Page 54 of Howl for the Gargoyle

I ignored her at first. Werewolf or not, fucking stone for an hour would hurt her, and no matter how selfish it was to break code with MSA, to reach out to a client in her real life because she was—because I—

"Stone, Rafe," Hannah growled, and then she was gripping my sensitive wing roots with both hands, tugging me down against her back, yanking me somehow closer.

I shuddered, and the change was almost involuntary, her demand too powerful and too close to what I really wanted. I wanted to finish with Hannah every time. I wanted the pleasure she offered, no, ordered from me, and I wanted to give her the satisfaction she seemed to find when I came.

"Fuck," I gasped out. "Fuck, Hannah, you burn me."

She blinked, confused by the words, but I didn't stop moving, didn't stop driving myself inside of her, wrapping her around me completely. I missed her legs around my waist, her arms holding me to her chest, but her back was warm through my shirt.

I buried my face in her hair, braced one hand on the counter when I was afraid I would be too rough with her breasts. I tried to hold my hand still against her slick lips and let her work herself against them, but I was trembling with tension.

Her voice broke with every thrust, but I knew the sound she made when I got a little too rough, and these brief, bright cries were only praise to my ears.

"Do you know how hard it is not to book you every week?" Hannah whispered. "Every night."

And then before I could really think about how much I wanted that, Hannah came again, her grip on my wings brutal, even against the resistance of stone. I found her eyes in the mirror, wide and startled as she scorched liquid heat on my pumping cock.

"Come for me," she breathed.

And she didn't stop squeezing. I'd found the right spot inside of her, or the correct pressure on her clit, or it was the accumulation of the moment, the fix of our stares together, but Hannah was trapped in a loop of ecstasy, her throat flexing with her struggling breaths.

I had no business being so close to the edge, except that was what she'd asked of me, and my brain was starting to associate all of these little details—being in my natural form, being inside of Hannah, the grip and kiss and clutch of her cunt on my length as she came—with my own release.

"Come, Rafe," she gasped out.

I shouted as my body defied logic to do as I was told, my hand on the counter forgetting its strength, crunching marble in my fingers as I bucked wildly, the sudden snap of electric pleasure shocking me head to toe.

Hannah's hands slapped back to the counter, holding us up as my orgasm hit and I fell into her, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her hair as I trembled through the bolts and licks that followed the first explosion. Her breath was loud, with soft little moans on her exhales, and she rolled back into me, milking my cock with her echoes of her own release.

I would never tell her this, but she was so small in my arms, so fragile, it almost terrified me. She spent so much time being afraid of hurting me, but in reality, I could've crushed her in my grip. Instead, I searched for the perfect hold, the one that let her soften and sag and go limp against me as we caught our breath.

Every night.

I hid my grin in her hair, imagining how absurdly perfect it would be to just…be at Hannah's beck and call. Would she still want me to come every time. Would it be the rule? I didn't care if it wasn't—I wasn't sure I even cared if she never told me to finish again. Would she let me experiment with new vegetarian recipes? Make her dinner every night, let her use my body to unwind from the adrenaline high of being on stage?

I was drowsing in my fantasy when she started to move against me, to slide away, and my arms tightened briefly before my head cleared. I pulled back and hissed as Hannah dragged away from the exquisite fit of me inside of her. My arms loosened, almost dropping to my sides, but she was only turning to face me. Her hands held my jaw as she rose for the kiss, and in another moment we were tangled back together, arms around one another as we tasted and nibbled each other's lips.

Nightlight's bathrooms were pristine, but it was still a cold interior, and I wanted to roll and find a mattress to lay us down on, to keep kissing Hannah until we were either falling asleep or she was wiggling and searching for my cock at her opening again.

Behind us, the door handle jiggled, clicking as the lock held. Hannah stiffened and bit briefly at my bottom lip before pulling away, both of us turning to stare. The handle jerked again, but there was no knock, and it went silent as we held our breath.

Hannah sighed and swiped her hand through her hair, and her eyes were wide on mine. "I…wasn't expecting… Was that…?"

I grasped her face in my hand, pulled her in for a firm kiss, cutting off the question. That was selfish. That was us. That wasn't part of MSA. That was fucking fantastic.

She relaxed, and her eyes were slightly hooded as I pulled away again. We fixed our clothes, smiling at one another, and when she opened her mouth to speak again my heart rattled in my chest.

"I'll see you in less than a week," I said.

Because I was an idiot and afraid she would thank me or offer me money. Or worse, that she might invite me home with her, which I would absolutely say yes to and then probably lose my job—like Khell, but without the resumé and backup plan to cover my ass. Or even worse than that, that she wouldn't.

She blinked, but her smile didn't falter. "Six days."

She was counting the days.

"Six days," I echoed, itching to reach for her again, pull her into my chest, wrap my wings around her, and pretend we were just a few steps away from a bed.

I turned, tucking my wings close and heading for the door. The hallway was empty. Whoever had interrupted us either gave up or found a different restroom, and even the bar seemed to have thinned out.

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