I wanted him to take me on the grass in a graveyard, so the cement basement of Hopkins’ Museum doesn’t bother me at all. Especially since I feel safer here than anywhere else. Even my bedroom or a honeymoon suite strewn with rose petals.
His eyes sharpen on me. “I do not want your back to bruise.”
I lick my lips nervously. “Good idea.”
He spins, examining the cluttered room, and walks to a shelf. He retrieves a dusty candle, and with a spark from his lighted fingertip, he places the candle on one of the side tables. He turns off the overhead light, casting the room in a myriad of gold, orange, and amber shadows. Light rises only from his skin and that single candle.
“By candlelight, love erupts,” he murmurs, approaching me. “I heard that somewhere.”
There’s no time to question his use of that word,love.
Because he’s on me, pinning me to the ground as if he never left, his mouth braced against mine. He hauls me into his chest, and I wrap my arms around him.
Except he doesn’t lay me on the blankets. His tail sweeps across one of the antique desks, clearing it, as he lowers me to sit at the edge.
“Z,” I utter the start of his name. He looks at me, his hands clutching my thighs to spread them out. “Be gentle.”
His nostrils flare and his wings ripple. He nods sharply and only slightly loosens his grip.
Then his head is between my legs, pressed against my pants. Clutching his horns, I shudder.
“You smell… I can smell you.” He licks the seam of my jeans, abrading the intimate area with his teeth. “I have heard men go wild for such a delicacy, but I never… I never…” He licks and nips. “I need it. I never understood the need before.”
I squirm as he soaks my jeans with his saliva, wetting my pussy further. “Oh, god.”
Finally!
Chapter18
Claiming a Gargoyle
Summer
His raspy chucklefills my ears.
Licking me once more, he hooks his claws into the waistband of my jeans and tugs. When they don’t give, I release his horns and unbuckle the clasp, helping him shimmy them down my legs. He yanks off my shoes, leaving me in white socks, my damp panties, and my sweater.
Shoving my knees back apart, he crouches between my legs and stares at my crux, inhaling, compelling me to swallow and curl my toes.
“Sweet, sweet Summer,” he coos, leaning forward. “Take your shirt off for me.”
Holding prone, afraid I’ll shatter, I grip the edge of my sweater and lift it over my head, its soft strands tickling my stomach.
“Your bra,” he demands, without looking away from between my spread legs.
He cups my knees as I lean forward and unhook my bra. The straps drop down my arms, and I toss it to the floor with the rest of my clothes. My breasts spill, heavy without support, his brands glinting in the candlelight. My nipples peek, except he doesn’t notice, still staring between my legs.
I hold in my stomach, waiting for him to look up at me. I crave his praise. I need him to look at me like I’m the only woman in existence.
His gaze rises, meeting mine. “I’ve never wanted anything more.” His eyes roam lustfully, coveting me. “I would worship your body.”
He knows my thoughts?
Sliding his hands up my legs, I relax my toes.
“Do you see my erection?” he asks.
My eyes drop to where it juts from between his legs. “Y-yes.”
