4. Gabe
Chapter four
Gabe
I’m so fucked.
Gwen looks like she’s about to burst into tears again, and I don’t know what to do. How do you say, “Gwen, I can’t have sex with you because I’ve been in love with you for years?” How do you say, “I tried to get out of this by telling you the gargoyle thing?” How do you say, “I can’t raise a kid with you like a happy family because it’s too close for what I’ve wanted for years?”
I can’t crush this gorgeous woman’s spirit. It’s only just been coming back after Preston crushed it for years.
“This has nothing to do with how you look, or me not being attracted to you,” I pause, because my face is blushing. “And everything to do with me not wanting to complicate things. Our friendship is the single most important relationship in my life, and it’s really dangerous to put that in jeopardy.”
And I don’t know if I can physically survive having sex with you. Not to mention, I don’t know how I’m supposed to live a normal life being your friend once I know what you taste like. In my sweatpants, my cock hardens. I have had years of practice, not getting a hard on around Gwen, but I have never had to confront this before. Because with it being an actual possibility, there is no way I can control it.
Gwen looks down at my pants, and her eyes widen.
Did I mention how fucked I am?
“See, that’s not the problem. It’s—” I grind out. I sigh, looking up at the stars and pleading with them to give me strength. How am I supposed to resist this? How am I supposed to stare down the one woman that I have wanted for all of my adult life and tell her that I don’t want her?
How am I supposed to look down at her, with her wind whipped hair, her cheeks red from our flight, her wide blue eyes staring up at me, and say that I don’t want everything she’s suggesting. Because if having sex with Gwen sounds fucking delicious, breeding her is ten thousand times more so. My breath quickens, because now I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about dimpling my hands into her thighs and pressing my cock into her wet heat. I’m remembering every moan she’s ever made from tasting ?food, and hearing them followed by my name. What sounds will she make that I’ve never heard before, what sounds would be only for me?
And as I’m thinking all of this, as wave after wave of questions hit me, the wind shifts and the faint scent of her arousal perfumes the air.
“We are adults. We don’t have to let this mess things up. If we want to have casual sex—we can. If we want to have a baby—we can. You’re a fucking therapist, Gabe. If anyone can do this and keep a friendship intact, you can.”
Gwen wants me. She wants this. She might be phrasing this like it’s just some business transaction, but the scent of her arousal on the air means that she wants it.
“Gwen, it’s just a bad idea… what if—what if one of us falls for the other? It will mess everything up.”
“Then we won’t, we’ll promise we won’t get attached—well… not like that at least. Gabe… I picked fucking Preston of all people. Dating is obviously not a good idea for me. What is a good idea? A perfect quiet little life raising the baby I’ve always wanted with my best friend who has never let me down. And let’s be real, it’s fully a double standard, but I doubt having a kid with me would hurt your chances. I know better than to fall for anyone ever again, I can do this, we can do this. Or…” She trails off and a smile creeps onto her face. “Are you not up for the challenge?”
She knows just how to goad me on. Here we are again, except our roles are reversed. Normally, it’s me, presenting her with an impossible task, daring her to take the risk. Granted, normally it’s entirely fictional, but it’s familiar enough that when she reaches into her pocket, I know what she’s going for. She pulls out a D20, shakes her hand, smirking, and rolls it on the table.
I wait with bated breath. Have I ever cared about the outcome of a roll more? I don’t know, but my heart is beating like a drum. It’s not like I have to follow it… but I know I will.
It lands on 20. Critical success.
That’s all the excuse I need.
I step up to her, pulling her close so that the hard bar of my cock will press into the softness of her belly. I twine my hand up into her smooth hair and cup the back of her head. “Do you want this?” I speak slowly, so she’ll understand what I mean.
Her eyes are wide now, and I wonder how much of the redness in her cheeks is from the flight, and how much is a flush of arousal. With my thumb, I can feel her pulse speed where I caress the side of her throat. She licks her lips, and nods her head.
