Part 2: link
There is a lot of Spanish in this one. The translations are at the end, in the same order in which they appear in the body of the text. I had to use a lot of Internet help for the Spanish (I only had 2 years in high school, which was forever ago), so if there are any fluent hoặc native Spanish-speakers out there, I WELCOME corrections! -k.
The court of Queen Elizabeth I, 1565
Another rose. That’s five now, Lady Guinevere, lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth I, thinks as she picks up the deep red rose and its accompanying note.
She closes the door to her chambers and places the rose with its companions in a vase on her table. She opens the note.
Mi corazón latía para sólo usted, mi reina.
Folding the note with a frown, she sets it with the others. I wish I knew what he was nghề viết văn in all these notes.
She knows the nguồn of the roses. Lord Merlín’s bodyguard, Arturo. The lord is visiting from Spain. He is wise and kind, but frail, having suffered much illness as a child, so he travels with a personal bodyguard to protect both him and his sizeable wealth.
Yes, he’s handsome, she thinks, leaning phía trước, chuyển tiếp to smell the ever-increasing bouquet. All right, he’s thêm than handsome. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life. And when he looked at me in the queen’s receiving chamber, oh God, it was like his eyes were hands caressing my naked body. She grows warm at the memory and the thought of his hands doing just that.
She showed them to their rooms late yesterday, and since then Arturo has been sending her roses, each with a note hand-written. In Spanish.
He doesn’t speak English. I don’t speak Spanish. Yet he is unrelenting.
Guinevere goes to her dressing bàn and withdraws the notes, studying them once again in the hopes that she can make sense out of the foreign words very neatly written bởi his hand. His large, broad hands, strong and rough with their long, tapered fingers… she finds herself thinking about his hands again, stroking her cheek, her neck, lower…
Shaking her head to clear it, she looks down at the parchments.
Una hermosa rosa para una hermosa rosa. -A.
Durante mucho tiempo fui a tocar su piel hermosa.
Usted rondan mis sueños.
Tus ojos arden en mi alma.
Mi corazón latía para sólo usted, mi reina.
She frowns again. God, I wish I knew Spanish! She can guess at some of the words. ‘Rosa’ obviously means rose, and ‘hermosa’ seems to be appearing a lot as well, though its meaning is a mystery. ‘Corazón’ is heart, she knows that one. Declarations of love. hoặc perhaps lust.
There is a knock at her door. Not another rose, please, I cannot take this much longer. He’s already got me flustered to the point of distraction. She goes to the door and opens it. It is only Kate, the queen’s maid.
“Lady Guinevere, her majesty wishes your company,” she says, curtseying.
“Of course. One moment,” Guinevere says, hurrying back to the dressing bàn to stow the notes away.
She gives the hoa hồng one last look before leaving her chambers.
Guinevere walks the corridors to the queen’s sitting room, wondering if there is a point to her having been summoned this time. Probably not. She’s most likely just bored again.
She rounds the corner, Mất tích in her thoughts, and bumps into a broad, firm chest.
“Oh! Excuse me,” she exclaims, bringing her hands up reflexively, grabbing onto a leather vest.
Guinevere feels a pair of hands come around her waist to support her.
“Perdóneme, cariño,” a deep voice softly says.
Arturo.
Flustered, she tries to step back, her tim, trái tim thumping so loudly she is certain he can hear it. He holds fast, not willing to release her. She may as well be stepping back into a wall, yet he holds her effortlessly, the warmth from his hands burning through the layers of her clothing.
“Um…” she starts, not knowing what to say. He can’t understand me anyway.
“Shh, amorcita,” he quiets her, lifting one hand to her chin so that he can tilt her face up to his.
Is he going to Kiss me here in this corridor?
Arturo only gazes down at her, his curious blue-grey eyes scalding her flesh as he studies her, memorizing the exact shade of brown in her almond-shaped eyes, memorizing the full lushness of her lips, memorizing every tiny freckle, memorizing each mahogany curl that cascades around her lovely face.
“Tu belleza me hace débil,” he whispers, his hand softly caressing her cheek.
“Thank you?” she says quietly, eyes questioning. I cannot think straight when he is this close, she thinks. He smells of the leather vest and boots he is wearing and something else, something… sweet. Cinnamon.
He chuckles warmly at her, and his laugh makes her knees go weak.
“Guenevéra,” he speaks his version of her name, just a breath, and she nearly falls to the floor.
He still holds her, supporting her for just a few moments while she attempts to recover her sanity. “Thank bạn for the roses,” she says quietly, wanting to look away but finding her eyes glued to his. “Um, gracias, for the… rosas?” she tries.
He smiles, understanding. “De nada, cariño,” he answers, slowly relaxing his grip on her. “Hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar, mi reina,” he whispers, the hand at her cheek trailing down and away as he steps back from her, allowing her to pass.
Oh, God, he is too seductive, too charming.
xxx
bữa tối, bữa ăn tối that evening is agony. Guinevere feels Arturo’s eyes on her the entire time, and it makes her uneasy and clumsy. She spills her wine. She drops her fork. She slips with her dao, con dao and almost cuts her finger. All the while Arturo watches her, his eyes twinkling with amusement at his effect on her.
He knows he’s making me flustered, and he’s enjoying it.
Over dessert, Lord Merlín tells them of a thực phẩm that Cristóbal Colón had brought back with him from the new world.
