Page 39 of Given to the Gargoyle

“Come, angel. Come for me.”

My body obeys, quaking and shuddering, as he continues to thrust into me over and over.

“That’s my good girl. Give it to me. Don’t stop.”

I keep coming around his fingers as the pleasure goes on and on. My legs give out and I’m held up only by his strength. My wetness floods his hand and runs down my thighs.

William gives a growl of satisfaction. One large hand squeezes my ass. “There you go, gorgeous. That’s right. God, you’re a good fucking girl.”

My pussy gives a final clench at his sweet, possessive words. Then he withdraws his fingers, leaving me strangely empty. I only feel it for a moment, though. William lifts me and tucks me into bed, curls his large body around mine, and strokes my hair. Vaguely, I wonder if he wants to come, too, but his claws brushing through my hair feel too good. So I let go and drift on the sea of pleasure as it ebbs and he draws it out.

I’m so tired.

The performance, the drinks, the gushing orgasm. All of them combine to have my eyes unwilling to open after each slow blink. Soon, I’m snuggling deeper into William’s embrace, promising myself I’ll make him feel good when I wake. In the morning there will be time, and I’m going to give him the best damn blow job of his life. In my dream, I’m already picturing his rigid length and the veins I’ll trace with my tongue before I suck him right into my mouth.

***

Of course when I wakein the gray morning light, he’s gone. That’s the worst thing about a gargoyle boyfriend. I can’t believe I fell asleep on him like that. On the spare pillow there’s an old-fashioned paper note. I don’t even know where William found a pen or paper around here. They’re certainly not things I’d have lying around.

When I open it, I take a few moments of squinting to figure out the curling script. When I do, I smile and press the note to my chest.

Princess,

Would not have woken you for the world. Sleep in. Stay warm. And do not walk through any more dark alleyways late at night or I may have to spank you again.

I grin, still feeling the phantom sting and resulting clench of pleasure after William’s commanding treatment of my body last night.

Then I feel bad all over again that he didn’t even get to come. God, I could wake up in his arms and slide beneath the blankets to wake him with my mouth around his already hard cock. I feel sure he’d snore, too, if he was a man and not a statue while he slept. Something about that thought brings another silly smirk to curve my lips.

I find my phone on the nightstand and flick on the screen. Twenty-one new messages. My smirk fades. Only one of them is from someone I know.

I swipe away the photo of me with three other cast members at the pub we visited last night, more intent on discovering what the other messages say. Reality is, I already know they’re not good. I just have a sick feeling in my belly.

When I open the first one, I find I’m not wrong.

I hadn’t checked my phone since I left the pub last night. A slew of messages from just after that and all the way through the morning have me swallowing down bitter bile.

PhatOne: Forgive me, sexy girl. I shouldn’t have said those things last night. I’m just so jealous that so many other guys have felt that sweet little pussy wrapped around their cock and you’ve denied me that pleasure.

PhatOne: You blocked my other profile. I know, I know. I deserved it. But how am I supposed to apologize if you won’t answer me?

PhatOne: You little bitch. Answer me.

PhatOne: What the fuck? I saw you with that monster. Saw you run into his arms like he’s not some kind of abomination. Never picked you for a monster fucker.

Unable to read any more, I toss my phone face down onto the bed. My hands shake and a cold sweat has broken out on the back of my neck. Whoever this guy is, he was there in the alley last night, just like I thought. That’s the only explanation for the timestamp on the ugly messages about William. It’s the same guy who messaged me earlier. I know it.

I make myself pick the phone up and block the new account without reading any more messages. Then I take a shower hot enough to melt the skin off my bones and scrub myself with my loofa until I feel almost clean.

By the time I’m dressed, sipping a coffee with my feet tucked under me on a stool at the kitchen counter, Maurice emerges from his room down the hall. I hear him whistling before I see him. The sound lifts a little of the anxiety fog from my mind. Enough for me to give him a half smile, anyway.

Maurice yawns and stretches, scratching his belly before pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaning over the counter. “Rough night?”

I shake my head.

He gives me a long look, then shrugs and opens the fridge. “You eat yet?”

“Not hungry.” Food is the last thing I want right now. What I want is to curl up in William’s arms and close my eyes, and pretend the world will just disappear. But it’s full daylight and he won’t wake for hours yet.

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