Touching the spot between my legs, my cheeks rush with heat. My inner flesh is extremely sensitive like it’s been played with. I purse my lips as I streak my fingers over my slippery slit, and they come away wet. Jerking my sheet over my head, I take a peek, shoving my undies away. Dewy, clear arousal coats me, blooming from my pussy and drenching my sheets. Parting my legs further, I test my entrance, discovering feverish heat and swollen skin. A quiet moan escapes me as I fall back onto my pillows, circling my entrance with my finger and then doing the same with my clit.
My thoughts turn lusty as I rub my flesh, abruptly needing completion.Now.Caressing harder, grinding with my fingers and my palm, I jerk my hips, biting back a strangled cry. The orgasm evades me, and my need turns desperate.
I feel so empty.
So, so empty.
I want—no, I need something large and forceful driving into me. I want sex. My back arches as I slip my fingers inside, working out my pleasure from within. But they don’t fill me. I twist, hoping to find the right spot, and the blanket slips off my face. My gaze lands on the skylight.
Zuriel’s large cock…. I imagine him thrusting mindlessly, filling me the way my body craves so poignantly. I pretend his large clawed-tipped fingers clutch at my hips as he drives his massive body against mine. Looking at the corner where he trapped me with his wings, I picture him subduing me, petting me, putting me at ease. He strips me and thrusts his cock between my trembling legs.
“We’re bound now, Summer—”Another thrust“—bound.”
Oh…My mouth yawns open as the fantasy turns frenzied, chaotic, and wrong.
If he tried that for real, I’d be screaming.
He covers me with his mass, surrounding me with his wings and—
I erupt, pleasure cascading from my sex to the tips of my fingers and toes. My feet curl, clenching as the orgasm takes me hard, forcing me to buckle and buckle again, each wave crashing into another. I bite back a shriek as I steal my hand away and clutch my bedding, surrendering to the dance, hips shunting. My gaze never wanders from the corner.
It ebbs far too soon, leaving me breathless and stressed and wanting more. I’m not sated. Satisfaction seems impossible.
Then my sweat turns cold, my soaked bedsheets clammy. Embarrassment strikes. Pulling my legs into me, I curse under my breath.
Fuck.I’m so fucked.
Frantic, I replace the bedsheets. My parents watch as I run the old ones to the laundry, reminding me they need me to drive them to the hospital. Blaming my period, I run into the shower to wash off my shame.
An hour later, I’m parking my car and tiptoeing to the museum. I bypass the coffee shop with a sign that reads,Closed until further notice, on the front door and give John Beck a little wave through the window. Since our parents are so close, I’ve known him my whole life, but I’ve never seen him so dismayed. The sidewalks are quiet. The first of autumn’s leaves blow unhindered past my feet.
I see Zuriel through the front windows before reaching the door. A breath escapes me, relieved to have found him returned to his usual posturing. Unlocking the museum, I wonder how he managed to let himself inside. Turning on the lights, I walk up to him, checking him over.
Of course, my eyes go straight to his groin.Of course.My embarrassment returns, and I force my attention on his face. Today he’s smooth down there. Thank god. I bite back another shameful groan.
Because I’m still wet. I showered thoroughly, scrubbing my skin raw, and yet I’m wet again—fuckinghornyagain. I drop my purse behind the counter and palm my face.
He must never know.
Fuck.There doesn’t seem to be a better word for what I’m feeling right now.
Curiosity gives me the bravery to face him. “Can you hear me? Do you know I’m here?” I stand on my toes and peer into his eyes. “Can you see me when you’re like this?”
I’m no longer scared of him. In fact, upon waking, all I wanted—besides that damn orgasm—was to see him again. He’s a gateway to a whole world I never believed existed. He’s proof. People spend their entire lives searching for proof like him.
What else here is real?I give an uneasy glance at the entryway to the exhibits.
“I have so many questions,” I huff, facing Zuriel and straightening my glasses, empowered by his lack of response. “I guess we’ll have to wait until tonight.” Today will be excruciatingly long.
I’m extra cautious with the Latin chants and the holy water. By the time I unlock the front door, the skies have brightened. I hope we get a lot of visitors today. I want the time to go by fast.
Nobody shows.
Hours pass and not a single person comes in, leaving me stuck staring at Zuriel, reading his pamphlet a dozen times over, researching all I can about him on the internet. It’s research I’ve already done, but I refresh my mind on the very basic, extremely limited information available.
Digging deeper, I look up the magician who had him last. There’s not much about him either. His Wikipedia page has a single paragraph, and Zuriel isn’t mentioned at all. I look up the history of gargoyles, how they were once water spouts to protect sensitive architecture from rain, an animalistic protector against demons until the Catholic church adapted them in their cathedrals—and so forth. None of it tells me anything about sacred names, bonds, or mysticism regarding them.
Opening a search engine, I hesitate, about to type his name out, and I decide against it.