“It is called chocolatl, and it is the most amazing thing, your highness. It is… ah,” he searches for the correct word, “painstaking to make, but the results are quite worthwhile.”
“What is it?” the Queen is intrigued.
Guinevere lifts a small cake to her lips and takes a bite, her tongue flicking out briefly to lick an errant spot of icing from her upper lip. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Arturo take a deep breath and shift uncomfortably in his seat. She hides her smile behind her goblet. So I can unravel him as well, I see.
“It is a beverage, your highness. Quite… bitter, actually. But we have discovered that with the addition of azúcar… sugar… it becomes very delicious. No. ¿Cómo se dice? Decadent. Sí. That is the correct word.” He nods to himself.
“Sounds very interesting. I should like to try this drink,” the Queen says.
“Perhaps I will bring some with on my tiếp theo visit,” he hints, a small smile crossing his boyish face.
“Do promise me, Lord Merlín, hoặc I shall become quite unhappy,” she teases.
“We cannot have La Elisabeta Reina unhappy,” he promises.
Reina? Mi reina? Was Arturo calling me his queen? Guinevere thinks, her eyes turning to the handsome bodyguard across the room. He sees the realization in her eyes and nods very slightly, his eyes burning ngọn lửa, chữa cháy into her heart, a ngọn lửa, chữa cháy that spreads down into her belly. No, lower. She takes another bite of her dessert, pondering him and his intentions.
xxx
After dinner, Guinevere made some hasty excuses, mumbling something vague about a headache, and hurried back to her rooms, both eager and reluctant to be away from Arturo’s smoldering scrutiny.
There was another rose waiting in her room, with another note.
Se mío esta noche, amorcito.
Guinevere is no innocent. She had spent the trước đó summer dallying with a visiting duke from France, His Grace Sir Lancelot du Lac. Their affair had been pleasurable enough, but Lancelot with all his kisses and caresses certainly never reduced her to the quivering mass of desire that she becomes with just one look from Arturo. Then one night in late summer she finally gave in to the duke’s advances and he took her virginity.
The tiếp theo morning he was gone.
She lay in her bed, feigning an attempt at sleep. Arturo was too present in her mind, his scent still in her nostrils; the feel of his chest still under her palms. His eyes still scorching her skin. She turns over and into a ball, the ache within her a sweet agony. Once hoặc twice her hand slips down between her legs, fingers searching to relieve the tension building there, but she manages to stop herself. She was frustrated, but stubborn.
“Bloody hell,” Guinevere says aloud, flinging back the bedcovers and standing. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and grabs her dressing gown, throwing it on as she walks to her door. Her hand on the handle, she takes another deep breath and throws the door open.
Arturo is standing outside her door, barefoot, wearing a white áo sơ mi and black trousers. He has a rose in one hand and the other hand is a raised fist, poised to knock.
“Oh!” she gasps, jumping with surprise.
Arturo recovers thêm quickly, a slow smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. “Guenevéra,” he says quietly, offering the rose.
She raises her trembling hand to take the hoa from him. Her fingers brush against his as they close around the stem, and she gasps softly, the mere touch of his fingers against hers causing her skin to flush.
His smile turns just the tiniest bit devilish, and then his head turns sharply to the right. Footsteps. “Alguien viene,” he whispers hurriedly, turning his face back towards hers, his eyes a câu hỏi she isn’t sure she can answer.
Guinevere decides. She grabs his áo sơ mi in her fist and pulls him inside her chambers, closing the door quietly behind him. And locking it.
She turns back to him and finds herself immediately in his arms, the rose in her hand crushed between them.
“Arturo,” she breathes his name, and that is all the invitation he needs. His lips descend to hers, softly at first, as he revels in the luxuriousness of her lips. He pulls her closer, one arm wrapping about her small waist as the other pulls the ribbon holding her hair back and flings it to the floor to delve into the mass of her hair, supporting the back of her head as he leans into her, deepening the kiss.
Her hands creep up around his neck, the crushed and bent rose still clutched in her hand. The hoa drops to the floor soundlessly as her fingers twine into his blonde hair, the strands silken against her skin.
A low moan comes from Arturo’s throat, and he coaxes her lips apart beneath his, his tongue prodding, begging for entrance. Guinevere complies, sighing into him, her own tongue coming phía trước, chuyển tiếp to meet his. Her willing response only inflames his desire further and the hand at her waist clutches at her still-open dressing gown, pulling at it, wanting to rid the barrier of the thick material between him and her body.
She releases his hair and brings her arms down so that he can shuck the quần áo, áo choàng from her, breaking the Kiss momentarily, revealing creamy light-brown shoulders. The color of chocolatl, he notes, bending down to rain kisses upon them, tasting her skin, trailing up her neck, muttering words of tình yêu in Spanish between his kisses.
“Oh, God, I don’t know what you’re saying, but it sounds… decadent,” she gasps, the word fresh in her mind from bữa tối, bữa ăn tối when Lord Merlín had searched for earlier. Her hands dive back into his hair as he nibbles gently at her earlobe.
Chocolatl. Decadent. Arturo connects the two words from dinner, putting them together in a way that his master never would have dreamed. He straightens up and looks Guinevere in the eyes and whispers, “Sí. Decadent.” He pronounces the word carefully. Then he runs his fingers along her bare arm, up to her shoulder and back down again. “Chocolatl,” he indicates her skin, kissing her once on the lips. “Decadente,” he repeats, this time in Spanish.
