Page 13 of Howl for the Gargoyle

She pushed once more and stared as my head thunked back, the sound of stone against glass muffled by my thick hair.

"And you play along?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Whatever you want, Hannah."

Was I imagining the pressure of her leaning in, or was it there, a brush of her hips against mine? She was tall, and the fit of us was easy, tempting.

Her lips pursed and her gaze trailed over my shoulder as she thought. I circled the backs of her hands with the tips of my index fingers. She frowned, and I wondered if I'd miscalculated, failed in seduction and lost myself another client.

"Whatever I want," she repeated, the words low and silky.

Sharp pricks nicked at my chest, and I glanced down from her face to her hands, watching black claws extend from under her close clipped nails. I laughed as they caught in the fabric of my shirt, scratching through to my skin, and the sound was a warning whistle of friction. There was a challenge in her stare when I looked back up, but only because she didn't understand. She thought I'd draw a line here?

I arched an eyebrow, and then my breath caught as those claws ran down my chest, through my shirt, shredding it open. The sound of her scratch was awful and exciting at the same time, abrasive and electrifying. She didn't even know yet how gentle she was with me.

Her gaze tried to fall to my chest, to assess the damage, and I caught her chin, holding it high, admiring the natural defiance in her stare.

"Let me look," she growled.

"You didn't hurt me."

"That's not why I want to look," she said, and her smile was crooked.

I laughed and released her, and those claws were more gentle as she pushed the ruined fabric out of her way and off my shoulders, yanking free the snaps around my wings. MSA had a special budget for my clothes because of how frequently they were torn off. She could shred as much as she wanted. Her claws had retracted, hands returned to human, and her fingers tickled against my skin, my stomach jumping and clenching under her touch. Her eyes hooded as she stared at me, at my chest. I had the strangest urge to stretch and pose for her.

I was used to playing the part of prey for my clients, but I'd never really felt cornered before, not like this. Not studied, as if this woman was planning a detailed attack rather than giving into uncontrollable lust.

"You're very beautiful."

The words stunned me. They were observational, quiet, and wholly unexpected. I opened my mouth—maybe to thank her or reply the same—but then her stare caught mine, brown eyes glowing with intent.

I braced myself, but her attack was slow, a liquid rise of her body, leaning into mine, silk fabric rubbing against my bare chest. She paused, nose to nose, but it wasn't hesitation. She was thinking, considering, watching me still. Who was seducing whom exactly? Because I was trapped, waiting for her to strike.

Anticipating the moment.

Caught off guard when it came, arrived just as I was at the edge of impatience.

Her lips pressed openly against mine, but it wasn't a kiss. I was glad I was made of stone and could hold my breath, could hide the stutter of my heartbeat in the solid cage of my chest. Our eyes slashed back and forth against one another, fencing gazes.

She's waiting? She's teasing, I thought.

And then dark lashes shuttered her stare. The brush of her mouth was a caress, and I opened my lips to her at the faintest urging. Warm hands stroked up to my shoulders in time with the hot tongue sliding in. She growled and retreated at the first touch of my cooler mouth, and then she was back, forceful and hungry, slick and searching.

Kisses were rare in my work, usually served up as apologies, afterthoughts to a rough session. Requested from me as proof of absolution. Almost never the precursors to sex.

This woman tasted good, my own tongue growing brave and needy too. Her arms were strong as they wrapped around my neck, stealing me closer. My shirt was tangled around my arms, buttons still holding at my waistband, and her fingers slipped under cotton to grip at my back, to stroke and explore.

She moaned, and the sound was rough, her hips pushing against mine, rocking slightly, begging. I grabbed her ass through thin pants, and then her legs were around my waist. She was slender and tight with muscle, and I stepped away from the wall, holding her wrapped around me as the kiss raged on.

I scratched my teeth over her bottom lip, and she gasped, pulling away, her face now above mine. I grinned up at her, her pupils blown black and irises now a brighter shade of amber. Her canines were slightly larger and sharper now, a little slip from woman to werewolf showing in her arousal. She glared, one hand reaching for my jaw, grip commanding and pushing my head back further. My cock stirred in my pants, and my eyes widened slightly.

"You're right," she said, words rasping. "I came to fuck."

Yes, ma'am!

Her mouth slanted over mine, still holding me in place for the kiss, and she shivered as she tested a drag of sharp teeth against my firm lips, the friction surprising her. I realized I was waiting for her to shove me to the floor, or to throw me against the wall, and the moment wouldn’t come.

She came to fuck, Rafe. Get to it.

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