
“What is it, sweet lady?” I murmur after pressing my lips to her cheeks and forehead several times.
Guinevere gives me a half smile. “Just trying to stay busy.”
“You’re feeling all right?”
She shrugs. “Fit as a fiddle.”
I kiss her lips sweetly, smiling when she sags against me. “Are you still bleeding?”
Stiffening, she tries to pull away, but I don’t allow it. Even then, she turns her face away from me.
“Guinevere,” I say gently. “I do not ask to shame you. I only want to ensure you’re well.”
“I am no longer bleeding. I am as well as…” she trails off, then faces me, her eyes pooling with tears. “I am heartbroken,” she admits.
“We all are,” I assure her, caressing her face, starting at her temple and toward her jaw.
“I am sorry I could not hold on to our babe,” she whispers, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now.
“You need not apologize, sweet lady.” I use my thumb to swipe away the moisture from her face. “Neither Lancelot nor I blame you in the slightest.”
She doesn’t look like she believes me, but nods anyway, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap. “I am not bleeding any longer. It stopped yesterday.”
I open my mouth to thank her for telling me and I am interrupted by a loud knock at the door. “Enter,” I call. When Guinevere attempts to stand, I do not let her, keeping her tucked against my chest instead.
Lancelot enters with my dedicated messenger, his eyes finding our queen immediately. He looks pained as he forces himself to look away. “Your Highness,” he says, bowing deeply. “News about the Saxons.”
My messenger, Geoffrey, scurries forward, his hand jutting out with a letter. The wax seal tells me it is a message from one of my Knights of the Round Table. I take it, fingering the edges.
“Go,” I tell Geoffrey. “Have a hot meal and get some rest. Return to me at first light.”
He wastes no time, hurrying out to do as I say. The second the door is closed, Lancelot eliminates the distance between himself and us, kneeling in front of me. He takes one of Guinevere’s hands, leaving the one that is tangled with and clutching at my tunic, pressing his lips to it again and again. Some unspoken conversation is happening as they gaze at one another.
I pay it no heed, however, distracted by Lancelot’s other hand, which has settled atop my thigh. My gaze dips to stare at it, the touch sending prickling sensations up my leg and straight to my cock. It sends my thoughts spiraling into disarray, the idea that a man could make me lustful the way my wife does.
I am so lost in attempting to deduce whether or not I like this sensation that it takes me a moment to realize that Guinevere and Lancelot are kissing. I tear my gaze away from the hand on my leg and watch them trade loving kisses that quickly turn heated.
Guinevere breaks away first, turning to me to carry the fervor of their last kiss into our own. I’m surprised by how demanding she is, her tongue forcefully dancing with mine. I groan into her mouth and my cheeks warm because the reason for announcing my pleasure was not her mouth, but the way Lancelot’s fingers squeezed my thigh as he took his turn watching us.
She turns back to Lancelot after a moment, pulling him closer so that he puts more weight on the hand still tightly gripping my thigh. My prick beyond hard, I let her yank me forward to kiss me again, aware of the way she serves as the only barrier between mine and Lancelot’s mouths.
And then she removes even that, pressing both of us close at the same time, forcing us to kiss the corners of her mouth together. Lancelot and I stare at one another as we kiss her, tension building between us, her head swiveling back and forth as she opens her mouth for both of us.
I feel it the second the tip of Lancelot’s tongue flicks against mine. We both jerk away, but we don’t make it far. Guinevere’s hands clutch at the backs of our heads, forcing all three of us to share the same air.
“Do not stop,” she pleads breathlessly, her gaze bouncing between us. “Please.”
Though my eyes stay on Lancelot’s, my focus zeros in on his hand, still on my leg. Even though I can’t see it, his thumb hesitantly moving in a circular pattern on my inner thigh, making a violent shudder flow through me.
That motion is what breaks the restraints holding us back, and Guinevere gasps as my mouth collides with Lancelot’s. The kiss isn’t one like I’ve ever given Guinevere. It’s rougher, untamed. There is no fear of harming her with teeth that nip too much, or bruising her lips with too much force. Our beards catch and drag as our mouths fight for dominance in this new battle, little whimpers and words of encouragement escaping from Guinevere only fueling us further.
Mid-kiss, I turn slightly, dragging Guinevere into the kiss with us. We all moan as our tongues mingle and Lancelot shifts his hand higher, tentatively, until his thumb is pressed against the solidness of my prick.
