Page 12 of Howl for the Gargoyle

"Now," I said, a little too breathless.

CHAPTER 5

Rafe

She was nervous, quiet. I'd filled the pauses with chatter at first, talking mindlessly, probably making things worse, but I'd managed to slow myself down since then.

Mostly listen, Elias's voice reminded me.

But there was nothing to listen to. She followed, watching me, and I waited for her to strike, to stop staring at my throat and my arms and to lunge, to help herself to what she'd paid for. Instead, she propped up the wall at the entrance to the glossy, overly decorated kitchen, and watched my arm flex as I cranked the corkscrew. She was attracted to me, at least. Subtleties may not have been my strong suit, but I knew how to read that much from a person.

The silence was starting to grow awkward, her eyes drifting down to study her own feet—never a good sign. I couldn't listen if we were both mute.

I considered a dozen things to say. Tell her she was beautiful—she was, all androgynous elegance and sly features. Ask her how she was feeling. Talk about the damn furniture again. None of the sensible options were what came out.

"What are you most nervous about?"

She looked up in a rush. Hannah. A breathy name, suited to whispered secrets.

And I went and bluntly spat out the most awkward thing I could think of.

"I…I've hurt men in the past. Not seriously, and it was always an accident," she hurried out. Her voice was warm, husky. "But I just…don't want to try this and find out I still can't control myself."

My clients booked me because they didn't want to control themselves. They wanted to be rough and merciless, without the guilt. And the secret of my work was that it did hurt. They couldn't break my skin, and it took a great deal of effort to bruise me or sprain my muscles. But there was no magical guard against the sensation. I could be hurt, but not harmed.

Her cheeks were pinking, high cheekbones turning away.

"Would you feel like it's safe to say that I know more about werewolves than you know about gargoyles?" I asked.

She startled, and I caught her attention again, her eyes narrowing and brow creasing slightly. "Ye-yes? Probably."

I poured us each a glass of wine, but she was out of reach and I was forming a plan. The glasses remained on the counter as I crossed the stone kitchen floor. She straightened against the doorframe as I neared, stiffening as I crowded closer, her eyes starting to glare. I stopped just inches away from her.

"Shove me," I said.

"What?"

She had a slight underbite that would suit her werewolf form and was more noticeable as she jutted her jaw out in defiance.

"Shove me," I repeated, more gently. She'd taken off her coat, revealing a sleeveless blouse and long, muscular, slim arms.

Test touch, retreat if she responds poorly.

I circled my hands around her arms loosely, stroked down their length, and watched her pupils bloom. A shiver rolled through her as I reached her wrists and drew them up to my chest, planting her palms there and then letting go.

"It's okay," I said, but I barely got the words out before her hands were pushing at my chest.

She grunted, but it was her back against the wall, not mine, and I didn't budge. She gasped and stared up at me, lips parted.

"Harder," I said, trying not to tease or to smile.

She frowned and shifted, planting her feet, palms incidentally stroking against my chest through my shirt. I liked the splay of her fingers on me, and it was a rare kind of power to watch one of my partners struggling against me, cheeks burning red with effort, body tense and strong yet unable to gain ground. I was supposed to let them win, not prove my own strength.

I covered the backs of her hands again and then slowly, tiny fractions of pressure at a time, allowed myself to be guided backwards. She was sagging by the time I stumbled into the wall at my back, glare dissolving into confusion as I let her shove me with hardly any effort on her part.

We stopped, my wings and back pressed to the mirror-tiled kitchen wall, her breaths panting and body crowded up against mine, eyes blinking as she studied me.

"You didn't come here to learn control," I said, holding those warm hands over my chest, fighting the urge to laugh as her eyes narrowed again. "You came to let go of it. You can push me around as much or as little as you want to. Just let me know."

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