Page 56 of Never Been Gargoyled
“Yes,” I breathed.
The first touch of his tongue made me cry out. He was thorough and patient, learning what made me gasp and what made me arch off the desk. His hands held my hips steady as he worked, his mouth doing things that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Oh god, Feydin,” I panted, my hands gripping the edge of the desk.
He hummed against me, the vibration sending me higher. I was close, so close, trembling on the edge of something incredible?—
Someone banged on the door.
We both froze.
“Ignore it,” Feydin mumbled against my inner thigh.
They banged again. “Hello?” they shouted. “Anyone there?”
“They're not going away.” The last thing I wanted was for Feydin to stop.
He lifted his head, his hair mussed and his eyes dark with desire. “They will if we wait long enough.”
They slammed their fist on the door again, making it rattle. “Ms. Osborne? Legal courier. I need a signature.”
My stomach dropped. “Legal courier.”
Feydin's expression changed, desire replaced by protective anger.
“Stay here.” He helped me sit up.
“No way.” I was already pulling my clothes back into place. “Whatever this is, we face it together.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he eased me off the desk and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
“How do I look?” I asked, trying to smooth my own hair.
“Like you've been thoroughly kissed.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “It’s that obvious?”
“Only to me.” He touched my face gently. “Are you ready for this?”
No. I wanted to go back to five minutes ago when the biggest problem I had was where to put my hands while Feydin worked magic between my thighs.
“I am,” I lied, knowing very well what I’d receive when I opened that door.
We walked there together, Feydin's hand warm on my lower back. Through the frosted glass side panel, I could see the silhouette of someone waiting.
I opened the door to find a young man in a courier uniform, a clipboard in hand.
“Dazy Osborne?” he asked.
“That's me.”
“I have legal documents for you. I need your signature here.” He held out the clipboard and a thick envelope.
My hands shook as I signed my name. The envelope felt heavy, official, and ominous.
“Have a good evening,” he said, already heading back to his vehicle.
I closed the door and leaned against it, staring at the envelope in my hands.
