Page 6 of Never Been Gargoyled
Every inch of her curved into the next like the hills that surrounded the estate. Her thighs jiggled when she stepped out of her stretchy pants. I didn’t blink. I couldn’t. Even my damn cock approved, surging up to smack against my abdomen. I told it to behave, but like I told myself to stop looking, it was useless.
I could not make myself return to the roof.
When she slid her underwear down her legs, my knees nearly gave way. If I wasn’t clinging to the windowsill, I would’ve fallen. Smacked on the ground, then lay there on my back with my cock jutting up toward the stars.
I’d forgotten what it felt like to get hard. The blood-rush thrill of it. The ache. The want. Had it ever felt like this before?
I didn’t think so. Need and craving roared through me like a landslide.
She padded naked into the bathroom, completely unself-conscious, humming again. The light from the bathroom lit her like a painting—gold along her shoulders, soft shadows between her thighs.
She stepped into the bath.
Water lapped up around her like it was grateful to touch her skin. Bubbles spilled across the surface. She sank down slowly, her breath catching in her throat. As she rested her head against the lip, her eyelids slid closed. A smile tugged at her lips. Her whole body loosened, and I sensed she’d been holding herself together for too long and had finally let go.
“Wonderful,” she said softly. “I’m home.”
Home? She hadn’t come here to stay, had she?
That gave me pause.
If she was the newest resident, I should look away. Return to the roof. Tell my fucking cock to go limp again.
Instead, I remained in place, gaping at her through the window.
I watched the bubbles cling to her breasts. Watched her shoulders slide beneath the foam. Her foot lifted lazily, her toes flexing in the air before sinking again. She looked happy.
And me? I was a gargoyle with a raging erection clinging to the second-story wall, spying through a bathroom window like a feral orphan outside a bakery.
Disgusting.
I dropped away and snapped my wings out, taking to the sky before I could humiliate myself further.
The wind hit me hard. My wings beat once, twice, then caught the current. I circled the building twice before settling on the highest peak of the manor’s roof, crouching beside the chimney like a rusted weather vane.
My hands shook. She was just a woman. Amortal. She’d leave in the morning.
Why hadn’t I already scared her off?
No, I’d let her touch this place—myplace—with her hopeful eyes and delicate fingers.
I growled, shifting myself on the roof shingles, snapping my tail out only to coil it around my ankles.
This was not a home. She’d see that soon and leave, like Helga had. I’d turn back into stone and loom over the entrance, watching and protecting the estate from all harm.
I enjoyed the silence. The emptiness. That’s what I told myself. That’s what I’d always told myself.
But someone new was here. Warm and humming and soaking in a tub that had seen more centuries than she had birthdays. She wasn’t afraid. She was calling the estate home.
She’d wake up tomorrow and find a reason to leave. A mouse in the kitchen. A leak in the roof. A locked room with whispers behind it.
And if she didn’t…
Then I’d give her a reason to go.
With a sharp snap, I unfurled my wings again and let the wind stretch through them.
Tomorrow. At dawn. I’d scare the delight off her face.