Guinevere understands and giggles sweetly at his flattery, his likening her to something that is apparently so delicious that the Spaniards have been keeping it to themselves since the explorer returned with it.
He lifts her into his arms suddenly, and turns, scanning the room. “¿Dónde está?” he looks around. “Ah,” he spies the giường off in a dark corner and strides purposefully toward it, carrying her to the large soft giường she had only just recently abandoned.
Arturo sets her down on the giường as if she were a precious thing, breakable. He stares down at her a một phút longer, then he whips his white áo sơ mi over his head in one fluid motion before dropping gently down over her on the bed.
“Mi amor,” he whispers against her lips before capturing them again, pressing against them forcefully, plunging his tongue into her mouth, where she sucks it greedily in, pressing back with her own.
She reaches up with her hands, aching to touch the beautiful array of muscles of which she only caught the barest glimpse. She trails her fingers on his chest, feeling the texture of the hair there tickling her fingertips before growing bolder, thêm sure of herself, pressing her palms flat against his skin, sliding them around to clutch at his shoulders while he places wet, hungry kisses on her neck.
Vaguely she is aware of his hand sliding the strap to her chemise aside, following it with his lips as he slides it down her shoulder.
Her hands grow bolder, dropping to the waist of his trousers, pulling at the ties holding them closed. Arturo groans when she does this, a plaintive, “Sí…” escaping from his lips at her neck.
He moves to her other shoulder to drop the other strap and feather thêm kisses on her shoulders and is momentarily distracted as her hands succeed in opening his trousers.
Arturo sits back, pulling Guinevere up with him so she is sitting. He slides her chemise down, removing it from her body, his eyes drinking her in as he does so.
“Ay, dios mío,” he whispers. “Mi belleza, mi corazón,” he continues as he stares in awe at her naked form lying back on the bed, waiting for him, wanting him.
He removes his trousers, tossing them carelessly aside as he prowls up over her body, running his hands along the soft contours of her torso as he goes, making her moan with want.
“Arturo…” she says breathlessly, “touch me…”
No sooner had she spoken the words than his hand is covering her breast, his rough palm sweet torment against her erect nipple, and she cries out softly.
“Me toque,” he rumbles, guiding her hand down, holding it gently as it glides down his chest and across his stomach before she rotates her wrist to grasp him softly in her hand, her small fingers closing around his stiff member.
“Ay... sí…” he groans, sliding one of his own hands down to touch her.
“Ay... sí…” she echoes unthinkingly, her head rolling on the cái gối, gối as his fingers slide against her moist warmth, driving her mad with the need of him.
Arturo leans down and kisses her again, sucking and nibbling her lips while her hand moves slowly along his length. His head is spinning as he kisses a path down to her breasts, taking one into his mouth, his tongue teasing the stiff nipple even harder.
“Arturo…” she gasps, “please. Por favor…”
“Te adoro,” he whispers against her breasts as he moves fully over her, positioning himself at her waiting thighs. He places an ardent Kiss on her lips as he enters her, smoothly and swiftly, and his Kiss swallows the gasp of pleasure that wants to spring from Guinevere’s lips.
He moves over her, within her, sliding in and out, his hands at her hips, holding her. He releases her hips and skims his hands up to hold her breasts, squeezing lightly, thumbs flicking across her nipples.
Guinevere writhes beneath him, meeting his thrusts with her hips, her hands grasping at the bedclothes as she gasps and pants, breathless and mindless.
He leans over her and steals a series of kisses, not able to get enough of her lips. She reaches up and holds his neck, keeping his face close to her, wanting his proximity. Needing his proximity.
“More…” she breathes. How do I tell him what I want?
He looks at her. “¿Más?” he asks, hoping he’s understood.
“Sí,” she answers, and he increases his thrusts, moving faster, thêm forcefully. “Oh, sí!” she exclaims, arching her back, pressing her breasts into his chest.
Guinevere feels the building, her body tingling and quivering as it heads towards her climax, looming before her like a great hot sun threatening to burn her to ash. Arturo watches her, watches her face as her eyelids flutter and her lips part and her nostrils flare and beautiful sweet cries come forth from her throat.
“Oh! Yes… oh…” she cries out, her body jerking beneath his as the ngọn lửa, chữa cháy spreads from her groin to the tips of her fingers and toes in a great swell, and her hands grip his broad shoulders, her head tossing to the side.
Arturo’s release follows immediately. Watching her unravel beneath him has been his undoing as well and he comes with a mighty growl and thrust, pushing deep within her, his entire body a coiled spring as his manhood pulses inside her.
xxx
“Vuelve a España conmigo,” he says as he holds her in his arms, caressing her back.
“Spain?” she asks, turning to look up at him.
“Sí,” he nods.
“With… you?”
“Conmigo,” he points to his own chest, nodding.
She bites her lower lip. Is he serious?
“Mi corazón es tuyo, si ustedes tendrán que.”
She furrows her brow. Something about his heart.
He sits up, looking at her intensely. “Mi,” he says, pointing to himself. She nods. “Corazón,” he takes her hand and places it over his heart. “Es tuyo,” he motions with his hands as if he is giving her something.