“Yes,” she whispers. Whatever resistance I had left, whatever objection or reasonable, logical hesitancy I have over not complicating things shatters when she says she wants me.
How can I be expected to stay strong when she is saying everything I have ever hoped to hear?
I lean in and nudge her nose with mine, testing. She inhales sharply, and closes her eyes. Fuck, she’s so perfect. She’s every dirty dream I’ve ever had, and better, because for once, she’s real.
“You want me to fill you up?” Our lips are so close now I can feel the heat of her breath on mine. “You want me to breed you?”
“God yes,” she says.
“Fuuuck.” I lower my lips to brush hers, the touch light, an invitation. It’s a question, and she answers by raising onto her tiptoes to meet me. Her lips are softer than I’ve imagined, and I have spent a lot of time imagining them. Clearly I didn’t factor in how often she applies chapstick, or how much give they’d have. Which, honestly is a little ridiculous, considering how much time I spend staring at them. When I solidify during the day, kissing her is one of my favorite things to picture as I drift off to sleep. I imagine her as she will be when she wakes. She’ll sit at her little table with a cup of coffee, they’ll purse as she blows on it, and then those gorgeous mouth will wrap around the edge of the mug—the one I bought her, of course—and she’ll draw in a sip.
Now though, I’m even more jealous of that damn mug than I ever have been, because it touches her every day. She’s drinking me down now, each sip of her kiss extracting little bits of my soul. She opens her mouth and I flow inside, my tongue melting into her as if it’s where it’s meant to be. I’ve only held it in my mouth for my entire life and now it’s coming home.
Gwen reaches up around my neck and I move, instinctually wrapping my arms under her delectably thick ass and hoisting her up. The way her body molds and presses into me like we were made to fit lights me aflame.
“Uhn.”
And there it is, the first sound she makes for me and the muffled moan only makes me ravenous for more. I know her body so well, and yet this is what I am desperate to know. What touches will make her sing for me? What sighs or screams can I extract with my lips and hands?
She circles her hips and my mind blanks. Her core is right over my cock and that one little grind almost makes my knees buckle. I tear myself from her and groan into the night.
“Gwen, are you trying to fall on your ass?” I back us up to the wall of the building, next to the door to her apartment. The bricks will help me hold her but I don’t know how much more of that I can take. “Careful, little thief.”
Gwen giggles (one of my favorite sounds to jack off to, I’ve got like ten videos on my phone), and does it again. “I just wanted to feel you.” She blushes when she says it and gods damn I need to get this woman inside. I scrabble for the door, easily holding her in just one arm, and thankfully find the handle without too much fuss. The latch releases and I’m in. I’ve seen her apartment a million times, daily, honestly, but now I’m seeing it all differently. I’ve imagined fucking her on every surface of this place, and now I’ve got my pick.
Except really, there’s no choice. Gwen deserves for me to fuck her on the bed. On the sheets I gifted her after Preston died so she wouldn’t have any lingering scent of him on her. The sheets I picked for how their grey color matched my own skin. The sheets I might have come on and washed before I gave them to her so she’d smell just a little bit like me, instead.
I should absolutely stop kissing her to get us safely to the bedroom, but I have made the journey enough times that I’m confident I can do it without looking. OK fine, it’s possible that I have practiced making the journey to Gwen’s bedroom with my eyes closed. After Preston died, I started to realize that I actually might have a shot with her, but I knew that it was still way too soon to make a move, so I needed to do everything I could to buy myself some time. So, if that included jacking off on the new sheets that I gave her and practicing walking to her bedroom, so sue me. I’m not some monster—well yes I am—but I’m not some stalker, I’m her best fucking friend, and I realize that she probably needed some time to deal with all of the emotions that she had about Preston.
Emotions that I am currently not really capable of thinking about, because she keeps grinding her pussy against me and I’m actively trying not to come in my pants before we get to the bedroom. When we go through the door, I have a brief moment of panic, because I don’t know if I should turn the light on or not. Does Gwen like having the light on when she’s having sex? Does she prefer that it’s off?
