10. Gabe
Chapter ten
Gabe
The clock tower above Town Hall sounds, and my blood begins to race. Because it’s time for the children to leave and for everything to get exciting. Normally, at this point, Gwen and I drink a little bit more and then head home. Tonight though, I have other plans. I’ve still written us an adventure, but it is absolutely designed to be sexy. Gwen is blushing when I turn to her. I remember what I talked about with the guys. This has to work. If I don’t want to be miserable for the rest of my life, I need to do whatever it takes to make my mate fall in love with me. Taking Gwen’s hand, I escort her over to the fountain, so that we are overlooking the cove. And clear my throat the way I do before I begin a scene.
“Sister Mary-Gwyneth never wanted to be a nun. Plenty of her sisters had, but it was never something she had dreamed of for herself. Instead, she had been the fourth daughter of a destitute family in the remote country of Genovese. When she’d come of age and her parents had had no money left for a dowry, a convent had seemed the only way to preserve her dignity and that of their noble family. Not that they asked if she had any interest in preserving said dignity, of course, because their own was more important.
“It was a warm night,” I say, beginning to describe the actual weather today. “And Sister Mary-Gwyneth had escaped the sweltering confines of her cloister for the beautiful gardens outside. The gardens were the one joy she found in her confining life, and her only solace. Gwen, would you please describe Sister Mary-Gwyneth." She blushes and rolls her eyes at me. This is nothing new, I have asked her to describe characters countless times, a fair few of them being similar in looks to her. But it feels different. Because tonight, she hasn’t made the character for herself, I have designed it, and dressed her accordingly.
I have every confidence that she will pick up where I’ve left off, and embody the role. In fact, I’m counting on it, but that doesn’t stop the thrill of nerves that passes through me when she smiles. “Sister Mary-Gwyneth,” she says “is a somewhat short, softly-rounded sort, with long brown hair that stays hidden under her wimple by necessity of her calling. This late at night, she is not wearing her full habit, instead she has on what passes for her pajamas. A scandalous skirt ripped up to her thigh, and a white blouse unbuttoned lower than she would ever deign to be caught in public. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat as she ventures out into the night.”
I nod my head, indicating to her through years of experience that I am prepared to take over from there. With one hand, I dig surreptitiously in the dirt and withdraw the D20 I have hidden there. I hold it so she can’t see, and began walking away, deeper into the woods behind Town Hall. “It’s a special day for the small village of open Greefast, one that Sister Mary-Gwyneth hasn’t been able to take part in in years. Over the garden wall, she can hear the revelry of the townsfolk.”
I pause, to give us time to hear the revelry of our own townsfolk. As I speak, I pay attention to the sounds we can hear, and incorporate them into my narration. “Though she has never had a chance to partake, Sister Mary-Gwyneth loves the sound of her neighbors' debauchery. Every moan and sigh speeds her blood, though she has no real idea of what is causing them.”
In the distance, the people of Hallow’s Cove moan and shriek and delight. By now, people will be devouring their mates, or chasing them into the woods outside of town. Some will have commenced their celebrations on Main Street, but to preserve the illusion, Gwen doesn’t look behind us. Her breath is fast now, and her chest heaves in the tight blouse I picked for her. We both know how this night will end, but delaying it is exceedingly delicious.
I place my arms on Gwyneth’s shoulders, and she leans back into me. I revel in her trust. She has always afforded me a great deal of it, but I know that what she gives me now is a trust I can never betray, because if I do, I will surely lose her.
“The gardens feel different tonight, charged somehow by the lusty sounds of the town people over the wall. She can’t let them get to her, though, because she has learned, finally, what it means when she is told not to touch herself. For years, it was confusing. For surely they did not mean she should not touch herself at all? Or if that was the case, how was she to wash? Eventually, though she had learned that she was meant not to touch herself in one specific place. that she should not let her hands linger on the heat between her legs, and that she should ignore when it grew hot and moist, when she could feel her pulse echo there and never satisfy the urge to relieve the building pressure. Those same urges tempted her that night, and for not the first time, she cursed her parents for their poor finances, and the fact that they hadn’t even tried to find her a husband. Surely, they could have found someone to marry her. None of the tenants on their farms paid dowries for their daughters, or received one for their brides, and if she was to end up living a simple, austere life, wouldn’t it have been better if she had been allowed the small mercy of companionship and love? Because surely her life in the convent qualified as simple and austere.”
I pause, allowing Gwen the ability to speak up, should she want. I know that she much prefers to react, at least at first, rather than come up with something to do proactively in these situations, so when she doesn’t speak up, I continue.
“The darkness presses in on her, as does the temptation to explore what secrets the depression between her legs might hold. She proceeds to sit in the little alcove that she thinks of as her own, though she is not allowed possessions. She doesn’t think of herself as owning it, though, more that it is a secret space that occasionally welcomes her. Inside the alcove, sits her silent century, a massive, fierce gargoyle, meant to scare away evil spirits, but one that she has always imagined specifically watching over her. It was, she knew, uncomely of her, to imagine such preferential treatment. But somehow, she’d convinced herself that when she sat down and poured out her heart’s worries to him, the features on her gargoyle’s face would soften, just a bit, and once she had seen it—once she had convinced herself it was true—she could think of him no other way.”