“Oh,” Guinevere says, breathing heavily, her eyes wide. Her hand is still resting on his heart, and she can feel it pounding, waiting for her answer.
Is this insanity? He basically just told me he loves me. Do I run away to Spain with him? Do I tình yêu him? How do I know that it’s not purely just a physical attraction?
Guinevere closes her eyes, her hand still on his chest. When she opens them, he is still gazing intently at her. She removes her hand and picks up his, placing it over her heart. “My heart,” she says, patting the back of his hand lightly, “is yours.” She touches her finger to his chest.
She hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath until he starts breathing again. Arturo suddenly pulls her into his arms, kissing her fiercely, possessively. Now that he has her, he is never letting her go.
She pulls back gently, cuddling into his arms as he lays them back down onto her bed. Yes. I do tình yêu him.
“What of Lord Merlín?” she asks suddenly. I would feel terrible if he meant to abandon his master for me. The lord needs him.
Arturo smiles warmly, understanding what she is asking. “No será una problema,” he says with a wave of his hand.
I understood that one, she thinks, but she isn’t convinced, so she gives him a puzzled look.
“Venir,” he says, climbing from the giường and pulling his trousers on. He hands her the chemise, indicating that she should dress.
“Where are we going?” she asks, slipping it on. He puts his áo sơ mi on and hands her the dressing gown.
“Vamos a ver el jefe.”
xxx
“Arturo? Is something wrong?” Lord Merlín asks, opening the door to his chambers. Then he notices Arturo’s arm wrapped protectively around Guinevere’s shoulders. “Aha.” He stands aside and lets the couple in.
“Jefe, quiero Guenevéra para volver a España con nosotros.”
“He wants bạn to come to Spain,” Merlín translates.
“I figured that much out, yes,” she nods.
“Is this what bạn want as well, Guinevere?”
She looks at Arturo. Her pulse quickens. Her loins ache. Truly I cannot picture myself apart from him. The thought of being here alone, without his presence, leaves me bereft. “Yes,” she nods, turning back to the lord. She reaches for Arturo’s hand.
“No quiero causar ua problema para ella, la Elisabeta Reina, o nuestros dos países,” Arturo says, his voice sincere.
“He doesn’t want to make trouble for bạn hoặc our kingdoms bởi taking bạn away.”
She nods. “The Queen will understand. She has other ladies-in-waiting.”
Merlín relays this to Arturo, who smiles.
“You do know we were planning on leaving in the morning, do bạn not?” Merlín asks her.
“No, I was unaware.”
“Can bạn be ready?”
“Ella no necesita traer nada. Le dare todo lo que desea.”
Merlín sighs. “¿Realmente quiere que le cuente que?”
“Sí,” he nods.
“Ella necesitará algunas prendas de vestir, obviamente,” Merlín reminds him.
Arturo grins wickedly and Merlín rolls his eyes. “Ay, Díos,” he says to the ceiling. “Guienvere, if bạn can be ready bởi first light, I would be happy to have bạn accompany us back to Spain. bạn only need pack some các bài viết of clothing and anything bạn hold most dear. Arturo assures me that he will give bạn anything else bạn desire.”
“Thank you, Lord Merlín,” she says softly.
“¿Usted está seguro de esto, Arturo? Usted apenas han cumplido su.” Merlín says to his bodyguard.
“Sí, Jefe. Yo nunca he tenida más certeza de nada.”
“What is he saying?” she asks.
“Sorry, my lady, I was simply asking him if he was certain that this is what he wants. I apologize if this offends you, but he is my friend as well as my protector.”
She nods, having suspected this about their relationship. “And?”
“He says he has never been thêm certain about anything. And what of you, if I may ask?”
“Yes. I… I do not want to be apart from him.”
Merlín relays this to Arturo, who smiles broadly and pulls Guinevere into his arms again, kissing her passionately, boldly doing so right in front of his master.
Merlín tactfully looks away, smiling knowingly to himself. Good.
xxxxxxxx
Spanish phrases, in order spoken:
My tim, trái tim beats only for you, my queen.
A beautiful rose for a beautiful rose.
I long to touch your beautiful skin.
bạn haunt my dreams.
Your eyes burn into my soul.
My tim, trái tim beats only for you, my queen.
Pardon me, sweetheart.
Your beauty makes me weak.
You’re welcome, sweetheart.
Until we meet again, my queen.
How do bạn say it?
Be mine tonight, my love.
Someone is coming.
Where is it?
My love.
Oh, my God.
My beauty, my heart.
Touch me.
I adore you.
Come back to Spain with me.
My tim, trái tim is yours, if bạn will have it.
It will not be a problem.
Come.
We are going to see the boss.
I want Guinevere to return to Spain with us.
I do not wish to cause a problem for her, Queen Elizabeth, hoặc our two countries.
She does not need to bring anything. I will give her anything she desires.
Do bạn really want me to tell her that?
She will need some clothing, obviously.
Oh, God.
bạn are sure about this, Arthur? bạn have only just met her.
I have never been thêm certain of anything.
This chapter’s song is “Cuando calienta el sol.” It is a standard, done bởi many different artists. I recommend Nancy Sinatra’s version, as her interpretation most closely evokes the longing I was trying to convey between Arturo and Guinevere.
