Page 70 of Hidden By the Gargoyle

A few moments later, he thrust inside me one last time before he groaned into my throat, the sound vibrating from his chest against my back. I felt the prick of fangs against my skin, which brought another gasp from my lips. Just as the pinch began to edge toward an actual bite, he growled and jerked his head away from my neck.

One of his fangs scratched me and I flinched at the swift pain.

“Fuck,” he whispered behind me, but he sounded as though he was in agony rather than riding out his own pleasure.

I couldn’t move, my body completely boneless. Dax’s hands flexed on my waist, and he was panting behind me. I wasn’t sure if I was shaking or he was, but neither of us moved for a long moment.

“Fuck,” he repeated. This time he sounded displeased.

“What is it?” I asked, trying to find the energy to move.

“Your neck is bleeding.”

I glanced down and saw a tiny stream of blood trickling down my chest. It wasn’t much, just a little.

“Oops,” I murmured.

“Oops?” he repeated.

“Did you get me with your teeth?” I asked.

His body went rigid beneath me. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged one shoulder and realized I was still gripping the back of his neck. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure the back of your neck would be scratched into a bloody mess right now if you weren’t a gargoyle.”

I released him and lowered my arms, hissing as pins and needles rushed through my muscles.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked.

I wished I could see his face, but the way we were sitting made it impossible for me to turn around.

“I’m okay. Just some pins and needles in my arms.”

“Gods, Ally,” he murmured, lifting me to my feet.

My legs nearly gave out and I would have crashed to the bottom of the shower if he hadn’t grabbed me.

“You are hurt,” he insisted.

“No, I’m not hurt,” I shot back. “I just came so hard that I can’t feel my legs, okay? Will you please calm down?”

Dax was silent but got to his feet behind me, still gripping my hips.

I glanced over my shoulder at his face, but, once again, he wore his impassive mask. The one that kept anyone from knowing what he was thinking.

“I shouldn’t have been so rough with you,” he finally rumbled.

“I don’t recall telling you that you were hurting me or telling you to stop,” I retorted.

My legs were steadier, so I stepped forward into the shower spray. I turned my back to the water, tilting my head back to wet my hair. I studied him as I grabbed my shampoo off the built-in shelf.

“I made you bleed,” he finally said.

“My neck is fine. I’ve cut myself worse shaving my legs.”

I lathered up my hair and started scrubbing my scalp. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been in the shower, and I didn’t want to run out of hot water.

His eyes trailed down my body, stopping at my waist. “You’re going to have bruises on your hips.”

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