I never really considered before how many things there are to juggle during sex. I’m literally holding her up, so I’m paying attention to my hands on her ass and that is very distracting, she’s grinding on my dick, so that is extremely distracting, I’m trying to kiss her and not suck at it, and that is very distracting, and now I’m trying to figure out how she likes to have sex and having a mini panic attack about the fact that I have no real idea how to have sex, and that is extremely distracting.
Luckily, Gwen, goddess of my life, reaches over and turns on the lights. I am flying by the seat of my pants and the grace of what I’ve seen in gargoyle-human porn. Lucky for me, a lot of the porn where the guy is a gargoyle and the woman is a human is specifically made for women, so in my experience it seems to have a few more actual tips than porn made for straight men does. And, considering the fact that the love of my life was married to my brother, I kind of assumed for a long time that I would essentially be single forever. So, I’ve watched a lot of it. I know enough to know that I definitely shouldn’t go into the deep end and try to do any kind of kinky stuff, but I do know a few things that I should definitely do:
Number one, make sure she comes. A rule of thumb I have learned from watching copious amounts of porn is that she needs to come at least once before my cock is going anywhere near her pussy. Another thing I have figured out for myself in advance is that I cannot—under any circumstance—allow her to touch my cock before she has.
Number two, I should talk to her. I need to say things out loud. Luckily, gargoyles tend to be growly guys, and the ladies in the pornos at least seem to be into it, so I’m gonna lean into that.
Number three, I should follow her lead on what she’s into. I decided a long time ago that if I ever got the opportunity, I was going to dedicate myself to paying attention to what she liked.
Number Four, if something’s working, don’t stop. I bought myself a subscription to this website that has a study about women’s pleasure. And one of the very first things that I learned was when something is working just keep doing it. Oftentimes for guys, when we are enjoying something, we want to go harder, faster, more. My modus operandi is that if she seems to be enjoying something with her movements or her sounds, I am just going to keep doing that unless she tells me otherwise.
As I say all of these rules, I’m realizing what a fucking creep I sound like, but I just knew that if I ever got my chance, I could not be fucking it up. So now that I have thought of the rules, I have centered myself a bit, and I feel more prepared to not suck at this.
I lean down over the bed and drop Gwen back onto it. She bounces, and her tits jiggle, and it is better than I ever imagined. She is wearing this pink T-shirt that has a D20 on each of her boobs, beneath that it says they’re natural, and she’s every nerd’s wet dream. She laughs, her eyes sparkling up at me, and for a moment I’m frozen staring at her.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this, Gwen.” Hell yeah, rule number two is in the bag.
She blushes and kicks off her sneakers, and then shoots me a chastising look. She’s reaching for her feet, I presume to take off her socks. “The bed move was cute, but in the future, you might wanna wait until I’m actually undressed first because I don’t know how I’m supposed to lay down and get undressed like this and be sexy. This is not sexy.”
I almost laugh in her face. Because if she thinks that her adorable ass rolling around on the bed, trying to take her socks off while laying down and still being whatever she deems as sexy in her head is not fucking sexy, then she has no idea what I think is hot. Because I decide in this moment that there is absolutely nothing hotter than the woman I love trying to get naked for me.
I place a hand on her knee, the one that is raised in the air so that she can reach said sock, and slide my hand up until I reach the edge of her shorts.
“I honestly didn’t plan on you taking your clothes off at all. I hoped you’d let me.”
Gwen blushes again, smiling, and squeezing her eyes shut. Her hands fly in front of her face, and my cock twitches in my shorts, because yeah, there is absolutely nothing hotter than seeing my girl get flustered from something I said or did.
I take back every worry I had about doing this, this is the best day of my life.
“Okay,” she squeaks out from behind her hands.