I push away from our joined kiss. “On your knees,” I command, panting. I am unsure where the thought comes from, but neither Guinevere nor Lancelot hesitate, kneeling side-by-side at my feet. It’s Guinevere who doesn’t wait for further instruction, unlacing my breeches and palming my cock as she pulls it free.
Her mouth is on me in an instant and I hiss a breath in through my teeth while she works my length over with her tongue. Lancelot places his hand on my thigh once more, stealing my attention from the bobbing motion of Guinevere’s head, and our eyes meet with mirrored uncertainty.
That mutual confusion makes me feel better and I lean forward. He meets me halfway, our mouths slamming together in another fierce kiss. When he pulls back, it is not to return to kneeling at my feet, but to gently move Guinevere aside. She allows it immediately, her hand holding my cock at the base to ensure it stands straight up. There’s a tense moment as we all look at one another.
Then, eyes on mine, Lancelot slips the head of my cock into his mouth.
“Lancelot, fuck,” I growl, my hips jerking as he sucks hard, the flat of his tongue stroking the sensitive underside of me.
Guinevere watches him as he explores, taking me deeper into his throat with a wide-eyed, interested gaze. She reaches out, threading her fingers in his hair, and he tenses. We both do, and I think it is because we both expect her to pull him off me in a fit of jealousy or hysteria.
But she only coaxes him to take me deeper, using her grip on his hair to guide him. A low moan vibrates around my cock in response, I realize, to Guinevere’s other hand inside his breeches, pulling and stroking.
Suddenly, she yanks on Lancelot’s hair, pulling him off me. She kisses him passionately, so close to my cock that it rests against her cheek while they trade tongues. Then, guiding his head once more, Guinevere breaks the kiss and leans forward with Lancelot until both of their mouths are suctioned along the sides of my prick together.
As one, they move, gliding along my hardness, creating a sensation I have never experienced before. It sends lightning bolts through my thighs, making them quiver, especially as they take turns using the tip of their tongues to swipe at the milky fluid that has seeped from my cock.
I cannot take much more, and just before my balls begin to tighten, I grip both of their heads by the hair and pull them away. Guinevere lets out a small laugh as I pick her up and toss her on top of the maps, shoving her skirts up. I sink into her a moment later, my hips snapping forward. I find a punishing pace and reach out, gripping Lancelot by the throat and bringing him to me. Our teeth knock as I kiss him while I fuck our sweet lady.
His muttered curse disappears into my mouth as I find his cock, thankful to Guinevere for unlacing his breeches enough to make it easy for me to draw him out. I stroke him roughly, faltering with my hips, struggling to maintain a steady rhythm for both at the same time.
A petite hand covers mine and Guinevere smiles sweetly at us when we glance at her. She doesn’t speak a word, simply squeezing my hand and guiding it as we run our hands along his length. With her taking care of moving my hand, I double my efforts to take care of her, thrusting hard and fast. My eyes find Lancelot’s and our gazes lock as we seek out satisfaction as one.
I know Guinevere has almost found her pleasure when her hand tightens on mine, making Lancelot groan in response. Her cunt grips my cock at the sound and I bark out a curse just as she lets out a shrill noise that tells me she’s coming. I am captivated by the way Lancelot thrusts into our hands, one of his hands coming up to grip my shoulder as he grits his teeth. So much so that the combination of Guinevere’s tightness and the feel of Lancelot’s smooth skin against my palm sees me gasping through my own orgasm.
The only warning I get to tell me Lancelot is finishing, almost too distracted by my pleasure, is the sudden jerk of his cock. He lets out moans as his seed spurts onto mine and Guinevere’s hands, dripping onto the floor, until we’re both spent. Lancelot collapse partially against me, his hand still gripping tight to my shoulder, while I continue to grip his cock.
We pant and catch our breath without speaking, nor do we steal any looks at one another. Now that we’ve found our end, the uncertain feeling I had before my kiss with Lancelot comes creeping back.
It is quickly subsided when Lancelot straightens and, without any permission or preamble, pulls me into another kiss—this time more languid in nature.
We look down at Guinevere, pulling apart, when she lets out a girlish laugh. There’s a diabolical gleam in her eye, contradicted by the angelic smile on her face.
“It is about time,” she purrs, looking pointedly between the two of us. “Now, can we do that again?”