All of this, I can clearly see. I can name it, too—as if it were already hanging in a gallery: A Girl and Her Ravens. But no matter how hard I try to focus on the girl sitting right in front of me in all her fresh-out-of-the-shower gloriousness, all I can picture is that same girl naked and feverish, her fingers curling into the sheets, back arching off the bed as Jude eats her sweet pussy and makes her cry out his name in ecstasy…
Fuck. I shouldnotbe fantasizing about Jude fucking this girl. I should not be fantasizing aboutmefucking this girl. The last thing we all need is to complicate an already complicated situation with a romantic entanglement.
But Jude’s already done just that. And now I can’t get the fucking idea out of my head.
Her stomach growls, and I jump at the chance for something else to do—anythingelse besides fueling my depraved fantasies.
“Anyway, yeah.” I force a casual tone as I head to the fridge. “The guys already ate, but there’s plenty of food left. I made my infamous apple muffins. Apple waffle batter, too. All vegan, of course. We’ve always got a shit ton of apples this time of year—I try to find different ways to use them.”
This perks her right up. “I love apples! I used to get them from the farmer’s market in Union Square, but I haven’t been able to go this year.”
“Farmer’s market?Pffft. I picked these myself, right from our own backyard. Never spent a day of their lives on a conveyer belt or in a delivery truck sitting in traffic on the Cross Bronx.”
“Even better, then.” She downs the rest of her latte, still not quite looking me in the eye. “Drae told me he had a meeting in Kingston, but where are the other two brooding gargoyles this morning? Scratch that—evening? Still getting used to this extreme night-owl business.”
“They’re with Drae. Some of our properties need a few upgrades and we’re trying to convince the state to oversee and pay for them as historical landmark improvements. They’re meeting with a few building inspectors to see what we can do. They’ll be back in a bit.”
West nods, her stomach growling again.
“What’ll it be, witchling? Muffins or waffles?”
“Waffles to start, muffins for dessert.”
“Excellent choice.” I plug in the waffle iron and get out the leftover batter, along with the apple compote and syrup, keeping my back to her and my mind on the task at hand. It’s all going just swimmingly, too—I’m making waffles, she’s chatting with her birds, no one’s thinking about the feel of hot, wet mouths sliding over hot, wet body parts…
But then, just as I flip the piping hot waffle onto her plate, she decides to join me at the counter.
“Need help?” she asks. Her shoulder brushes the edge of my wing, sending a ripple of pleasure right through it.
“I’m…” I close my eyes, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling. “No, I’m good.”
“What was that?”
“What?”
“Your wings did this... fluttery thing.”
“Oh, that’s just… just a shiver.”
“Are you cold?”
Far from it, witchling.
I shake my head, trying like hell to remember how to form words, but she’s so close to me with her damp hair and her sweet face and those fucking knee socks and all I want to do is bend her over the counter and run my tongue along the tops of them until she’s begging me to fuck her…
“Can I touch them?” She reaches for me, and it takes me a beat to realize she’s talking about the wings.
“If it’s touching you’re after,” I say with a laugh, if only to cover what would otherwise become an all-to-obvious groan, “I’ve got plenty of other things you can put your hands on.”
West lowers her hand, her smile fading. “You can say no, you know. You don’t have to mock me. It’s not like I know all the gargoyle rules and regulations.”
“Sorry. I’m not mocking you. I’m just… They’re sensitive, that’s all.”
She nods and turns away, but I grab her hand and give her a gentle tug.
“It’s okay. You can touch them—just go easy on me.”
“You sure?”