Part 4: link
There is a lot of Spanish in this one. The translations are at the end, in the same order in which they appear in the body of the text. I had to use a lot of Internet help for the Spanish (I only had 2 years in high school, which was forever ago), so if there are any fluent hoặc native Spanish-speakers out there, I WELCOME corrections! -k.
The court of Queen Elizabeth I, 1565
Another rose. That’s five now, Lady Guinevere, lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth I, thinks as she picks up the deep red rose and its accompanying note.
She closes the door to her chambers and places the rose with its companions in a vase on her table. She opens the note.
Mi corazón latía para sólo usted, mi reina.
Folding the note with a frown, she sets it with the others. I wish I knew what he was nghề viết văn in all these notes.
She knows the nguồn of the roses. Lord Merlín’s bodyguard, Arturo. The lord is visiting from Spain. He is wise and kind, but frail, having suffered much illness as a child, so he travels with a personal bodyguard to protect both him and his sizeable wealth.
Yes, he’s handsome, she thinks, leaning phía trước, chuyển tiếp to smell the ever-increasing bouquet. All right, he’s thêm than handsome. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life. And when he looked at me in the queen’s receiving chamber, oh God, it was like his eyes were hands caressing my naked body. She grows warm at the memory and the thought of his hands doing just that.
She showed them to their rooms late yesterday, and since then Arturo has been sending her roses, each with a note hand-written. In Spanish.
He doesn’t speak English. I don’t speak Spanish. Yet he is unrelenting.
Guinevere goes to her dressing bàn and withdraws the notes, studying them once again in the hopes that she can make sense out of the foreign words very neatly written bởi his hand. His large, broad hands, strong and rough with their long, tapered fingers… she finds herself thinking about his hands again, stroking her cheek, her neck, lower…
Shaking her head to clear it, she looks down at the parchments.
Una hermosa rosa para una hermosa rosa. -A.
Durante mucho tiempo fui a tocar su piel hermosa.
Usted rondan mis sueños.
Tus ojos arden en mi alma.
Mi corazón latía para sólo usted, mi reina.
She frowns again. God, I wish I knew Spanish! She can guess at some of the words. ‘Rosa’ obviously means rose, and ‘hermosa’ seems to be appearing a lot as well, though its meaning is a mystery. ‘Corazón’ is heart, she knows that one. Declarations of love. hoặc perhaps lust.
There is a knock at her door. Not another rose, please, I cannot take this much longer. He’s already got me flustered to the point of distraction. She goes to the door and opens it. It is only Kate, the queen’s maid.
“Lady Guinevere, her majesty wishes your company,” she says, curtseying.
“Of course. One moment,” Guinevere says, hurrying back to the dressing bàn to stow the notes away.
She gives the hoa hồng one last look before leaving her chambers.
Guinevere walks the corridors to the queen’s sitting room, wondering if there is a point to her having been summoned this time. Probably not. She’s most likely just bored again.
She rounds the corner, Mất tích in her thoughts, and bumps into a broad, firm chest.
“Oh! Excuse me,” she exclaims, bringing her hands up reflexively, grabbing onto a leather vest.
Guinevere feels a pair of hands come around her waist to support her.
“Perdóneme, cariño,” a deep voice softly says.
Arturo.
Flustered, she tries to step back, her tim, trái tim thumping so loudly she is certain he can hear it. He holds fast, not willing to release her. She may as well be stepping back into a wall, yet he holds her effortlessly, the warmth from his hands burning through the layers of her clothing.
“Um…” she starts, not knowing what to say. He can’t understand me anyway.
“Shh, amorcita,” he quiets her, lifting one hand to her chin so that he can tilt her face up to his.
Is he going to Kiss me here in this corridor?
Arturo only gazes down at her, his curious blue-grey eyes scalding her flesh as he studies her, memorizing the exact shade of brown in her almond-shaped eyes, memorizing the full lushness of her lips, memorizing every tiny freckle, memorizing each mahogany curl that cascades around her lovely face.
“Tu belleza me hace débil,” he whispers, his hand softly caressing her cheek.
“Thank you?” she says quietly, eyes questioning. I cannot think straight when he is this close, she thinks. He smells of the leather vest and boots he is wearing and something else, something… sweet. Cinnamon.
He chuckles warmly at her, and his laugh makes her knees go weak.
“Guenevéra,” he speaks his version of her name, just a breath, and she nearly falls to the floor.
He still holds her, supporting her for just a few moments while she attempts to recover her sanity. “Thank bạn for the roses,” she says quietly, wanting to look away but finding her eyes glued to his. “Um, gracias, for the… rosas?” she tries.
He smiles, understanding. “De nada, cariño,” he answers, slowly relaxing his grip on her. “Hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar, mi reina,” he whispers, the hand at her cheek trailing down and away as he steps back from her, allowing her to pass.
Oh, God, he is too seductive, too charming.
xxx
bữa tối, bữa ăn tối that evening is agony. Guinevere feels Arturo’s eyes on her the entire time, and it makes her uneasy and clumsy. She spills her wine. She drops her fork. She slips with her dao, con dao and almost cuts her finger. All the while Arturo watches her, his eyes twinkling with amusement at his effect on her.
He knows he’s making me flustered, and he’s enjoying it.
Over dessert, Lord Merlín tells them of a thực phẩm that Cristóbal Colón had brought back with him from the new world.
