Page 26 of Howl for the Gargoyle

This. Me. Relief.

Her head tilted to the side as I dipped mine down, and I nosed past her long thick hair to suck on her throat. She shuddered, shrinking into the door, and I noted that the spot responded but it wasn't entirely positive. I moved my mouth up to her earlobe and she softened, driving down onto my fingers, stroking me through my pants. Much better. Her dress was still resting on her shoulders, hanging open and trailing against the floor. She smelled freshly washed, and her hair was cool and slightly damp from a recent shower.

The taste of her skin reminded me of cloves.

Hannah's head turned, nose bumping mine, our lips sliding together. Her hands pushed the pants down my hips, and any temptation to tease her slid away as I considered that tight, almost pained expression on her face. I reached behind the curtain of cool black silk and lifted her by the backs of her thighs, her legs bracketing my bare hips. She drew away from the kiss, head resting against the door, and her eyes fell shut on a sigh as I rocked my length into her. The tension loosened, her lips parting and jaw unclenching.

She could've rushed at me, tackled me to the floor, fucked me there like the tool I was meant to serve her as, as I'd served so many others. She hadn't, not even when I seemed to be the solution to whatever was troubling her.

Her eyes blinked open as the dense curls over my pubic bone pressed against her.

"Fuck me," she murmured. A frown etched into her face, a slight purse of her lips, and she added, "Please."

As if it were even necessary to be polite.

I obeyed, hypnotized by her reactions—the gasp and groan as I ground against her, the absent gaze that slid over my shoulder and then up to the ceiling as I thrust in and out of her, the clutch of her fingers at the base of my wing roots, and the ache that spiked down to my balls in response. She sagged into me, my arms sliding around her waist to hold her close, her tension diffusing into a soft and supple relaxation. Her lips started to curve up, sighs catching and eyes widening as friction and relief turned to pleasure.

Would she let me fuck her until I came too, this time? I wondered, speeding up slightly at the idea. I hadn't come since our last appointment, and while that was normal for me, the potential was too exciting not to anticipate. Would she flutter and flood on my cock again as I came? Let me turn into hard and impossibly sensitive stone?

"You're close," I said as she started to clutch my length inside of her, marveling at the way she didn't tense and scratch toward her release, but melted into the process.

"Yes, Raphael…there!"

"Rafe," I whispered, leaning in to suck at the corner of her jaw again.

She purred in my arms, arched her back, and scraped firm nipples against mine, gasping as the tight beaded flesh on my chest scratched her skin. "Mmm…Rafe!"

It was a breathy exclamation, a private plea, and then she moaned for me, unable now to stay relaxed as she rode my length, soaking and squeezing on it as she came. A pride I hadn't felt in my work in months, or longer, shone through me, and I hitched her against me, shifting the angle, remembering exactly how to drag inside of her, extending her shivers and cries into a second wave to crash over the first.

Her chest went still, breath stolen, eyes unseeing and pointed up toward the ceiling so she couldn't see my triumphant grin. There. That was not a utilitarian orgasm. She stiffened and tightened on me, her hands echoing the grip around my wings hard enough to make me grunt.

Hannah liked to kiss in the aftermath of an orgasm, a detail I remembered from our last appointment. Her tongue licked and stroked against mine as she relaxed and drooped in my arms again, and I answered the touch, adding in little nibbles to her lips. I'd take her to the cushioned sex bench in the living room—I was glad they'd kept that detail in this apartment—and wind her up all over again. We'd finished our last appointment together with tired bodies and lazy smiles. I wanted to finish this one with her all but crawling out the door, unable to return to whatever had left her so tight and stressed again.

Except when we pulled away to catch our breath, I found not a slow and sated smile on her lips but a wrinkling of her nose.

"Something's burning."

"Fuck," I muttered, not thinking straight as I drew out of her, a sudden clumsy scramble of grunts, hisses, and flailing limbs as I rushed for the kitchen. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," I called back to her, running for the thin trail of smoke.

She huffed, but it sounded more like amusement than anger, and her own footsteps were following soon too.

"I…forgot I was making you dinner," I said, scowling at the ruined filets in the pan.

My attention was briefly diverted as Hannah appeared, tying her dress closed, one breast still visible for a moment. I yelped as my hand grabbed the hot handle of the pan, and it rattled on the burner.

"I'll send up for new filets," I said as Hannah frowned at the sight. "It won't take long."

Except she didn't look amused or relieved, just tense again, rearing back slightly. Her gaze flicked to mine, oddly wary, and I wanted to explain that I really was a good cook, but I was just distracted by…her, and anyway she'd needed fast—

"I'm a vegetarian," she said softly.

I blinked at her for a moment, and then I ignored the scalding heat of the pan handle as I lifted it from the burner, yanking open the drawer for the garbage and dumping the scorched meat into the bag without a word.

Hannah barked out a sound of surprise, and we both jumped as I tossed the pan back onto the stove.

Fuck. I should've known she didn't eat meat. MSA would know, and if I'd even thought to look at her file before calling in for the food—

"I've never met a werewolf who was a vegetarian."

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