Now is when it gets real. Arguably, I have seen Gwen in a bathing suit, so I know somewhat what to expect. Yet, this is entirely different. Because bathing suits are intended for public viewing, but her underwear are private. I move my hand up the inside seam of her shorts, unable to stop myself from tickling her pussy with my claw over her jean shorts. I watch her face, and she squirms a little, so I linger, trailing the tips of my claws over the fabric. This is another tip that I got from that website study—I need to send those people a muffin basket or something—because all of my imaginings could never have prepared me for the way she squirms and moans when I tease her. As I watch, I don’t understand how any man could not be enraptured by the sight of the woman he loves taking her pleasure. Because I don’t know if there is anything better I have ever experienced, than seeing Gwen rising underneath me when I’m only touching her with the tips of my fingers.
“Gabe!” She eventually screams. “Quit teasing me!”
Now, we have come to a decision point, do I follow her instructions, and move onto my next task, or, do I continue to tease her? As compelling as teasing her sounds—and it sounds really fucking compelling—I’m starting to think that it might be somewhat of an advanced technique, so I err on the side of caution and follow her instructions.
I pop the button of her jeans open and lower the zipper. My eyes widen as I see a pair of plain cotton panties. I have helped Gwen do her laundry enough times to know a few things. She has a bunch of these plain cotton panties. And from what I can tell, she wore them on weekdays. She also has a few pairs of ostensibly sexier, lacy panties, that only ever showed up in the laundry when Preston was in town. So, while some guys might fantasize about those lacy underwear, I have always imagined her in these because I want Gwen how she is most comfortable, not the Gwen, who feels like she has needed to prepare herself for anyone further, there is also a good chance that these underwear are not going to smell like Preston at all. I tug at the waistband of her shorts and pull them off, kneeling at the end of the bed. The smell of her arousal is stronger now, and it is everything I can do to not shove my face directly in her pussy, but I need to get her top off. So I stay focused.
I toy with the bottom hem, and decide that Gwen wearing only a T-shirt and underwear is definitely one of my favorite outfits I have ever seen her in. I close my eyes, centering myself, and send a silent prayer to the universe that someday I will get to see her walk around in a T-shirt and her underwear—preferably without a bra on—because gods she’s sexy. I lift the shirt, reacquainting myself with the softly rounded midriff that I haven’t seen since last summer when we went tubing for Brooks’s bachelor party.
Gwen has always been nicely rounded, though she lost a little bit of weight while she was with Preston, and I’ve always kind of assumed that he pressured her about it. Now that he’s been dead for several months, she’s already started filling out and looking more like herself. I'm grateful that basically everyone in town hated Preston, because no one has said a word about the fact that Gwen looks happier now, but I think a lot of people have noticed.
When I get the shirt hem over the mounds of her breasts, I drink in the sight of them, filling the cups of her bra. Her skin bulges a little at the seams, as if it’s slightly too small, and I rumble deep in my chest. Because while I don’t want her to be uncomfortable, the fact that her bra is slightly too small, tells me that she really is relaxing into her normal body shape.
“Gods, you have the best tits, Gwen,” I say. You have the best tits ? Surely I can do better than that, but I don’t, because she sits up a little, which shifts how they sit in her cups and I’m mesmerized. She reaches behind her and unclips her bra, and I am shocked when there are no angels singing. She slides her arms out of the straps, and her luscious breasts fall out. Not a single muscle in my body is capable of moving as I stare down at her. She is so perfect and ripe. By this point, I had fully forgotten that I’m fucking her with the goal of putting a baby in her belly. Now that her boobs are staring me in the face, I can’t help but imagine milk leaking from their tips and running down the sides of her body, I love the way their shape is so different now as she’s laying down. Suddenly, I am capable of moving, because I need those gorgeous breasts in my hands and mouth yesterday. A little voice in the back of my head reminds me that I am supposed to be focusing on her pleasure, and I absolutely will do that… right after I play with her boobs for a minute.
