Page 15 of Howl for the Gargoyle

The city glowed outside, night settling in and leaving the world a dark glitter, the cut gem of illuminated windows. Raphael looked even better in this light, shadows highlighting all the heavy definition of his muscles. I planted my hands on the chest I literally could not stop touching, and glared down at that cheerful grin.

He was stupidly beautiful and so at ease in this moment that I'd found so terrifying and vulnerable. Did I want to erase that smile or take a photo of it like a souvenir?

"Does this hurt your wings?" I asked. I had too many questions, and I was too impatient to ask most of them. But this one mattered to me.

He shook his head, smooth hands stroking my sides. His hands were huge, wrapping around my hips until his thumbs pressed over my pubic bone, just shy of slipping down to my clit. I hoped they would.

"This is fine," he said, just a hint of mocking in his tone. He lifted me up with too much ease, and the rub of his cock inside of me made me shudder. "Take what you came for."

My face heated at the words, the blatant invitation, the obvious reminder that this was an appointment for fucking and I didn't need to worry about his feelings.

You can't harm him.

I didn't want to. I wouldn't. I just—

We both groaned as I sank down again. Stone curls. Stone fucking curls on his pubic bone. I ground in place, and he hummed and sighed, chest rising and falling under my palms. It felt good to him, or he was good at pretending. Either way, it felt fucking fantastic to me. His skin was smooth, and the curls were dense and resistant without being painful, more like silicone than stone. I stayed in place for a selfishly long time, and he didn’t grab at me and force me into motion.

Finally, it clicked.

This was for me. He was here, willingly for me. I didn't know if it was part of the act but he even seemed to be enjoying himself.

Take what you want.

So I did. I bounced on his length, gasping with every stroke inside of me, with every circle of my clit over those thick and heavy pubic curls at his base, that had just enough give to keep from bruising my tenderest flesh. His hands helped me make a rough rhythm of the movement. Up, down, grind. Up, down, grind. Our breaths chorused with the motion, his grin ever present. I scratched at his chest with every rub of friction between our bodies, my eyes growing heavy, my entire focus on the burn of my thighs and the heat where we met.

The piece of furniture we were on started to move. It was subtle at first, a little shift, a squeak of a leg against the floor, and then more obvious the harder I fell into this gargoyle, the more determined I got as I thrust against his hips. We were scooting across the floor, the thump and scratch laughable if not for the urgency.

Knees braced behind my back, and then Raphael was bucking up to meet me, the impact heavy, shooting out to my toes and up into my head.

"Fuck!" I grabbed his shoulder and drew him in, gasping as his mouth found my breast through lace, sucking roughly with lips firm enough to pinch.

He released me, and I closed my eyes against the stare he offered up. "That's it. That's it, fucking take it."

I clapped a hand over his mouth, and he laughed but fell silent. I didn't need encouragement, I just needed this—this motion and pressure and the rough and almost stinging clap of skin to skin where we met at our cores. His mouth was cool and wet against my palm, tongue licking in a circle that had a curious and incredible effect on my insides. I slid two fingers into his mouth and we both groaned as he sucked them eagerly.

I almost fell still, staring at him, marveling. He was so pretty like this, eyes half-lidded and mouth pursed obediently around my fingers. He took over the work of our fucking, and I let my breaths hiccup and gasp, the cord stretch between his tongue teasing me and his cock filling me.

My free hand slid into his hair, curious and testing, and his curls were thick and hard to comb through, heavy in my touch. He groaned as I pulled on them, eyes slipping shut, and the sound slid through me, a warning flutter in my core.

I drew my fingers from his lips and then slipped them between us, working my clit and falling forward into Raphael's chest as the first shudder of pleasure crumpled my strength. His mouth found mine, tongue stroking in, a soothing contrast to the fever of the rising release. I clutched the back of his head, and one of his hands joined mine between us, picking up my work when the wave hit, making it suspend and carry me as I cried out. My legs and arms tangled around him, my body surging, fighting the pleasure at the same moment I tried to grab it tighter, make it permanent.

Lips trailed over my jaw and down my throat as the strength bled away with the storm, leaving only a drowsy and soft relief behind, tickling warmth racing through my veins. Leathery wings blocked out the light of the city, blanketing me as the room turned, as soft fabric brushed against my back. Raphael was still thrusting, shallowly and slowly, and I bit my lip when his touch grew to be too much, pulling his hand away.

He stilled, above me again, and my head cleared slowly. He wasn't grinning now, but I thought there was still a hint of humor in those eyes.

"Feel better?" he asked.

I grunted, but I wasn't going to deny that he was right. All the simmering irritation from less than an hour ago was now brushed away. I hadn't been this relaxed since…since before I'd been bitten.

I ignored the surprise on his face as I pulled him down, kissing that absurdly perfect mouth, brushing my nose against his.

"Bring me the wine," I said.

The bedroom was full of candles, and Raphael took the time to light them all as I settled on the bed and drank my glass of Cabernet Franc and enjoyed the view. He hadn't dressed, his cock was still mostly erect, and his ass was a goddamn masterpiece, only slightly curtained by his folded wings. I'd been a little turned off by the idea of a mirrored ceiling at first glance, but now I was considering the advantage of being able to watch that ass as Raphael thrust into me, and the concept was promising.

I stirred, shifting against the bed, letting the embroidered coverlet brush against sensitive skin.

"You said you know more about werewolves than I know about gargoyles," I said as he blew out the match between his fingertips—burnt down farther than any human might be able to stand.

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