This was no Accident

He was helpless, so painfully helpless.

He could do nothing but tilt his head back and gasp out as she rubbed her cunt against his shaft, torturing him with it's nearness, with how wet it was.

Part of him hated that he was this wet and he wasn't doing anything to her, that he had no control, that he was forced to lie here and take it.

"Are you ready?"

He heard her whisper and couldn't understand the question. He didn't get a chance to answer because she stole the breath from him while she slid herself onto him slowly. He was completely enveloped in her, her body matching his with that damned perfect fit. Her cunt was hot and tight and wet and it felt like forever before he was able to exhale against her chest.

She was paused for a moment and Lochlann was grateful, because this sudden use of his body was overwhelming. She was using him and Lochlann was prevented from winning the situation back with his usual tricks.

Her fingers were in his hair and Lochlann mouthed at her breast suddenly, flicking his tongue across the end before sucking on the end until it hardened in his mouth, and then he grazed it with his teeth.

His heart was hammering against his breastbone, fighting like a desperate animal trapped in a cage. Lochlann slid his free hand up her body, pawing at her other breast, taking in the parts of her that he could reach and lavishing attention on them.

Christ, she felt good.

He thrust up into her slowly, but he was at her mercy, knowing that she even controlled how hard and how deep he could thrust, but Lochlann wasn't trying to fuck her hard right now. He was just trying to pretend that she didn't fit him perfectly.

This was a slow, lazy fuck, the kind that Lochlann always imagined he would have with a woman on the beach if he wasn't destined to pull her under the water the moment they were finished.

And it was torture.

He made a small whimpering noise in the back of his throat as she rode him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. He was filling her and she was gripping him, taking all of it, and she was unrelenting.

He couldn't understand her laughter, which prompted his heart to start to race and the first time she'd done it, his hips and pressed up against hers in a harder thrust, although he had not willed his body to do this.

He was dizzy with the need to feel her cum on him and powerless to give her that gift. She would take it from him or she wouldn't, but Lochlann didn't have that option. He needed her to. He needed her to or he was going to lose it.

The slow movements of rocking into her and having her descend upon him reminded him of the ocean and again, he made a small noise in the back of his throat, but this time the meaning was clear.

He was helpless.

She was asking him her name and Lochlann gasped, exhaling on her chest, kissing at the space between her neck, her collarbone, wherever he could reach.

He didn't want to say it, he wanted to protest it just like she had protested him, so he used his free hand to pull her breasts together and take them both into his mouth at once.

He lashed them with his tongue and teeth, sucking until they were bright red and gleaming with his saliva, and then he tilted his head back and tried to fuck her instead of being fucked, straining against the bed as much as he could to try and change the angle of penetration.

"I will tell you," he panted, surprised by how weak his voice sounded. "If you come on me."

Lochlann hated how much he loved this.

He hated how this perfect fit, the perfect way every thrust filled her and every movement of her hips pulled pleasure from deep within him, like a gardener ripping weeds.

He was dizzy with what she was doing to him, fucking him, riding him, kissing him. When her lips found his, Lochlann kissed her back hungrily, pressing his free hand to the small of her back.

The gesture said, Mine.

He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth up her arms, her shoulder, burying his face in her neck. He squeezed her tightly to him, with as much strength as he was able, while his tongue traced the bruises on her throat.

Then, his eyes were locked with hers again and she was taking making him hers and he could feel her body responding to his. Her hips were tensing, and his breathing quickened in response, and Lochlann slid his free hand down to clasp her butt and guide her against his shaft, forcing the pressure inside her.

"Guinevere," he whispered, and then he kissed her and whispered her name into his mouth. "Guin."

He'd asked her to do this for him, asked her to give him that part of herself so he could take her over the edge and he would latch onto it to fall over the edge with her. But now, their roles reversed, Lochlann found himself yielding to her.

He was panting, straining, driven mad by what she was doing to him, tortured by his inability to fully explore her.

"Guin," he said and he kissed her again, a raw, scathing kiss that would burn her like boiling water. He wanted. He needed.