“It is called chocolatl, and it is the most amazing thing, your highness. It is… ah,” he searches for the correct word, “painstaking to make, but the results are quite worthwhile.”
“What is it?” the Queen is intrigued.
Guinevere lifts a small cake to her lips and takes a bite, her tongue flicking out briefly to lick an errant spot of icing from her upper lip. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Arturo take a deep breath and shift uncomfortably in his seat. She hides her smile behind her goblet. So I can unravel him as well, I see.
“It is a beverage, your highness. Quite… bitter, actually. But we have discovered that with the addition of azúcar… sugar… it becomes very delicious. No. ¿Cómo se dice? Decadent. Sí. That is the correct word.” He nods to himself.
“Sounds very interesting. I should like to try this drink,” the Queen says.
“Perhaps I will bring some with on my tiếp theo visit,” he hints, a small smile crossing his boyish face.
“Do promise me, Lord Merlín, hoặc I shall become quite unhappy,” she teases.
“We cannot have La Elisabeta Reina unhappy,” he promises.
Reina? Mi reina? Was Arturo calling me his queen? Guinevere thinks, her eyes turning to the handsome bodyguard across the room. He sees the realization in her eyes and nods very slightly, his eyes burning ngọn lửa, chữa cháy into her heart, a ngọn lửa, chữa cháy that spreads down into her belly. No, lower. She takes another bite of her dessert, pondering him and his intentions.
xxx
After dinner, Guinevere made some hasty excuses, mumbling something vague about a headache, and hurried back to her rooms, both eager and reluctant to be away from Arturo’s smoldering scrutiny.
There was another rose waiting in her room, with another note.
Se mío esta noche, amorcito.
Guinevere is no innocent. She had spent the trước đó summer dallying with a visiting duke from France, His Grace Sir Lancelot du Lac. Their affair had been pleasurable enough, but Lancelot with all his kisses and caresses certainly never reduced her to the quivering mass of desire that she becomes with just one look from Arturo. Then one night in late summer she finally gave in to the duke’s advances and he took her virginity.
The tiếp theo morning he was gone.
She lay in her bed, feigning an attempt at sleep. Arturo was too present in her mind, his scent still in her nostrils; the feel of his chest still under her palms. His eyes still scorching her skin. She turns over and into a ball, the ache within her a sweet agony. Once hoặc twice her hand slips down between her legs, fingers searching to relieve the tension building there, but she manages to stop herself. She was frustrated, but stubborn.
“Bloody hell,” Guinevere says aloud, flinging back the bedcovers and standing. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and grabs her dressing gown, throwing it on as she walks to her door. Her hand on the handle, she takes another deep breath and throws the door open.
Arturo is standing outside her door, barefoot, wearing a white áo sơ mi and black trousers. He has a rose in one hand and the other hand is a raised fist, poised to knock.
“Oh!” she gasps, jumping with surprise.
Arturo recovers thêm quickly, a slow smile spreading across his sun-kissed face. “Guenevéra,” he says quietly, offering the rose.
She raises her trembling hand to take the hoa from him. Her fingers brush against his as they close around the stem, and she gasps softly, the mere touch of his fingers against hers causing her skin to flush.
His smile turns just the tiniest bit devilish, and then his head turns sharply to the right. Footsteps. “Alguien viene,” he whispers hurriedly, turning his face back towards hers, his eyes a câu hỏi she isn’t sure she can answer.
Guinevere decides. She grabs his áo sơ mi in her fist and pulls him inside her chambers, closing the door quietly behind him. And locking it.
She turns back to him and finds herself immediately in his arms, the rose in her hand crushed between them.
“Arturo,” she breathes his name, and that is all the invitation he needs. His lips descend to hers, softly at first, as he revels in the luxuriousness of her lips. He pulls her closer, one arm wrapping about her small waist as the other pulls the ribbon holding her hair back and flings it to the floor to delve into the mass of her hair, supporting the back of her head as he leans into her, deepening the kiss.
Her hands creep up around his neck, the crushed and bent rose still clutched in her hand. The hoa drops to the floor soundlessly as her fingers twine into his blonde hair, the strands silken against her skin.
A low moan comes from Arturo’s throat, and he coaxes her lips apart beneath his, his tongue prodding, begging for entrance. Guinevere complies, sighing into him, her own tongue coming phía trước, chuyển tiếp to meet his. Her willing response only inflames his desire further and the hand at her waist clutches at her still-open dressing gown, pulling at it, wanting to rid the barrier of the thick material between him and her body.
She releases his hair and brings her arms down so that he can shuck the quần áo, áo choàng from her, breaking the Kiss momentarily, revealing creamy light-brown shoulders. The color of chocolatl, he notes, bending down to rain kisses upon them, tasting her skin, trailing up her neck, muttering words of tình yêu in Spanish between his kisses.
“Oh, God, I don’t know what you’re saying, but it sounds… decadent,” she gasps, the word fresh in her mind from bữa tối, bữa ăn tối when Lord Merlín had searched for earlier. Her hands dive back into his hair as he nibbles gently at her earlobe.
Chocolatl. Decadent. Arturo connects the two words from dinner, putting them together in a way that his master never would have dreamed. He straightens up and looks Guinevere in the eyes and whispers, “Sí. Decadent.” He pronounces the word carefully. Then he runs his fingers along her bare arm, up to her shoulder and back down again. “Chocolatl,” he indicates her skin, kissing her once on the lips. “Decadente,” he repeats, this time in Spanish.
