Frantic to reach my goal, I’m driven to completion, and when my body is overcome by an abrupt shudder, a climax follows. I twitch and pulse, pleasure streaming with the release of pressure. I settle back into my bedding, my legs tangling with my blankets.
Lifting my head from my pillow, the stone-cold phallus falls from my mouth.
“My name is Zuriel.”
I open my eyes again.
There’s a large shadow beside me, leaning over my bed. I blink rapidly, and it doesn’t go away. My mouth snaps closed as I right my glasses and sit up.
I haven’t been dreaming of just any statue—I’ve been giving head to the museum’s gargoyle.
He’s rigid, his posture still that of a guardian mid-strike, except he’s never had a cock before. His groin has always been smooth… My eyes widen in admiration. His cock is thick and erect, protruding severely from his form. It casts a formidable shadow over me.
I squint. Steam rises from it. Not steam, cold vapor. Mist. It fills the air between us slowly, soft gray and crystalline. When it touches my skin, it prickles.
I suck the vapor in, my mouth and nose flooded with it.
“Zuriel,” I gasp.
Hisname.
The knowledge steadies, solid as a fact. It’s unnerving how the information doesn’t feel like something I dreamed up. I whisper his name again, watching the mist drift across my room.
“Zuriel.”
Lightning strikes and his cock twitches.
My gaze trails up his muscled form, steadying on his bat-like wings and deeply snarled features. I look for the usual bloodlust in his expression, except now his eyes are wide, shocked, feverishly heated.
Staring at me.
I shift uneasily, unable to look away.
My nipples peak and my core clenches. Sitting up, kneeling with my legs under me, I remain trapped.
No matter how long we stare at each other, I can’t decide if this is a dream or not.
Zuriel.
Chapter3
Cock-a-doodle Doo!
Summer
I waketo sunlight trickling through the skylight. Groggy, I realize the bed is next to me, and I’m on the floor with my quilt wrapped around my naked body.
My glasses aren’t on the nightstand, and I’m relieved to find them carelessly thrown aside. Achy and annoyed, my neck and back are wrenched from sleeping on the hardwood floor. Squeezing my eyes closed, I dig my fingers into stiff joints.
Great. The day is starting wonderfully. I groan, pressing my fingers harder into my trapezius.
Clear skies shine through my skylight as I knead my neck. The first wafts of Dad’s coffee rise from the vent next to me, tingling my nose. I sigh happily. God, I love that man. No wonder Mom fell for him. A man who makes coffee in the morning is a man to keep. She’s told me that countless times.
Coffee can fix a lot. Coffee does more than a diamond ring, tastes better than true love’s first kiss. I didn’t believe her at first. I do now.
Coffee islove.
My thighs slip against each other when I try to stand. I peer up at the ceiling, looking for a leak, but there isn’t any.