First, I cup them each in a hand, testing their weight. She fits my big hands perfectly, just barely overflowing, which is honestly a feat, because my hands are pretty fucking big. Her breath catches, and thank the goddess, she seems to be enjoying even this. Shifting my hand, I capture one of her nipples between my claws. It’s interesting, because in porn women’s nipples always kind of stick out, but Gwen’s seem more flat and rounded. Gwen squirms underneath me, pressing her breasts up into my hands, and I decide to bend the rules a tiny little bit. Yes, she seems to be enjoying me playing with her nipples, but I decide that I would really rather be using my mouth in addition to my hand, so instead of just doing the thing that she enjoys, like I should be, I lean my head down to run my tongue along the side of one perfect globe. Up close, Gwen’s skin tastes like sunshine. Which I know sounds absolutely crazy, but that is the only thing I can think of to describe it. For me, the sun has always been something untouchable, the silent ruler of my life. To me, the sun is warmth on my stone while I sleep, it is the brightness that illuminates the movement of those around me. It is elusive and beautiful, something that is always for everyone else, and never for me.
The taste of Gwen’s skin is sunshine. It is a sip of something I never thought I’d taste.
Beneath me, she moans as I pull one wide nipple into my mouth and suck. She arches off the bed, pressing into me so that the rest of her flesh squishes against my face. Briefly, she blocks my airway, and I smile, because what a way to die that would be. With my teeth and tongue I tease her nipple, fascinated by how I can suck it to attention, somehow it feels special that I’ve been able to coax this shape from my mouth that she hadn’t had before.
I tug on her nipple, coaxing it with my lips and tongue to a point, smiling wickedly and moving to the second one. I roll her newly pert nipple, and every inch of my skin is sensitized to her. My tail snakes up her leg, wrapping around her calf, securing her to me.
Between her legs, her pussy is weeping, begging for my attention, because with every nip of my teeth she bucks her hips, trying to tell me what she needs. After a final nip, I raise my head and look at her.
“Do you need something angel?” I growl.
Fuck, what is happening? The words coming out of my mouth are unreal right now. This nerdy gargoyle in glasses and a worn out ringer tea is speaking absolute filth, but Gwen is eating it up. I roll my eyes across her body, almost a physical touch, until they stop between her legs. Raising my brows, I lift a finger and gently trace a claw over her pussy.
“Oh Gwennie, you’re so soaked your poor little panties are practically see-through. Do you need me?”
“Please!” she gasps, and it’s everything I’ve been waiting for. I dive between her legs, the smell of her arousal calling to me like a homing device. These sweet little undies are drenched with her and I pull them into my mouth, growling at how good they taste. Gwen’s taste, her scent, it’s dragging me down until I barely know up from down, reminding me of a time I flew too high. Deep within the clouds, I lost sight of everything, completely encased in white. Gwen is my cloud now, surrounding me, and filling me from within. I lap my tongue up into the fabric, rubbing it so that it drags along her clit. It’s a shy little thing, not like something that I’ve seen in porn, but honestly, I fucking love it. She squirms beneath me, and I know I’ve found a good rhythm. I stay, pulsing on that same tempo until she’s practically screaming underneath me. Grasping hands flail about her until she finds my horns, and oh fuck I will not come in my pants. I refuse.
Gwen grinds up into my face and I can’t take the fabric between us any longer. With a snarl, I rip it away from her with my teeth and finally feel her soft flesh. She’s so lush and ripe for me, and her taste is even better from the source. Her skin is hot and gives, just so, under my tongue, and I groan, because surely this is for her, but gods, it’s also for me. I try to keep my mind on her pleasure, try to pay attention to her movements and sounds, but it’s a constant battle against simply devouring her as I see fit.
As much as I want that, I need to remain on task. Because while Gwen may be playing this game for a baby, one thing has become exceedingly clear to me: I’m playing for keeps. She can end this at any moment with a word, but I know, deep in my soul, that I have to do everything in my power to keep her. Which means, this has to be the most amazing sex she’s ever had… with a guy who’s never had it.
Good luck to me.