Page 37 of Taken for Granite
“You don’t even know what I look like.”
“You are beautiful on the inside. I do not need to see you to know this.”
Her breath hitched at the tender words. “Careful. I might start to think you care.”
He did, more than he wanted to admit.
They joined, in warmth and soft breaths, their bodies moving together. This time he felt her, truly her. More than her heat as he pushed deep inside and more than fluttering sighs, more than her body responding to his on a primal level. He felt her heart as she welcomed him into her, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and gripped the base of his wings as he drove into her again and again, filling her and spilling into her.
She arched off the bed, tightening her grip on his wing base, and her core clenched him tight as she reached her release. Sharp pleasure spiked through him and his release followed, pumping deep into her.
He held himself above her until her hips ceased undulating and her breathing leveled out. Holding her close, he rolled to his back and pulled her to him.
This female. He would never stop craving her.
13
Juniper
Tas clearly didn’t know how to share a bed but he liked to snuggle. He sprawled in the center, on his stomach, with one arm tossed over her hip and his tail around her ankle in a possessive grip. Juniper kept inching closer to the edge, trying to make herself small, but he’d drag her back. For a guy who claimed he didn’t want attachments, he was a cuddler.
Her bladder woke her before dawn. She tried to slip away but his arm weighed heavy on her hip. Too heavy.
“Tas? I need to get up,” she muttered, sleepily. She pushed at his arm; it did not budge and was cool to the touch. Alert now, she twisted around.
With his face perfectly composed, Tas was a deep granite gray, completely made of stone, and asleep.
Her fingers skated down his nose and tapped his lips.
No response. This must be the stone sleep. Experimenting, she tapped his forehead with her knuckles. Yup, solid stone. If she didn’t know he had been living, breathing, and making love to her just hours ago, she’d swear she had a gargoyle statue in her bed.
She slipped her ankle free from the stony grip of his tail and escaped to the bathroom. After a shower, she made pancakes from a mix she found in the pantry.
Reading through the collection of historical romances—Mrs. Cannella enjoyed Victoria Holt and Barbara Cartland novels from the 1970s—kept her occupied as the sun moved through the day. Juniper could not bear the silence. As radio signals came in spotty, she explored the extensive collection of Mario Lanza, the Philadelphia-born singer, whose albums were stashed in the hi-fi cabinet. Soon the warmth and pops of tenor and vinyl filled the house.
When night fell, she checked on the gargoyle in her bed. He had not moved an inch and appeared unchanged.
Juniper perched at the edge of the bed and brushed the granite strands of hair splayed across her pillow. The strands were so fine she worried they would break if jostled. Resting her hand against his chest, she wanted to feel his heartbeat but found only cold stone. Her chest tightened with irritation, wishing she knew more or that Tas had told her more.
The damn gargoyle was so skittish. It was clear he didn’t trust her and only gave her the barest information necessary. He explained his mating gland but only because taking the stoic route and suffering in silence failed. He told her nothing about thisduramnaor what to expect, just that he would be asleep. Was his temperature supposed to be this cold? How long would he be like this? What if he had been too hurt to wake up? What happens if he never woke?
Juniper didn’t want to consider that. She needed to hand him over to free Chloe, but the idea of a world without her grumpy gargoyle upset her. Tas made the best noises when agitated or dissatisfied, which was often. He also made the best noises when he pushed in her, a long, low groan. The heated thought made her smile.
“Good night.” She kissed him on the lips, knowing that if he were awake, he’d protest. It just wasn’t done among his kind, apparently. He resisted her kisses the night before but didn’t object when she applied her lips to other parts of his anatomy.
Reading into the night, she fell asleep on the plastic-covered sofa.
* * *
tas
The scent of wood smoke tickled his nose. A breeze from an open window carried it to Tas, waking him.
He felt different. Tas stretched out on the soft bed, the musk of his female clinging to the sheets. He hadn’t rested on a comfortable bed in ages, which was the first difference. The second was the appalling orange and navy floral pattern on the sheets.
Sitting upright, he found himself in a bedroom with dull green-and-white-lattice wallpaper with matching green carpeting. A sheer orange curtain partially obscured a door that opened onto a balcony. It seemed decor had moved in an offensive direction during his captivity and he did not regret missing it one jot.
Despite the dimness of the room and the night beyond, the world felt too bright. He closed his eyes, resting in familiar darkness for a moment. Adjusting to light would take time.
