Page 16 of Howl for the Gargoyle

He turned to face me, and I reminded myself to get it together and quit gawking at his magnificence like a teenage girl in front of her celebrity crush.

"Werewolves and vampires are…set apart from other species. Gargoyles are gargoyles. We were never human. Same with orcs and fae and all sorts of others. We're raised navigating the diplomacy between species, and it helps to know as much as you can. Humans…haven't quite gotten there yet," he said, shrugging before crossing to the bed. "So yeah, I know a fair amount about werewolves—strengths, weaknesses, how the full moon affects you."

He didn't point out the obvious; that I knew nothing about gargoyles.

I twisted, setting my glass down on a side table, and then rolled to my side. He stretched out next to me, long and perfect and new all over again. I tried not to stare at his dick, but I couldn't resist a glance.

"I always thought werewolves got a raw deal. Strength, sure. But then you only get to shift once a month, and it comes with all sorts of other bullshit," he said, waving a hand in the air. My eyebrows rose, and he froze. "I mean, I'm sure it's—"

"Fucking awful, you're right," I said softly, relieved to say so, to not be in a group therapy sharing circle where everyone always seemed to try and find some sort of positive. Before he could answer, I changed the subject. "I scratched you."

I reached out to the spot on his chest, a slightly raised and pink mark.

"It'll fade soon," he said, catching my hand in his, his thumb digging into the center of my palm and creating a surprisingly erotic warmth in my core.

"You're made of stone, but your skin responds to scratches?"

"Gargoyles are made as dense as stone, and when we shift our skin hardens to a similar texture as stone. But no. Obviously, if we were really made of stone, we wouldn't be walking, talking creatures," he said, shrugging and planting my palm over the scratch mark. "We wouldn't feel sensation. Which I do, of course."

I recalled his groan as I'd pulled on his hair and smiled, sliding my hand down his chest, over the stern cut of his muscles, to the perfect nest of tidy dark curls around the base of his cock. Raphael hummed as I pushed my fingers through, the heavy spirals resisting me harder than the waves on his head. His breath hitched, and his unflagging cock twitched.

"How do you cut your hair?" I asked, the idea popping unbidden into my head.

His eyes crinkled in the corners as he laughed. "Um, chisel. But like pretty much all things gargoyle, it grows really slowly. I haven't cut my hair in four years."

My eyebrows bounced. His hair hung a little long around his ears, that was all. My fingers circled his cock and I thought about his words, searching absently over the decorative design etched into rigid flesh.

"You didn't come, did you?"

He blinked at me, then shook his head. "Don't take it personally. Like I said, gargoyle physiology doesn't do anything quickly."

I nodded. It would be an advantage in his work too.

"Refractory period's not bad, though. We got lucky with that," he continued, eyelids growing lazy and tongue flicking out to wet his lips. I was still stroking him, his chest rising and falling at a slightly quicker place. I wasn't touching very firmly, just exploring, which meant he was sensitive.

Which meant I could hurt him. But sensation and damage were different, I supposed.

"Hannah," he whispered, flexing his hips forward into my grip.

I smiled and tightened my grip enough to be intentional, listening to the catch of his breath, finding my footing in the moment at last. I was still relaxed, sated for the moment, but it'd been such a long time since I'd had sex for more than necessity. Once was not enough.

I released Raphael, holding his stare as I stretched out on my back, and he followed in a liquid motion, a wave following my body onto shore. His wings stretched slightly, the sound of them like heavy vellum pages unfolding, and his face hovered over mine. Above him, our reflections glowed on the bed. I lifted my knees to frame his hips, watched the glide of my hands up his ribs and under his wings to map his back.

"I like the view," I admitted, aware of my own smile and surprised by the sight of it.

"So do I," Raphael murmured. "Grab a wing hook if I get too heavy."

And then he lowered down on top of me, stealing my breath with his cool weight, catching my bottom lip with his teeth, and reclaiming my attention from the mirrors above. His tongue traced my mouth, slipped in and out, teasing.

"I like the wine," he breathed.

I lifted my chin for another kiss and pulled his waist closer until he was just shy of crushing me. My mind went blank to everything but the feel of him, the bite of his hip bones in my thighs, the prick of his hard nipples against my breasts, the outrageous ridges of his back under my hands.

He barely moved at first, one arm sliding under my ass to position me for the gentle nuzzle of his cock against the lips of my sex. He was stunningly heavy on top of me, kissing me with nips and licks and delicate presses until my head was dizzy trying to predict what came next. When he started to glide between my thighs in earnest, rocking us together for pretty friction, I realized I didn't care. He could do what he wanted with me, as long as he didn't stop. My werewolf approved of all his methods.

"You should come this time," I gasped, pulling away from the kiss, finally setting my eyes on that view above again.

His ass dimpled as he thrusted gently, teasing my clit and getting those perfect carvings on his dick wet. I slid my hands down to memorize that clench with touch too.

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