Guin.

He was shaking.

Lochlann squeezed her while she moaned into his mouth, running his free hand down her hair, enjoying the arch of her back and the press of her body against his while her tight cunt squeezed him.

She held his gaze and he couldn't look away, even when she pulled his body to her and he kissed her underside of her chin. For a moment, Lochlann changed the angle to hold her juglar between his teeth, but he never bit down, just flicked his tongue over it and kissed back up to her mouth.

Her fingers were in his hair, cold and soothing like the current at the underside of a lake. Lochlann's breathing was still heavy and every one in a while, he realized he was mouthing her name.

He hated this.

How the hell could she do this to him?

Did she know that every time she did this, every time she showed gave this to him, that she was destroying him?

He felt exposed and raw, like she was seeing past the part of him that was a cabyll-ushtey, past the part of him that was a man, and at the part of him that was just...Lochlann.

She squeezed him tight and Lochlann's grip mirrored hers. He nuzzled her chest and traced small, lazy patterns on her back. Everywhere her fingers touched dragged electricity through him. His cock was still in her possession and Lochlann stirred lazily, but the sensation was too much and he gasped and clutched her tighter again.

His body was trembling. He was exhausted but unwilling to quit and when she looked at him and drug her nails through his hair, Lochlann exhaled and tilted his head back, barring his throat to her.

Her question caught him off guard and it took a moment for him to process it through the slow, aching feel of her body still claiming him.

"Hnnnnn," was all he responded with at first.

Did he want to come?

He wanted her.

The thought scared him and he realized for the first time that he was trembling, his breath still coming in pants, and he couldn't tell how much of it was from the intensity, how much of it was from just waking up for the first time in days, and how much of it was because Guinevere Haze was asking him if he wanted to come.

He was helpless, literally and figuratively entwined with her. His fingers were splayed across her back and while they were holding Guinevere to him, it was more like gripping onto a life line.

Did he want to come?

Lochlann wasn't sure what that entailed and the through horrified him. He couldn't stop thinking about the last time, when he'd come with her at the same time, the look in her eyes when he broke and she was breaking and in that moment they where sharing that pleasure. Was he willing to risk having that moment and what it meant?

He was not sure if he wanted to play this game, but Lochlann didn't have a choice.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice breathless. And then, he stirred his hips, moving into her again, and his voice was more certain. "Yes."

When she moved away, Lochlann was ashamed of the small sound of protest that escaped from his lips. Didn't he want this? Didn't he want her to stop?

But he never wanted her to stop, he just didn't want this here, and now that she'd started he was in too deep to stop.

When her back was pressed up against his chest, Lochlann trailed hungry kisses down her neck and his free hand was back on her breast.

Every motion of her hips was torment, but every motion of her hips was heaven. He didn't know he could want something and hate something so badly. He tried to meet each long stroke with a thrust, but she was all but controlling him and each movement was a wordless victory for Guinevere Haze.

"Lochlann...fuuuck, god..."

"Yes," he whispered, because he understood. He understood how agonizingly delicious this was, how he wanted to come but at the same time never wanted this to stop.

When she positioned her legs, Lochlann sat forward slightly, sliding his hand from her breast and down her torso, finally finding her legs. He spread them further, pulling one to the side, and it would have been a more impressive gesture of dominance if he'd had both hands. Instead, it seemed more like he was begging.

This is how he'd wanted to take her in the shower, when she'd taken him in her mouth instead. He'd wanted to fuck her just like this, with the water streaming down her breasts and hitting her clit hard.

Instead, Lochlann trailed his hand up and down her body and then settled it on her clit,rubbing it between his index and pointer finger and mimicking the motion of their thrusts.

He loved the feel of her face up against his, loved the stuccato of noises of their flesh hitting together, loved every uncomfortable moment.

When she nudged his face, he nudged her back, planting a kiss on her lips, but only for a moment because his breathing was strained and ragged. The handcuff chain clinked gently in time to her thrusts.

"Is this okay?"

