Chapter 5 – Thorne
Encompassing. Intense.
The amount of cum I shot down Layla’s throat would have drowned her if she were mortal.
It’s not like I was backed up. I still take my cock by hand when bored or stressed or just needing release.
But seeing her find pleasure in my pleasure, watching as Vara made Layla moan with just her fingers and tongue, acted as a catalyst and my body exploded with an orgasm.
My cock is already getting hard again reliving the moment.
Fuck, this is a bad idea. I shouldn’t be fucking the new vampire queen.
“You really are the definition of broody, huh?” Layla says as we enter her building.
“I’m afraid I let my thoughts win far too often.”
She frowns but doesn’t question what I mean.
Before the ball, Layla gave me a packet with information on the security at her building.
The high-rise has been overhauled with new protocols, including the most up-to-date technologies.
I also notice plenty of security guards as we pass.
Most of them are supernatural beings masked from the human world.
The two middle-aged humans manning the lobby desk glance up when we walk by, their eyes widening at the team of large men surrounding Layla.
No, that’s not why they appear so shocked.
They’ve likely seen her walk in with her bodyguards plenty of other times before.
It’s me. I’m in my human form, but I resemble a seven-foot-tall muscular man who looks as if he could break a neck with a pinky finger.
My pinky finger isn’t like a human’s. It’s thick and clawed and strong.
I bet Layla’s pinky finger is adorable. When we get to the well of elevators and wait for one to open, I take her hand and lift it to inspect the tiny thing. Sure enough, her pinky is dainty as fuck.
“What are you doing, Thorne?” Layla asks. A smile lights up her face, and my heart does a little dance at the fact that she finds me amusing, which never happens.
I’m not a funny guy.
“Your hand. It’s cute.”
An elevator in the middle dings and we all pile in. I extract my access card to the penthouse and tap it to the reader. After pressing the penthouse button, the elevator rises.
Layla puffs out a laugh. “My hand is… cute?”
“Yes. Look.” I grab her hand and place it against my palm. “See how tiny and adorable it is compared to mine?”
She tilts her head, examining the size difference. She bites her lip, and the scent of her arousal hits my nose.
Is she thinking about what my large hands and thick fingers could do to her?
Wait... if I can smell her sweet sex, then so can these vampire guards. I growl, and they seem to understand the threat and back away as far as they can.
“So protective,” Layla whispers, followed by a giggle.
“It is what I was chosen to do.”
The elevator dings again, announcing our arrival at the penthouse.
I instruct the three vampires to enter first and conduct a quick sweep of the place.
While Layla and I wait, I admire the small foyer to her home.
The cream marble floors are streaked with gold throughout.
Along the wall to the right is a wooden table with a statue of a naked woman on top.
A Renaissance painting of an orgy hangs on the wall above it.
This sexual little vamp… I think about Vara’s words.
We'll do this again.
I can’t wait to be inside her again. It may not happen right away, especially with all the meetings and appearances Layla is scheduled to attend.
But I’m eager. Will she let me fuck her while my tail takes her up her ass?
Will Vara order us around again? I can be dominant, but I love submitting to a powerful woman.
“Thorne,” Layla whispers, her fangs drop, and her eyes turn black. Something I notice happens when she’s turned on. “You growled again.”
I wince. I’m not a growler. Even when I’m angry and want to appear threatening, I stay silent and intimidating. It works for me.
It’s Layla... Vara too. Just the thought of us all together again makes me feral.
The vampire guards return, giving us the all clear. I snap out of it when Layla grabs my hand and pulls me through a set of heavy oak doors into her apartment.
She’s... she’s holding my hand. Why is my head swimming and my heart thrashing inside my chest over this simple act of affection?
Layla doesn’t appear to be affected by holding my hand as she gives me a tour. Her penthouse is cozy yet modern with sleek furniture and décor, mixed with items that would now be considered antiques.
A beautiful console table with intricate golden designs along the legs and topped with a white and gray marble lines a hallway wall.
Beside it is a Windsor Cherry grandfather clock with an arm ticking back and forth.
