Page 72 of Howl for the Gargoyle

"I also really love cooking you food, for the record. That's absolutely on the table." I pecked her lips firmly, making her smile twitch back into place. "No more steaks, I promise."

She laughed, head tipping back, and I ducked down, decorating her throat with more kisses, whispering menu suggestions as she squirmed closer, tangling long limbs around me. She found my face, lifted it to hers, and pressed a long, simple kiss to my mouth.

"Will this make me your groupie?" I asked.

She grinned again, nodding and giggling. Happy. Hannah was happy.

And so was I. My own grin stretched and my face hurt from how much I had smiled tonight.

We cuddled into one another, the rising sun glowing across our skin, falling asleep at last as morning clawed its way over the horizon.

"Look at all these beans!"

"Rafe."

"Hannah, this is incredible! Look at your pantry, it's bigger than your shower! I can stretch my wings all the way—this is insane."

"Rafe!"

"Why do you have two juicers? I don't care, I'm using them both. What produce do you have? Open your fridge," I demanded, emerging from the pantry, arms loaded with spice jars and high-end cooking gadgets.

Hannah was perched on the counter. Her hair was a rat's nest and her inner thighs were faintly marked from my hips, and she was wearing a deep wine red robe and a pair of the softest black underwear I'd ever fondled a woman's clit through. She had one foot braced against the counter, her arms wrapped around her bent leg, and she was trying to hide her beaming smile against her knee.

"Rafe," she attempted again through giggles.

"Don't distract me, babe. I've never been this excited to cook in my life."

"Baayabe," she cooed, teasing the word out into a song.

My haul clattered onto the counter, and I glanced warily at her out of the corner of my eye. "Don't."

"Baaaaabe," she purred, unfolding and sliding off the counter, toes pointed as they touched the ground. Those legs. They were my weakness.

"Hannah," I warned, inching away. "Breakfast."

But her gaze was hooded, and her pace was slow and predatory. "You're not making me beans and juice for breakfast, Rafe," she said, a giddy smile peeking through the intent.

"Huevos rancheros," I said weakly.

She paused and licked her lips, and for a moment I thought I might've won and was just a little disappointed by the fact, until she tensed.

"After," she said.

"After?"

And then I found myself pinned to the counter, Hannah's teeth nipping at my skin, tongue tracing patterns, hands mapping me. She was wild, everywhere, kissing and biting and grasping at me, and I was every bit the trembling prey to her hunger. She snagged my bare nipple in her teeth, and I swooned for her, moaning at the electric snap of sensation racing down to my cock.

And she was running kisses down my chest, hunching at first and then lowering to her knees, cupping me through my jeans and stroking.

"Hannah," I rasped, glancing once more hopefully at the juicers, as if they could save me now from a fate I didn't really want to escape.

"Just a little appetizer," she murmured, fingers graceful with my waistband, button popping cheerfully from its hole. She gazed up at me, amber eyes glowing and the hint of sharp canines in her smile.

She didn't tug my jeans down but let them fall open, sagging around my hips as she nuzzled inside, kissing the curls over my pubic bone, sucking on my sensitive skin. I bucked toward her, and her hands grasped my ass, squeezing hard.

"It'll…it'll take too long," I whispered. Don't talk her out of this, idiot!

"I'm very tenacious," Hannah said cooly, kissing the base of my cock, smiling at it as it jumped for more, my jeans slipping a little. She glanced up at me, feral and exquisite, and I shivered in her stare. "And you're worth it, babe."

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