Page 78 of Never Been Gargoyled
I laughed, breathless, as I traced his lower lip with my thumb. “We’ll call this improv. You’re a natural.”
He thrust up hard enough to make my head tilt back with a moan. “I do love extra credit.”
I clutched at him while he orchestrated slow, deep glides that left little sparks in the space around us. His tail, still misbehaving, stroked my clit, driving me even higher.
Feydin rumbled deep in his chest as he bit down gently on the curve of my shoulder. My cry was an answer, a plea, a command to never stop. His hands gripped tighter, lifting me, settling me down again on his cock so deep I could feel him in places I never even knew could ache like this.
His wings flexed behind him, throwing shadows across the walls with each thrust. His tail didn’t relent. It flicked and curled, stroking fast circles across my clit, matching the rhythm he pushed between my thighs. Everything in me sparked, overloaded, begging for release.
I couldn’t take it. Couldn’t keep still. I dug my feet into the cushions and rode him harder, chasing the rush that had begun building when I first slipped him inside me. I arched my spine, and he followed the curve, his fingers worshipping the sweat-slick path from my shoulder down to the base of my spine.
His breath rushed in, and he stilled, before he went faster, driving up into me with such force, his wingssmacked against the walls of the conservatory. A cascade of petals rained down from above. He was losing himself, and with each pitch, he drove me closer to the edge with him.
The sound of us filled the space—wet, reckless, and hungry. Cushions flew in all directions. Pots were knocked over. To my left, a small table tipped onto its side. None of it mattered.
I threw my head back and cried out as I came, the orgasm tearing through me with a sharp, electric ache. My body spasmed around him, dragging him deeper, holding him captive in the flood of release.
Feydin bellowed, following, thrusting up so deep my vision went white. His jaw clenched, and he threw his head back, his wings locking in place as he spilled into me, pumping through it with small, deep thrusts that chased every last tremor.
I collapsed onto his chest, and we stayed tangled together, our bodies still quivering.
The last of the sun dipped behind the vines tangled overhead.
He draped his wings over us like a blanket while the fountain bubbled peacefully nearby, and the scent of flowers filled the air.
“I could stay here forever,” I said against his skin.
“Good.” His wings tightened around me. “Because I'm never letting you go.”
The next morningbrought reality crashing back down around us.
I was in the kitchen making coffee when someone knocked on the front door. I strode out into the foyer, and through the window, I could see a woman in a black suit standing on the front porch.
“Feydin,” I called, but he was already striding from the front parlor where he’d been tapping on floorboards, looking for a hidden compartment.
His grim gaze met mine.
I opened the door.
“Ms. Osborne?” She cracked a brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
I nodded.
“I’m Patricia Wells, from Rebecca’s attorney’s office. I have some documents for you.” She thrust a thick envelope my way. “A temporary injunction from the court. You're to cease all renovation work on the property immediately.”
My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”
“No more gardening, no more repairs, no modifications to the building or grounds. The property must remain in its current state until the court makes a final determination.”
“But I live here,” I said. “I have to maintain basic things.”
“Basic maintenance for habitability is allowed. Everything else stops.” Her gaze grew sharper. “My client is being generous in allowing you to remain in residence for now.”
Generous. Like Rebecca was doing me some huge favor by not throwing me out of my own home.
Feydin stepped closer to me. “We'll need time to review these documents.”
“Of course. But the injunction is effective immediately.” She turned to go, then paused on the top step. “Oh, and Ms. Osborne? The DNA results came back. Rebecca Hartwell is indeed Helga Morrison's biological daughter. I thought you should know.”
