Page 2 of Stolen By the Gargoyle
That warm tongue stroked through my inner channel like it was searching for the place where my soul began and it meant to twine our auras together. The thought wrenched a shout from me as I slapped my hips faster against him. It was messy, the noises almost sordid and yet neither of us could stop.
The orgasm plunged through my system like a volcano erupting and scorching a blazing pathway down every single cell in my body.
I tensed, seizing and struggling to find my breath as my whole body was pulled tight. Electric shocks went through me, making my toes curl in the most mind-numbing sensation.
I swore, my brain astral projecting my subconscious into different realms, and when my soul slammed back into my body, a cold, brutal realization filled me.
This was, in fact,real. The gargoyle was still between my thighs, devouring me with slow licks that made me moan because I was oversensitive, overstimulated…
And officially freaking the fuck out.
I pushed away from those horns, only succeeding in shoving myself harder onto whatever softness lay beneath me.
The gargoyle lifted to stare down at me, long strands of thick, black hair slipping over his shoulders. That thick tongue slid over his lips, licking off my shining essence and…holy fuck.
His tongue was forked.
There was a moment that seemed to stretch out between us. A moment in which I couldn’t tear my eyes from that tongue, or from the flash of sharp fangs I caught sight of from beneath his lips, before the gargoyle moved. Shifted, reaching a gargantuan hand between our bodies. I flinched, but he reached for the black loincloth that hung at his waist and began to tug at the strings.
Okay, I was officially about to lose my fucking shit.
“No!” I grabbed his wrist, halting his movement before he could…
Yeah.
No.
The creature blinked at me. His brows, seemingly carved from stone, furrowed. He shook me off carefully, reaching for the cloth again.
“No!”
He paused, regarding me like he didn’t quite understand the word. Did he need me to say it in another language?
Fuck, I only knew how to say it in Spanish, and it was the same fucking word in English.
“No,” I repeated firmly.
The gargoyle opened his mouth, and then rumbling sounds came out. Like rocks grinding together and ground dust crumbling away in the wind.
Was that his language?
“No!” I shouted louder, as if that would make him understand me. “We aren’t fucking, so get off of me.” I shoved lightly at him, and he leaned back a fraction, giving me enough room to breathe. It still didn’t feel like enough.
So I shoved harder, with all my might, but it felt like pushing a boulder–literally. But he seemed to understand what I wanted and sat back, except he pulled me with him, his black-clawed hands grasping me at the hips and sitting me onto his lap.
I let out a breath of surprise, and my eyes widened when he tried for the loincloth again.
I panicked and flicked the hard cut of his nose. “Noooo!”
He blinked in surprise while a curse left my own lips, the pain on my finger traveling up my hand, wrist, and forearm.
Fuck, thathurt.
I pulled away from him, cradling my arm to my chest. He stared at it and then back at me, and I could just make out the confusion written over his features. A beat of silence pressed in the space between us, which, I hated to admit, was very little. This close, I could feel the way his chest expanded against mine, each exhale sounding like a rockslide rattling through his lungs.
Did gargoyles have lungs?
I took a moment to observe him further, memorizing every detail that I could, each second passing feeling more surreal than the last.
