Chapter Four
Arielle
I’m in the gardener’s strong, enormous hands.
In his rock-hard arms like a bride, flying to the nicest place in town.
Does he realize it’s Bliss Day? We would need a reservation to the hottest spot in town on most days, but especially today.
The holiday is celebrated by earth and water territories to honor the lovebird goddesses, Glacia and Terra, whose love for one another literally moved mountains and carved canyons.
“Here we are, sweet Ari.”
My feet touch the floor and Grogoth places a stabilizing hand on the small of my back. It’s all I can do to smile without whimpering. A large, greedy piece of me wishes we’d stayed in my apartment. There are other things to eat than burnt okapi. Each other, for instance.
“Mr. G, come on in!” the host calls from their podium. “Go on back, I’ll alert them to open your room.”
Grogoth nods and twists my hand around his arm. I try not to gape at him. He has a room at The Saffron Valley? One they keep ready and waiting? How often does he visit? Just how rich is he?
We stride down aisles of tables cloaked in elegant black tablecloths. The moody lighting is courtesy of flickering flames hovering in the air. The sound of laughter competes for my attention with the clinking of utensils on porcelain plates, all of it nosier than the distant sound of light jazz.
We reach the back of the restaurant—or so I think until Grogoth parts a hidden black curtain to reveal a lively area with even more expensive decor.
The band is made up of a dragonborn, a human with a gnarly burn scar, a hoofed being that looks like a tree and a satyr had a baby, and a muscular orc woman in stunning evening wear.
Distracted, I almost trip on a raised step.
Grogoth catches me, leading me through another black curtain.
Inside is a small dining area ten times more luxurious than all we’d walked passed.
The U-shaped seating is plush velvet tufted with geometric lines, encrusted with diamonds at every intersecting pattern.
I glance at my dress, which I hastily changed into before we left. It’s cute. It’s my favorite and most comfortable nightlife piece, but it doesn’t scream finer things like this room.
There’s a soft cough at the curtain. A young man with gel-tamed curls holds a tray with one plate and one bundle of cutlery. He smiles at Grogoth, which falters when he notices me. Great. Everyone can tell I don’t belong here.
“I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t realize you had company. I’ll be right back.”
Grogoth nods politely, quiet authority radiating from his silence. It feels good to know I was right about him being a man of few words, but this…this is not what I imagined. What else have I yet to learn about my gargoyle crush?
“You’re beautiful.” His gravelly tone wrenches me from my worries. I drop the hem of my sleeve, unsure when I’d started fiddling with it. Grogoth takes my hands, bringing my knuckles to his lips one by one. “The single most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Even while not wearing yoga pants?”
“Skirts, yoga pants, no pants. It matters not.”
I flush and bite my lip, watching as his attention zeroes in on my mouth. I let him guide me into the booth and he scoots in after me. The bench is large enough to accommodate his great size, his wings tucked so seamlessly that one might not realize they existed.
His firm hand swallows my much smaller knee, rooting me to the spot.
His thumb, its texture slightly rough, circles the indent of my joint and sends heat trickling through my bloodstream to build at my core.
I squeeze my thighs together, sitting up a little higher, trying to hold myself in check.
I can’t jump his concrete bones right here, can I?
I glance toward the curtain, where our server could walk in at any moment.
Grogoth inhales, his exhale quivering. Without even the slightest turn of his head, he laughs, the sound as deep as an avalanche.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your body craves me even now, in a public place.”
“You can smell me, can’t you?”
He growls a husky ascent, amusement alight in his tempest eyes.
“So that means—oh, goddess. You’ve known this whole time, haven’t you? All those mornings on the balcony. You knew!”
The circles on my flesh stop and I watch the storms churn behind his eyes before he starts to slowly grin. “I merely meant tonight. You mean to tell me, my little confection, that you became aroused at the thought of me watching you?”
Embarrassment floods me, but I resist the temptation to shrink. Something in the way he watches me so intently, it doesn’t seem as embarrassing as I thought it would be.
“I mean, I could have rolled my mat out inside. But why would I do that, when the garden is so beautiful?”
“Mmm.” His grin is downright smug. “And the trees are so girthy.”
I blanch again but quickly fall into laughter at his mocking raised brow.
In my giggle fit, my hand instinctively covers his and squeezes.
When I lean back in the booth, I take both our hands with me, right under the hem of my short dress.
That breaks the spell and we both go silent, the heat between our bodies unbearable.
“Here you go, sir.” The entrance of the server doesn’t put a dent in the palpable tension. “Would you like a moment to review the menu?”
“Fried hydra cream bites to start with,” Grogoth said, his thumb caressing my thigh. “And yes, a moment, please. Thank you, Damion.”
“No problem.”
When the server departs, a small crack down the middle of the curtain remains. I notice the human band member’s scar completely covers this side of his neck, and he has a faint mark on his wrist as well.
“This menu is enormous,” I said. “And I can’t focus on the words while you distract me.”
“You mean, like this?” He leans closer, his breath hot on my forehead.
I inhale sharply as his hand caresses my upper thigh. I grip the menu for dear life, resisting my body’s temptation to reach down and stop him for fear of being seen. Fuck what others think. I've dreamt of his hands on me for years.
“If you’d like me to stop, speak up soon. Once I get going, I fear I won’t be able to.”
“Don’t stop.”
I squirm under his hand, hiking him further up my thigh. As he eases up the hem of my dress, I recall the crack in the curtains. A moment later, his knuckles are grazing the freshly waxed skin at the apex of my thighs. Grogoth stills.