Lochlann misunderstood her. He didn't know she was asking about the pain that he was ignoring, because he couldn't focus on anything besides the pain of her body taking him again and again, using him, and how badly this fuck hurt him because he could do nothing else besides take it.

"It's torture," he admitted. "But I don't want it to stop."

He didn't realize he'd said the last part, because Lochlann could not imagine letting Guinever Haze know she was winning so easily.

He tried to keep her pace by matching his movements with hers. His stamina was the only thing allowing him to keep up, because Guin had consumed him.

He thrust and jerked against her, straining so hard against the cuffs that his wrist started to bleed again, because Lochlann needed to hold her to finish her. He couldn't stand this, he couldn't take the way she was taking him.

He was gasping and his dark hair was drenched with sweat.

"I want you to feel my body burned on yours for days,"

"I can never forget," he said, and then he moaned because she'd said his name. Her mouth silenced him and he kissed her hungrily, delving into her mouth and sucking her tongue greedily. He had to break their kiss to tilt his head back, because he was feeling her body start to respond and Lochlann was concentrating. His fingers kept their even tempo, playing her like an instrument, wanting to hear the chord of her voice breaking.


"Come in me, Lochlann,"

She owned him, so he would have came even if she told him in English, but the Welsh caught him offguard. The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Lochlann was giving out a surprised cry, grasping her tightly to him.

His cock spurted hard and twitched within her while her cunt milked him.His pulse was hammering in his ears and his head was swimming. His vision had started to tunnel from the intensity, and he knew the pain would be returning soon.

But right now, there was nothing but the feel of her body and his.

It scared him how long his orgasm lasted, and he was embarrassed by how he had filled her so greedily. As his vision leveled back out, Guinevere turned to him and Lochlann hugged her. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her back, but his grip was tight and he was shaking again.

What had she done to him? Why was she able to do this to him?

And, just as importantly, when did she learn to speak Welsh?

His breathing never calmed completely,just became less intense, and after a serious of long shallow pants he managed to summarize all of his thoughts with two words.

"Christ, Guin."

It was taking Lochlann a long, long time to come down from this high.

Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was the woman in his arms. Maybe there wasn't a difference between the two of them.

His body had relaxed completely and though he was still holding Guin, his grip was more comfortable now. He still trembled, but it was less intense, and her fingers on his skin were lulling him further into a state of relaxation.

He wanted to run, but he couldn't go anywhere like this.

The ache in his side was pronounced again and he was still feverish, but since he'd been worked the edge was taken off all of his movements.

She was asking him what, and he realized he didn't know how to explain. Lochlann rested his head atop hers and closed his eyes, breathing her scent in and making sure he had it memorized. Of course, he'd never forgotten.

"How am I supposed to sleep without dreaming of you?" he whispered. He nibbled on her neck. It was an affectionate gesture that he stopped as soon as he realized he was doing it, because it was familiar, and he couldn't decipher whether or not it was a good thing that he'd become familiar with Guinevere Haze.

Instead, he closed his eyes and held her while he ached. He didn't try to run.

"I don't know what you want from me, Guin."

Lochlann's head lulled against hers, and then the pillow again. He was quiet for such a time that it might have been easy to assume that he was asleep, if it wasn't for the uneven tempo of his ragged breathing.

His hand was still on her, anchoring her to him, but he knew how tenuous it was. At any moment, she was going to leave him, and he would be alone once more.

He was hers. He belonged to her.

He could not escape the reality that she owned him. Her face was buried into the sensitive spot on his shoulder and neck, and her breath against it drew goosebumps up his fevered arms.

"But to what ends?" he whispered. He was exhausted, he was aching, and he hated that, if she laid here like this with her breasts pushing up against his chest and her cunt still resting against him, that Lochlann would be hard again soon.

He tried to think nonsexual thoughts.

He tried to think about anything else besides Guinevere Haze shooting him. Was that was this was? A wish granted to a dying man? He was uncertain, but he knew that every time he'd slept with her, something horrible happened to him afterwards.

