Page 35 of Howl for the Gargoyle

"Good," she said, sighing on the word.

And then her hands were tugging my thick locks. I grinned at her as she forced me down, my knees bending obediently. I tugged on her pants and they fell cheerfully to the floor. She was wearing underwear this time, a flimsy lace shield, and she moaned as I burrowed my nose into the fabric.

"Don't tease me," she said, not because that was what I was doing, but because she wanted me to know she couldn't take it. Not for this first orgasm that she needed to soften the edge.

She smelled like her release, and I wondered if she'd had to take care of herself once already before she'd even left her home. I licked her through the lace, then used my thumb to pull it aside and take care of her the way she needed me to.

She came on my tongue three times, then once again on my cock, bent over the dinner table as we made the legs thump against the uneven cottage floor. There was a little line of sweat darkening the back of her tank top when the timer went off, and we ignored the beeping for another five minutes until I'd gotten her off for the fifth time. It was a good number, and I decided—bouncing on my toes to the oven as Hannah collapsed limply into a chair—that I would try to use it as a multiple for the appointment. Five orgasms, ten, twenty-five…fifty sounded especially nice, if she wouldn't try and kill me for it.

"Whatever you're thinking, wait until I've eaten first," she said, and I glanced over my shoulder to find her grinning too, shamelessly splayed on the chair, her brow shining and shirt askew and panties hanging shredded around her ankle.

"Of course," I said, although really, the lasagne needed to cool before we cut into it, and we'd need to do something while we waited, and—

Hannah growled and sat up in the chair. "Come here, Rafe."

I woke up in the night, stretched on the massive bed, and blinked up at the vague reflection over my head. The agency kept giving us mirrors over the beds, which wasn't actually standard but was fucking awesome, especially when Hannah really lost it while riding me. But she wasn't in the bed at the moment. I was all splayed out, relaxed, wrung dry twice in the night, and I lifted the watch on my wrist to find that it wasn't really night but it wasn't quite morning either.

And Hannah wasn't in the bed.

I rolled out of the tangled sheets, debated my pants, and then left them on the floor. Hannah was standing in the kitchen, illuminated by the LED glow of the fridge lamp, partially bent into the open door, eating cold vegetable lasagne with a fork. It would've been her third plate of the night, but she wasn't using a plate.

"Heathen," I said, and even the single word couldn't hide the giddy delight racing through me as I watched her.

"It's so fucking good," she mumbled through a mouthful, then paused just long enough to shoot a glare over my shoulder. "And I've got good reason to be hungry."

Which made it so much harder to ignore how fucking…happy I was right at this exact moment. I'd known after the second helping that Hannah approved of my recipe, not just because she kept saying so—and moaning and rolling her eyes up into her head and curling her toes like when I had her right on the edge—but also because she'd finished licking her plate and fingers and fork clean and then got down on the floor to lick me clean. And if you think it's hard to suck off a cock that's more or less made of stone and in no hurry to finish up the job, you'd be right, but she soldiered on in her gratitude.

"Fine, but it's straight back to bed with you when you're done. Tomorrow night's gonna be long, and you need your rest," I said, knowing I would take her back to bed and not let her rest till morning now.

Except she lost the flush in her cheeks as she straightened, and her eyes dropped down to the floor, and she looked almost sick.

"Hey—"

"I'm really nervous," she whispered.

I was already crossing over to her, and she shut the fridge door as I approached, leaving us in the gray dark of the edge of morning, right before the sun would cut through the horizon.

I opened my mouth to point out that she'd been through a full moon before, and I reached out to pull her into my chest. She slipped away before I could, washing the fork she'd used too thoroughly, dropping it in the dish strainer, sweeping crumbs off the table. Busywork and startlingly domestic, except there was something wrong with this picture, which was more important than what was right with it.

"I've never been with anyone else during a full moon," she said. "No one's…no one has seen me like that."

She'd made her way around the table, almost like she was using it as a shield between us. This was the part of my work with Hannah I wasn't trained to handle.

"I…haven't made up my mind about staying completely," she murmured.

"Stay," I said immediately, lurching around the corner of the table, sighing as she didn't move. "If you're really not ready to be seen, then I can leave for the full moon hours, but stay here. It'll be good for your werewolf to get some time to run, and MSA will monitor—"

Hannah's brow furrowed and her head shook. "How do you know all this? How do you know it'll be good for me to run and…" She trailed off and then blushed, and the answer lingered between us.

I might be the first person to see her as a werewolf, if she let me stay, but she wasn't the first werewolf I'd spent the full moon with. There was an oddly clammy feeling along with that, the thought of other werewolf clients brought into the room again.

Hannah just sighed, and a weary smile curled her lips. "Of course. That's…a relief, actually."

Which wiped away my worry. "Is it?"

She nodded, and there was just enough light in the room for me to see the way her muscles melted out of their tension. She looked as though she were about to drop right to the floor, but I was already marching within reach, hauling her up against my chest and carrying her back to the bedroom.

"Didn't know I hired a werewolf expert and an expert fuck," Hannah said softly.

---