Gwen continued. “‘Good evening, Gabriel,’ she says, sitting down and patting him on the head. She had, of course, named him after that most fearsome angel, a staunch protector who now watched over her. ‘It’s quite the night, isn’t it?’ she asked, and of course, he didn’t reply. He never replied, for that would be ridiculous. She did, however, imagine, as she always did, that his face softened at her words. ‘It is quite the evening.’ She continued. ‘The townsfolk are enjoying their revelry and I can’t help but wish… But no, I can’t wish, that is not for me.’"
“The gargoyle, of course—” I narrate, “sat stoically next to her, a reassuring presence in the unsettling feeling of the night.”
“But then,” Gwen says, her voice raising. “Taken by the madness of the night, or perhaps the sounds of the townspeople, Sister Mary-Gwyneth shakes her head and sets her shoulders. Because while she attempts to adhere to the structure of the life she has been given, she knows it is not one she would have chosen for herself, and what harm could one little wish whispered in the night to a silent, non-living companion do? ‘I wish,’ she whispers, ‘that even if it is only for tonight, you were alive and could keep me company for real.’”
“To her abject surprise, and no small amount of horror, Sister Mary-Gwyneth sees the gargoyle twitch.”
Gwen smiles wide, and takes her cue, switching to first person as she’s wont to do when she gets really into a scene. “I lean closer and squint my eyes.”
I hold the dice in front of her and she knows what to do. She picks it up, and rolls it atop the wall that circles the bridge. I didn’t think this through very well, because if we aren’t careful, that die will end up in the water. I make a mental note to keep an eye on it, and adjudicate her role. A fourteen. “As she leans in closer, Sister Mary-Gwyneth is certain that one side of the gargoyle’s mouth has never been hitched up at the side like that before.”
Gwen turns to look at me, her smile wide. “I want to roll arcana,” she says. “Or whatever our arcana is in this scenario.” I nod my head and hand the dice back to her, gesturing that perhaps she should consider rolling on the ground instead of on the wall. Gwen rolls again. A two.
“Sister Mary-Gwyneth closes her eyes and concentrates, but everything feels exactly as it always has. Even though she is certain Gabriel’s expression has changed.”
Gwen smiles and rolls her eyes, “There is something different about you tonight, Gabriel, and if, somehow, you are truly alive, for this one night or always, I implore you to tell me.”
I roll the dice, concealing the result from Gwen, though I needn’t have. A nineteen.
“Slowly, so slowly that Sister Mary-Gwyneth doubts her own vision, the gargoyle begins to stretch, he rubs his lips together and yawns wide before speaking.
“‘Good evening,’ he says, startling Sister Mary-Gwyneth.”
Gwen shrieks as Gwyneth, and I know that she is fully immersed in our game now. “Gabriel? Is it truly you?” she asks.
“‘Of course, who else should I be?’ The gargoyle asks.”
“Sister Mary-Gwyneth blushes, because she’s worried that she has forced this gargoyle to come to life somehow,” Gwen says. “I am so sorry, Gabriel, if I have ripped you from your slumber to attend to me this night.”
I smile and turn Gwen to face me, leaning closer. "No,” I rumble. “You have blessed me this night, granted me the opportunity to bask in your presence and respond to your words.”
Gwen breaks character and giggles. “Are you really going to go with the lore that he wasn’t alive until she brought him to life?”
I puff out my chest in full indignation, “You don’t get to decide what my lore is.”
“OK, OK,” she breathes in and pulls it together. “Have you wanted to come to life?” She raises an eyebrow and challenges me, and I know she’s pointing out the fact that it is difficult to want to come to life if you are not already alive.
“I have. Long have I watched you as you wander the gardens. Wishing that I could touch your sweet skin.”
“Sister Mary-Gwyneth blushes again, touching her cheeks.” Gwen mimics the action and runs off toward the forest. "Sister Mary-Gwyneth runs off into the forest and calls over her shoulder: ‘I guess you’ll have to catch me then!’”
I growl deep in my throat, because this is going better than I anticipated. “You can run little morsel, but I will always catch you.” I follow her into the forest, walking slowly to give her time to run. I can hear her movements and giggles ahead of me.
“Oh no, I hope that scary gargoyle doesn’t catch me” she says between laughs. This is absolutely in the spirit of Midnight Mayhem and I couldn’t be more excited. I follow the addicting scent of her between the trees. Punctuated by the first buds of summer and warm, wet earth, I know it is one I will remember forever. Around us, the cries of our fellow townspeople spur me on. A primal part of me activates, I can’t let anyone else get to her before me, Gwen is mine. I speed my steps until I leap and hover over the ground, searching for my precious prey.
She’s broken through the trees now, running across the football field at the high school. We might have missed our opportunities back when we were kids, but I’d take this one to ravish her now. I swoop down, the wind whistling past me and she shrieks when I scoop her up.