"When did you learn to speak Welsh?" he asked her. "Your accent is immaculate."

"I know everything,"

If it where anyone else, Lochlann might take this as a joke, but he couldn't with Guinevere Haze.

Her existence had been a puzzle to him. She was ike a ghost, there were so few records of her, and what did exist was standard and boring. Guin is a straight-A student. Guin achieves academically. Guin has a bright future.

Only none of the evaluations had called her Guin.

What where the chances that she did know everything? Lochlann could not think of a single moment where she'd caught him off guard. The only thing that had surprised him was that day in the coffeeshop, when she'd told him that their night together had been her first time, but she was so skilled at it that Lochlann could hardly believe it.

If Guinevere was what Lochlann suspected she was, he was in a whole lot of trouble.

His mother warned him never to sleep with demigods.

"You are mine," she repeated. "But you keep running."

His body started to tense beneath her, but didn't have the energy, and the only thing that was rigid about him was his cock, which started to perk back up in interest. But his heart had started to pick up and Lochlann made a slow noise in the back of his throat, pressing his hand to his side again.

This pain.

It made sense now.

Everything that happened to him physically had only gotten worse because of Guinevere Haze. He was doing fine until she took his amulet, shot him, fucked him, and haunted his every waking moment and even a few of his unwaking moments.

"I am yours," he repeated, and now he understood that he'd been worshipping her.

It was not uncommon for a god to sacrifice a man and a horse to their cause. Lochlann was both.

He swallowed, but his throat was dry, and he wondered if he was thinking about kissing her because he wanted to, or if she'd willed him to.

He couldn't run now, but he wanted to.

"Guinevere," he whispered her full name, testing the power in it, testing how his body responded just to the sound of it. Christ, what had she done to him?

"I run because I have no other option and," Lochlann said, pausing. "Because you shot me."

Lochlann worked with horses. His parents had gotten a small herd before he'd left. He knew how positive reinforcement worked: reward the behavior you want to see continue.

He did not think that Guinevere Haze was rewarding him with that kiss. Though he returned it gratefully, his tongue hungry for hers, her soft moans coaxing his hunger for her back to the surface.

Yes, she owned him.

He was weak, though, and when she pulled away Lochlann wanted to close the distance between their lips again but he couldn't. Without the bed to hold him up, he'd have collapsed long ago.

Her words stung him like a jellyfish, unexpected tendrils brushing across him and burning him long after the impact.

She was gone again. This Guin, the cold one, was back.

"I didn't ruin your life, Lochlann Cabyll-Ushtey. You've been running since before I ever touched you. You ran away the very day I met you."

He'd wanted to kill her, and the feeling was no different than the one blossoming in him now. She was warm and naked and supple. He could imagine what she tasted like, and he longed to have her under the water and in his mouth. He wanted to feel her come as waves crashed over them.

"You have been drinking alcohol long before I shot you. You've murdered and drowned and fucked everyone you can get your hands on. And you can say it's because of the amulet, but you have no excuse." She enhaled sharply. "You haven't killed me."

His dark brows furrowed at this, and the corners of his lips tugged downward into something not quite a frown and not quite a grimace. His breathing was still ragged and uneven and he was struggling to put this together.

What did this have to do with running?

"I want to kill you," Lochlann said.

His voice sounded cold when he said it. It was bitter and icy, like dipping your toes into a November lake, and he couldn't believe that the words came from his mouth.

But it was the truth, the truth he'd been fighting for two years now.

He thought he was done pretending to be anything other than a monster, but Guin made him feel so human it was easy to forget what he was.

He whispered, "I still do."

He could not recognize the irony of the situation: the woman he'd been trying to kill, who'd almost killed him multiple times, was the one thing keeping him alive.

Instinctively, his hand reached to where his jacket would have been if he were anywhere else, but it was gone, and so was his flask. He tugged at the chains again and hissed at the protest from his wrist.

"Do you want to know how I'd do it, Guin? Or would you like a god damn demonstration, because that's exactly what would happen if I didn't run."