Guinevere understands and giggles sweetly at his flattery, his likening her to something that is apparently so delicious that the Spaniards have been keeping it to themselves since the explorer returned with it.
He lifts her into his arms suddenly, and turns, scanning the room. “¿Dónde está?” he looks around. “Ah,” he spies the giường off in a dark corner and strides purposefully toward it, carrying her to the large soft giường she had only just recently abandoned.
Arturo sets her down on the giường as if she were a precious thing, breakable. He stares down at her a một phút longer, then he whips his white áo sơ mi over his head in one fluid motion before dropping gently down over her on the bed.
“Mi amor,” he whispers against her lips before capturing them again, pressing against them forcefully, plunging his tongue into her mouth, where she sucks it greedily in, pressing back with her own.
She reaches up with her hands, aching to touch the beautiful array of muscles of which she only caught the barest glimpse. She trails her fingers on his chest, feeling the texture of the hair there tickling her fingertips before growing bolder, thêm sure of herself, pressing her palms flat against his skin, sliding them around to clutch at his shoulders while he places wet, hungry kisses on her neck.
Vaguely she is aware of his hand sliding the strap to her chemise aside, following it with his lips as he slides it down her shoulder.
Her hands grow bolder, dropping to the waist of his trousers, pulling at the ties holding them closed. Arturo groans when she does this, a plaintive, “Sí…” escaping from his lips at her neck.
He moves to her other shoulder to drop the other strap and feather thêm kisses on her shoulders and is momentarily distracted as her hands succeed in opening his trousers.
Arturo sits back, pulling Guinevere up with him so she is sitting. He slides her chemise down, removing it from her body, his eyes drinking her in as he does so.
“Ay, dios mío,” he whispers. “Mi belleza, mi corazón,” he continues as he stares in awe at her naked form lying back on the bed, waiting for him, wanting him.
He removes his trousers, tossing them carelessly aside as he prowls up over her body, running his hands along the soft contours of her torso as he goes, making her moan with want.
“Arturo…” she says breathlessly, “touch me…”
No sooner had she spoken the words than his hand is covering her breast, his rough palm sweet torment against her erect nipple, and she cries out softly.
“Me toque,” he rumbles, guiding her hand down, holding it gently as it glides down his chest and across his stomach before she rotates her wrist to grasp him softly in her hand, her small fingers closing around his stiff member.
“Ay... sí…” he groans, sliding one of his own hands down to touch her.
“Ay... sí…” she echoes unthinkingly, her head rolling on the cái gối, gối as his fingers slide against her moist warmth, driving her mad with the need of him.
Arturo leans down and kisses her again, sucking and nibbling her lips while her hand moves slowly along his length. His head is spinning as he kisses a path down to her breasts, taking one into his mouth, his tongue teasing the stiff nipple even harder.
“Arturo…” she gasps, “please. Por favor…”
“Te adoro,” he whispers against her breasts as he moves fully over her, positioning himself at her waiting thighs. He places an ardent Kiss on her lips as he enters her, smoothly and swiftly, and his Kiss swallows the gasp of pleasure that wants to spring from Guinevere’s lips.
He moves over her, within her, sliding in and out, his hands at her hips, holding her. He releases her hips and skims his hands up to hold her breasts, squeezing lightly, thumbs flicking across her nipples.
Guinevere writhes beneath him, meeting his thrusts with her hips, her hands grasping at the bedclothes as she gasps and pants, breathless and mindless.
He leans over her and steals a series of kisses, not able to get enough of her lips. She reaches up and holds his neck, keeping his face close to her, wanting his proximity. Needing his proximity.
“More…” she breathes. How do I tell him what I want?
He looks at her. “¿Más?” he asks, hoping he’s understood.
“Sí,” she answers, and he increases his thrusts, moving faster, thêm forcefully. “Oh, sí!” she exclaims, arching her back, pressing her breasts into his chest.
Guinevere feels the building, her body tingling and quivering as it heads towards her climax, looming before her like a great hot sun threatening to burn her to ash. Arturo watches her, watches her face as her eyelids flutter and her lips part and her nostrils flare and beautiful sweet cries come forth from her throat.
“Oh! Yes… oh…” she cries out, her body jerking beneath his as the ngọn lửa, chữa cháy spreads from her groin to the tips of her fingers and toes in a great swell, and her hands grip his broad shoulders, her head tossing to the side.
Arturo’s release follows immediately. Watching her unravel beneath him has been his undoing as well and he comes with a mighty growl and thrust, pushing deep within her, his entire body a coiled spring as his manhood pulses inside her.
xxx
“Vuelve a España conmigo,” he says as he holds her in his arms, caressing her back.
“Spain?” she asks, turning to look up at him.
“Sí,” he nods.
“With… you?”
“Conmigo,” he points to his own chest, nodding.
She bites her lower lip. Is he serious?
“Mi corazón es tuyo, si ustedes tendrán que.”
She furrows her brow. Something about his heart.
He sits up, looking at her intensely. “Mi,” he says, pointing to himself. She nods. “Corazón,” he takes her hand and places it over his heart. “Es tuyo,” he motions with his hands as if he is giving her something.
