CHAPTER 9 #4
Fine. I’ve wound him up. I didn’t mean to, but I kind of like this show of possessive anger, even though I know I shouldn’t.
I mean, I’m the first girl to tell a friend—if I had any left—to leave the guy who won’t let her wear revealing clothing in front of others.
But Alain isn’t like those guys. I’m not afraid of his fists or his rage.
I trust him enough to know that he’ll never hurt me.
That is, until he kicks the door down rather than slow to turn the knob.
“Fucking door,” he growls. We’re across the room in an instant and he tosses me onto the middle of the bed. He points a finger at me. “Stay, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Is that an order?” I narrow my eyes and pretend I’m outraged, although honestly, I’m so turned on, I’m probably sopping the pretty nightgown and his jacket that’s lodged beneath my ass. It covers me nearly to my knees, after all.
He growls again before turning back to the door. He flips it off the floor before examining the hinges that broke. With an impressive frown, he shoves the portal back into the space, and when it only falls out the other side, he sighs, and leans his head against the adjacent wall.
“There’s always my room,” I say, trying to be helpful. “You know, if you’re intent on ravishing me and want some privacy.”
Rotating his head a fraction, he flicks me a glare from the side of his eyes. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bumps. I swear, I’ve never met anyone who could rile me like you can.”
That’s a pretty good compliment, actually. He’s placid most of the time.
I shimmy off the bed and cross to him, leaving the jacket to fall to the floor as I move.
By the time I get to him, I’m done. Finished.
I don’t have any willpower left to resist anything he wants to do to me, even the weird stuff.
He looks like he’s caging all his worst instincts, burying them beneath stone, and it’s so hot, I’m burning up from the inside.
He turns and leans his shoulders against the wall.
His fingers reach to gently stroke my cheekbone.
“You have no idea how much I want you, Bumps. It’s making me insane.
” His fingers drop and he clears his throat, hanging his head before shaking it.
“I don’t want to force you, or take away your choice.
I’m sorry for throwing you on the bed and going all caveman on you.
You can go, of course, and… what are you doing? ”
What I’m doing is falling to my knees before him.
Submitting to him. Telling him without words that I’m his, if he’ll only take me.
My hands stroke up his tuxedo-clad-thighs, the soft, luxurious fabric at odds with the rock-hard flesh beneath.
Trembles fly up my body and tighten in my core. I want him so badly, I shake with it.
“Lean further. You’re still too tall.” Because even up on my knees, I can’t quite reach his dick. I let my hands rove to the creases where his pants meet over the part I’m looking for, so he understands what I want.
“Bumps…”
“Please.” I lick my lips, and delight in how his focus latches upon the tiny sliver of my tongue. “Give me this for your birthday.”
Hunger fills his gaze. Something tics above his cheek. He studies me carefully, but honestly, I can’t imagine how he can misinterpret what I’m offering. What I’m asking for. Or how he can continue to resist.
His fingers twine in my hair. “You don’t have to…”
“I want to. Please.” There. I’m on my knees, begging for his dick. What more does this fastidious, uptight gargoyle want from me?
He throws his head back and slams it against the wall, but doesn’t flinch.
A long sigh escapes him before he moves.
But instead of scooting down, he grabs me up into his strong arms, just like I weigh nothing, and tramples over the door until we reach my room.
This time, he takes the moment to turn the knob, and he shuts it with a resounding click behind us.
“If I’m going to ravish you, Bumps, I’m going to do it properly.”
I pout as he lays me gently on my bed. My dress/nightgown lies in a careless tangle about my upper thighs, and I watch him notice, but I don’t do anything to make this easier for him. “But I want your dick.”
“And my dick you shall have. Everywhere. For hours. But I’ve got other ideas on how this should go. The images have been haunting me since the first day I met you, and since it’s my birthday, we’re going to do this my way.”
He shrugs out of Jean-Luc’s jacket and leaves it lying upon the floor, before kicking off his shoes.
“Well,” I say, entranced by his broad shoulders and the way his expensive shirt contours his ridges, “since it’s your birthday.”
His chuckle has raw edges. It sends another wave of liquid heat through me. Out of me.
I squirm on the bed, aware that I’m ruining a very expensive nightgown. “I really thought this was my dress. It doesn’t have any lace, and the fabric is so thick.”
He gestures with a tiny side nod of his head, and when I can tear my gaze from him, I do indeed note the black gown hanging from the closet door.
When I look back at him, he’s unhooking his shirt studs. His narrow tie hangs down his front like dripping dissipation. He’s so beautiful, it’s hard to stay where I am rather than tackling him. But I do. Because I’m also enjoying the striptease.
When he notices me enjoying it, he slows his pace. It’s my turn to groan as he smiles that lecherous smile that has me wetting myself, though hopefully in a sexy way. That glimmer of knowing enters his eyes.
Once his shirt is cast off, he flicks his wings. They fan out in an expanse of fibrous muscles, like a bat’s. One of them knocks the dress hanger off the top of the closet door.
He’s so… chiseled. Lush. Hard and perfect. When he comes to my bed at night, he wears pajamas, I guess so he won’t fuck me. But right now, there’s nothing covering him but an enormous whiff of sin and seduction.
I guess he really is ready.
His hands flick to his belt. The buckle slides. His pants unzip, and then they’re on the floor, leaving me to view the magnificent monster since he doesn’t wear underwear.
His dick. His dick is perfection. I knew that from the first time he stripped naked for me, but somehow, I forgot just how magnificent it is.
It stands straight up, a good nine inches of luscious carved stone.
Ridges and veins carve out against the darker gray skin, courtesy of the blood coalescing there.
Seeing him the first night was nothing to seeing him now, knowing that I’m going to have him. Finally. Thought, it’s a good thing he’s stopped me from giving him a blowjob. I’m not sure my jaws can open that wide.
He turns in a slow circle just as he did four weeks earlier, arms spread to give me time to see all of him, to accept him, and when he’s done, he smiles again.
This time, shivers run up my spine, but they’re not all from desire.
Like this, naked, gray except for his flesh-painted face and hands, he looks like a thing apart, a thing that can break me as easily as I could snap a matchstick.
I’m taken right back to the first night with him, when I was still wary.
“I’d say last chance, Bumps, but I think we’re too far gone for that,” he says gravely. “Aren’t we?”
I hear what he’s saying despite the denial: if I tell him to leave, he will, but I have to do it now. In five minutes, he won’t be able to turn away.
Because that’s who he is. He’s a gargoyle, but a gentleman. He always comes with a warning.
Which is so hot that I simply lie back and spread my arms along the velvety coverlet. Fear be damned. I love this monster. “I’m yours to ravish, gargoyle. Do your worst.” And then, with a twinkle of my own, I add, “Please.”
And that’s all I need to say.