“What a joy,” he chuckles. His nose grazes the side of my head. “You’re as much the naughty thing I thought you’d be. Where are your panties?”
I start to explain they make unnecessary lines under nice dresses, but a thick digit runs through my folds, parting my labia.
“And so wet for me already.”
Through the open sliver in the curtain, I spot our server.
I try to right myself, but Grogoth’s hand is firm enough to keep me from struggling into a fully upright position.
He means to continue while the server is here!
The thought sends a bolt of desire through my every synapse and I realize there might’ve been a secret reason why I've put on such a show for him each morning, right there in broad daylight.
“But I haven’t decided yet,” I whisper urgently.
Grogoth doesn’t spare me a glance, his smug expression somehow deepening my raging desire.
“Do we need another minute, sir? And madam?” They address me like an afterthought as they place a platter of little fried balls on the table, along with a dipping bowl of pink-tinted cream lined with juicy cherries.
“Tenderized stone indri and griffin tarte tatin, both with a side of angelfish salad.” Grogoth lazily slides his finger through my slick folds, tracing my clit in a playful circle. He sits stoically as a statue while I shiver in front of the server, biting my lip to stay calm.
“Wonderful to see you’re branching out, sir.” The server beamed at the gargoyle. “Would you like the salads beforehand?”
“Yes.”
Yes?! Good goddess, he’s enjoying this! Toying with me right in front of people! I bite my lip harder to stifle the moan bubbling up from my core. Yep, I definitely have a public kink. A very urgent one at the moment.
“Excellent. I’ll take your menus. Your food will be out shortly.”
With shaky hands, I pass the menu and smile what I hope is a normal, polite smile.
When Damion leaves, the curtain falls back into position, sliver and all. I grip Grogoth’s solid stone forearm and attempt to ride his hand, but he makes a reproachful sound from the back of his throat.
“P-please. Torture is illegal.”
He laughs, locking in on my sensitive nub. He swirls it, causing my back to arch against the satin cushion, my breasts thrusting into the air.
“If someone sees you acting this way, they will know exactly what’s happening under this tablecloth,” he chides. “Settle down or I’ll be forced to stop.”
“You wouldn't.”
His responding look scolds me into submission. I take a breath and adjust myself in the comfortable seat. The downy fabric hides a layer of overly soft stuffing, great for napping after a heavy meal.
Just when I think I’m under control again, he inserts the finger he’d teased me with.
It may only be one, but it feels like two to me.
All of my experience has been with other humans.
If his hand is anything to judge the rest of him by, I should probably worry about the tree trunk that must be under his trousers.
Grogoth fucks me with his finger like it’s just good etiquette. Meanwhile, my knuckles are in white fists around my utensils. When he adds another and starts to massage my walls with a hitch and a curve, my feeble whimper barely has time to dissipate before Damion returns with the salads.
“Here you are, then. Please don’t hesitate to ring me if you need anything.”
The server barely glances my way, so I must be doing all right at pretending not to be so close to shattering. I let out a long breath and lean back, rolling my head toward Grogoth.
“You have something to say, do you, sweet one?” The look in his eye is downright devilish. “Use your words.”
I open my mouth to respond, but that damned gargoyle changes his rhythm. He scissors his fingers as he pumps in and out, working my cunt until my hips refuse to stay still.
“M-more.”
“More, what?”
“More, please!”
“Hmmm.” He obliges with a smirk. I want to climb on top of him and force his cock inside, to ride him until that smug expression is wiped from his face.
I squeeze his hand with my thighs, holding his forearm so tightly I feel my nails trying to chip his stone. My pussy is soaking wet now, his fingers squelching as he plunders me in secret.
He eases a third finger inside, my pussy stretching around him. My vision blurs, but I accidentally make eye contact with the server, headed their way.
I cough and once again try to collect myself, but Damion no doubt saw the I’m-gonna-cum face I was making a mere moment ago.
“The kitchen is out of angelfish dressing.” The server’s gaze lingers on me before resting on Grogoth. “Chef Lennae suggests the frost dressing instead, or you may choose something else off the menu. She sends her deepest apologies.”
I giggle. Another interruption. Of course. Below the table, Grogoth chastises me with an agonizing flick of my clit. I gasp, then quickly slap a smile on my face.
“Chef Lennae’s suggestion is fine,” Grogoth says. Nothing about him suggests he’s affected by our dirty little secret. The server smiles and nods, casting a strange side-eye at me as he leaves.
“He must think me odd,” I giggle.
“Then you’re being too obvious.”
“Do you mean to make me c-c-cum—oohh!” He picks up the pace of his brutal finger-fucking and my eyes loll again, my hand dropping to his. My hips spasm, so close, I’m so close!
“I merely intend to share a meal,” he deadpans. “But I will be saving my place for later.”
“S-saving? Whaa—”
“Eyes ahead.”
I snap to attention, righting myself though it’s hard to breathe.
Damion and two attendants with large platters rush into the room.
Momentarily, I’m distracted by the incredible scents and the tantalizing display of food.
I even manage a bright thank you and an emphatic nod when asked if everything looked all right.
But as soon as the curtain closes, leaving behind a gap doubly as wide as before, Grogoth slides a third finger inside my sopping pussy.
“Oh, goddess!” I whisper desperately. “Please!”
“Words.”
“Please, let me cum!”
“No.”