“Oh,” Guinevere says, breathing heavily, her eyes wide. Her hand is still resting on his heart, and she can feel it pounding, waiting for her answer.
Is this insanity? He basically just told me he loves me. Do I run away to Spain with him? Do I tình yêu him? How do I know that it’s not purely just a physical attraction?
Guinevere closes her eyes, her hand still on his chest. When she opens them, he is still gazing intently at her. She removes her hand and picks up his, placing it over her heart. “My heart,” she says, patting the back of his hand lightly, “is yours.” She touches her finger to his chest.
She hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath until he starts breathing again. Arturo suddenly pulls her into his arms, kissing her fiercely, possessively. Now that he has her, he is never letting her go.
She pulls back gently, cuddling into his arms as he lays them back down onto her bed. Yes. I do tình yêu him.
“What of Lord Merlín?” she asks suddenly. I would feel terrible if he meant to abandon his master for me. The lord needs him.
Arturo smiles warmly, understanding what she is asking. “No será una problema,” he says with a wave of his hand.
I understood that one, she thinks, but she isn’t convinced, so she gives him a puzzled look.
“Venir,” he says, climbing from the giường and pulling his trousers on. He hands her the chemise, indicating that she should dress.
“Where are we going?” she asks, slipping it on. He puts his áo sơ mi on and hands her the dressing gown.
“Vamos a ver el jefe.”
xxx
“Arturo? Is something wrong?” Lord Merlín asks, opening the door to his chambers. Then he notices Arturo’s arm wrapped protectively around Guinevere’s shoulders. “Aha.” He stands aside and lets the couple in.
“Jefe, quiero Guenevéra para volver a España con nosotros.”
“He wants bạn to come to Spain,” Merlín translates.
“I figured that much out, yes,” she nods.
“Is this what bạn want as well, Guinevere?”
She looks at Arturo. Her pulse quickens. Her loins ache. Truly I cannot picture myself apart from him. The thought of being here alone, without his presence, leaves me bereft. “Yes,” she nods, turning back to the lord. She reaches for Arturo’s hand.
“No quiero causar ua problema para ella, la Elisabeta Reina, o nuestros dos países,” Arturo says, his voice sincere.
“He doesn’t want to make trouble for bạn hoặc our kingdoms bởi taking bạn away.”
She nods. “The Queen will understand. She has other ladies-in-waiting.”
Merlín relays this to Arturo, who smiles.
“You do know we were planning on leaving in the morning, do bạn not?” Merlín asks her.
“No, I was unaware.”
“Can bạn be ready?”
“Ella no necesita traer nada. Le dare todo lo que desea.”
Merlín sighs. “¿Realmente quiere que le cuente que?”
“Sí,” he nods.
“Ella necesitará algunas prendas de vestir, obviamente,” Merlín reminds him.
Arturo grins wickedly and Merlín rolls his eyes. “Ay, Díos,” he says to the ceiling. “Guienvere, if bạn can be ready bởi first light, I would be happy to have bạn accompany us back to Spain. bạn only need pack some các bài viết of clothing and anything bạn hold most dear. Arturo assures me that he will give bạn anything else bạn desire.”
“Thank you, Lord Merlín,” she says softly.
“¿Usted está seguro de esto, Arturo? Usted apenas han cumplido su.” Merlín says to his bodyguard.
“Sí, Jefe. Yo nunca he tenida más certeza de nada.”
“What is he saying?” she asks.
“Sorry, my lady, I was simply asking him if he was certain that this is what he wants. I apologize if this offends you, but he is my friend as well as my protector.”
She nods, having suspected this about their relationship. “And?”
“He says he has never been thêm certain about anything. And what of you, if I may ask?”
“Yes. I… I do not want to be apart from him.”
Merlín relays this to Arturo, who smiles broadly and pulls Guinevere into his arms again, kissing her passionately, boldly doing so right in front of his master.
Merlín tactfully looks away, smiling knowingly to himself. Good.
xxxxxxxx
Spanish phrases, in order spoken:
My tim, trái tim beats only for you, my queen.
A beautiful rose for a beautiful rose.
I long to touch your beautiful skin.
bạn haunt my dreams.
Your eyes burn into my soul.
My tim, trái tim beats only for you, my queen.
Pardon me, sweetheart.
Your beauty makes me weak.
You’re welcome, sweetheart.
Until we meet again, my queen.
How do bạn say it?
Be mine tonight, my love.
Someone is coming.
Where is it?
My love.
Oh, my God.
My beauty, my heart.
Touch me.
I adore you.
Come back to Spain with me.
My tim, trái tim is yours, if bạn will have it.
It will not be a problem.
Come.
We are going to see the boss.
I want Guinevere to return to Spain with us.
I do not wish to cause a problem for her, Queen Elizabeth, hoặc our two countries.
She does not need to bring anything. I will give her anything she desires.
Do bạn really want me to tell her that?
She will need some clothing, obviously.
Oh, God.
bạn are sure about this, Arthur? bạn have only just met her.
I have never been thêm certain of anything.
This chapter’s song is “Cuando calienta el sol.” It is a standard, done bởi many different artists. I recommend Nancy Sinatra’s version, as her interpretation most closely evokes the longing I was trying to convey between Arturo and Guinevere.
Part 4: link