She meets my eyes, and everything… freezes. As much as I long to savor her, to map the peaks and valleys of her body with my eyes and tongue, her eyes hold mine, transfixed. I am wholly in her possession, captivated by the desire and—could it be—love I see there?
"Well then," she says. "You've got me. Now, what do you mean to do with me?"
I launch us above the clouds and my hands squeeze her ass cheeks. Her nipples are tight in the chill air, and I love how they scrape against my bare chest when she squirms. I position myself between her legs, running the length of my cock through her slick folds and lock her legs behind me.
"What am I going to do with you?" I echo her question from before. "Everything I've dreamed about for years."
Surging forward, I press her mouth in a claiming kiss. She's winded from our run, panting from the exertion and desire, but I want her out of her mind with pleasure.
Each tiny, wanting sound she released tingles through my extremities. Sucking her bottom lip into my mouth, I run my tongue along its slick plumpness. Once I've given it its due attention, I pull back, savoring her whimper and how she chases me.
Tracing the length of her neck with my mouth, I don't give her long to feel bereft. I lavish sucking kisses down her throat until I arrive at her breathtaking breasts. Scrabbling at her top, Gwen frees them for me. I could linger over her breasts for hours, and I know I will, but today, we both need more. Her need hangs in the air, mingling with my own, a heady bouquet of desire that demands satisfaction.
This is everything I'd ever wanted. The sounds of her echoed around us, filling the sky with her pleasure. I could have never dreamed how perfect she sounds. The moans and whimpers she makes are nothing like I'd heard for food and I love knowing that they are my own favorite secret. Between us, my cock rubs her clit, dripping my slick, lubricating pre-cum onto my own thighs.
In a rush of whimpers, she grinds down on my cock, and I nearly shoot off remembering what it will feel like when I’m inside her again. I move her up and down, grinding and focusing on not coming. Right before I feel like I cannot take anymore without exploding, she seizes and cries out, going limp in my arms. It’s still strange and surprising to me, learning this side of someone I know so well. She is just as I'd hoped, eager and responsive, and so, so much more.
Once she seems recovered, I move her again, eager to wring those glorious sounds from her once more. Her fingers tighten on my horns and she tries to hold still.
"I need your cock," she whispers, cheeks coloring as if surprised at herself.
"I've never heard sweeter words," I allow her to draw me in for a kiss. "I'm going to fill you so full…"
Gwen giggles, raising a hand to her face. "You promise?"
"Yes, as many times as is needed." I brush a few hairs from her sticky brow, lingering and toying with them.
"Ha! Fine, yes, it's a deal!" she says, laughing. I'll see her like this in my dreams, forever, I know. Glowing and happy, and looking up at me as if I'd hung the moon.
Drawing in a fortifying breath and saying a silent prayer that I'll be able to control myself, I shift her skirt out of the way and groan when I realize she’s not wearing underwear. I maneuver my cock to her entrance and biting my lips, I feel the hot slickness of her against my sensitive head.
With a luxuriant squeeze, I can scarcely breathe as I slip inside her. I sink into her, the warm grip of her cunt enveloping him easily. They were, after all, made for one another. I know it now, as she grips me so exquisitely, all signs pointed to us being perfectly aligned. Fully seated, I groaned.
I'd never felt so complete, so delighted, as I did then, with my beautiful mate stuffed full of me, her mouth hanging open as if in awe. Gwen is a vision, her form outlined against the full moon, the clouds framing her as if they are painted for this very moment. Planting her arms on my chest, she smiles wickedly and rolls her hips, grinding her clit into me. Gwen twines her hands around my horns and throws her head back. Then, while she is poised like a divine being, I angle to send us into a dip.
Wind whips around us and she squeals. Inside the clouds, condensation coalesces into rain. Her eyes squeeze shut and she holds her hands out to catch the cold drops. Each one is a brief sting of sensation against my skin and they temper the heat raging inside. Beaming down at me, arms outstretched as if reaching to contain the whole world, Gwen giggles .
Unable to contain myself, my hands fly to her hips, directing her and encouraging her. A giggle should not be so erotic, but I've never seen her filled with such joy and I chase her orgasm with vigor. In moments she is gasping, collapsing against me.
The shift grinds her pubic bone down into me and I gasp. With frantic movements, I feel her tense, and I hope I'll be able to last. The feel of her, the sounds, the scents, the pressure, the pleasure, it all combines in one massive overwhelming jumble that drags me toward the precipice of my orgasm. As she nears hers, she presses harder, drawing a whimper from me. I don't have it in me to be embarrassed at the sound as I was too consumed with her.
Just before I worry we'll crash when I come, instinct kicks in, and my wings flap involuntarily. Gwen freezes where she's pressing against me, mouth and eyes wide open. Her cunt convulses around me and I can no longer resist. With demanding hands, I slide her back, holding her exactly in place where I need her.
Waves of pleasure explode through me, ricocheting along my limbs in the longest orgasm I've ever had. My eyes fly open, and my vision narrows to Gwen, my mate, soon to be the mother of my child, my everything.