Next to the clock, hanging on the wall, is an ornate gold framed mirror that looks slightly haunted.
Ghosts are real but they don’t like to haunt supernaturals.
We don’t fall for their bullshit pranks—a book levitating off a table?
Lights flickering? Changing the room’s temperature?
Witches can do all of that with their magic.
Humans are far more gullible, which is why ghosts find them more entertaining.
Layla’s living room is encased by windows overlooking the Empire State Building—which is lit up in purple and gold tonight.
A white sectional couch sits in front of a long electric fireplace in the wall with a flat-screen TV mounted above.
On the opposite side of the room is quite the collection of books and trinkets spanning centuries.
They sit on shelves of bookcases that look like they came from that one store with the really good meatballs.
The hallway leading to the bedrooms is simple with only a few paintings hung throughout.
It’s also narrower than the hallway just inside the entrance, so no tables line these walls.
We pass by a few doors that I assume are guest rooms, until arriving at the main bedroom.
It’s decorated with dark purple painted walls and gold accents throughout.
Certainly, it’s a coincidence that the purple matches my skin, and the gold resembles Vara’s wings and fur?
The bedding on her king-sized bed is white and there are too many pillows for me to count. She has a white, antique vanity along one wall next to a matching antique dresser. A purple chaise lounge sits in a corner with a small table in front of it. Stacks of romance books are on top.
I want to flip through the pages and read what brings her joy, but she’s already leading me back out into the hallway.
When we reach the kitchen, she releases my hand. I already miss her cold touch.
“Would you like something to drink? I don’t have much since I rarely entertain anymore.” Layla opens the fridge and peers in. “Let’s see... there’s wine and water. I might have a bottle of whiskey or vodka somewhere.”
I’ve never been a heavy drinker, and I wouldn’t want anything that could impair me while I’m working.
Though it would take quite a lot of booze to make gargoyles even slightly tipsy.
The buzz doesn’t last long either. Drinking water will take the fun away pretty quickly.
I believe it’s because we’re meant to protect and doing so impaired is not feasible, so our bodies work overtime to sober us up as fast as possible.
“Just water please.”
She nods and spins around, using her vampire speed to fill a glass with ice and water from the spout on the fancy fridge.
It’s one that has an electronic display on the door.
Her entire kitchen is fancy: several feet of marble countertops and spacious white cabinets, a stove with six burners on top, a wine fridge, a double sink with an expandable faucet.
I sit on a stool at the massive island, which could easily fit eight, maybe ten, people around it.
“Why don’t you entertain anymore?”
She hands me the water and wiggles her nose, once again reminding me of an adorable bunny.
“It’s been a while since I’ve found anyone worth entertaining. Millie and I used to go out all the time, but it started to feel too repetitive. We’d go to a club, dance and get drunk off boozed blood, we’d find someone to fuck, then do it all over the next week.”
“You and Millie were an item, right?”
It’s what I’ve heard some of my fellow gargoyle soldiers gossiping about.
She snorts. “First of all, no one describes romantic relationships as 'an item’ anymore.”
I shrug, accepting I will always be a socially awkward gargoyle who says all the wrong things.
“But, yes, Millie and I were together. We met in New Orleans in 1921. She was the closest I ever felt to being in love.”
“Not even when you were human?”
Layla frowns, likely at whatever memory I just triggered.
“When I was human, I was married, but I never loved my husband. How could I when it was an arranged marriage: my life in exchange for more land, a higher status in society. It’s just how things worked back then.
I was only fourteen, for fuck’s sake, ten years younger than my husband.
He abused me from day one, physically and mentally, any chance he got.
He only saw me as a breeding mule, but there was something wrong with my body.
I wasn’t able to get pregnant, which pissed him off even more. ”
The anger that rolls through my body is palpable. Layla senses it and reaches out to take my hand. I should be the one consoling her! I attempt to reel in my fury hearing about her abusive husband, despite it happening centuries ago and there’s nothing I can do about it now.
Except be here for her.
She gently squeezes my hand and continues.