I acted.
And now I'm paying the price by being trapped inside a possessive gargoyle's wing-cocoon while he rearranges furs like a broody hen.
"Okay," I say finally. "Fine. You can nest. But I need to pee. And also evaluate the damage to my professional boundaries. And maybe figure out how to explain to the clinic director why there's volcanic oil all over the floor."
He considers this.
Then, with great reluctance, his wings loosen.
I sit up slowly, my muscles protesting. Everything aches. My thighs. My hips. My core.
Turns out getting thoroughly claimed by a seven-foot gargoyle with a ridged cock is not great for your flexibility.
I glance down at myself.
I'm completely naked.
My sports bra and leggings are somewhere on the other side of the suite, probably soaked through with volcanic oil and sweat.
My skin is sticky. My hair is a disaster. And there are faint bruises on my hips where his clawed hands gripped me.
I look like I just survived a natural disaster.
Which, in a way, I did.
I try to stand.
My legs wobble.
Cyprian is on his feet instantly, his hands steadying me before I can faceplant into the furs.
"I am fine," I say.
"You are not."
"I'm just a little sore. It's fine."
His eyes narrow.
"I hurt you."
"No. You didn't. I'm just... not used to..." I gesture vaguely at his entire body. "...that."
He doesn't look convinced.
"Seriously," I say. "I'm fine. I just need to clean up and—"
He scoops me up.
One second I'm standing on wobbly legs.
The next I'm cradled against his chest like a child, his arms locked securely around my back and thighs.
"Cyprian. Put me down."
"No."
"I can walk."
