by Mel Teshco
She let out a soft sigh, imagining then she was flying, the wind pushing beneath her wings as she soared ever upward, without a care in the world. Except, she’d never really been guilt free—even in flight she had agonized over Saul and the son she’d left behind.
Was Pascal okay? Her heart wrenched. Did he wonder—again—why she had left him, wonder if she even loved him? Did he even know she’d been given no choice but to leave the moment he’d arrived at the Triskellon camp?
Her teeth bit into her lower lip and she tasted the coppery tang of blood, the saltiness of her tears spilling down her cheeks.
She had no idea what her son looked like. She had no clue even to how he’d turned out as an adult, living all those years with Saul.
A strangled laugh pushed past her lips. She’d been such a fool! No child deserved to grow up without a mother, no matter how harsh the environment. A mother’s love was everything.
It had almost killed her to leave Pascal behind. But that one year they had been with Saul and all his human friends had made him so happy. He’d beamed whenever Saul had so much as looked his way. Damn it! He’d fit so well into the human world she hadn’t wanted to tear him away.
She’d thought she’d given her young son the ultimate sacrifice by not uprooting him from everything and everyone he loved to bring him back to the distrustful stares of the gargoyle clan. Back to the very people they’d fled.
She sighed, aching to see her son.
Saul had clearly loved him, she’d known that, but she realized now that obstacles could be overcome. Fear could be turned into courage, weakness into strength. She’d learned that and more firsthand after the father of Pascal had planted his seed in her unwilling body.
She’d kept all her fears, all her self-doubts on the inside. Then she’d met Saul all those years ago and her every doubt had dissolved. Nothing and no one could touch her. No one would be game to cross the mobster boss.
It was only when she’d left Saul that everything had started to fall apart, the anxiety attacks returning with a vengeance.
She sensed Saul behind her a nanosecond before she heard his tread. But she didn’t turn to him and ask what he was doing out here with her instead of sharing scotch and cigars with the men.
She remained motionless as every nerve ending screamed for him, for his skilled touch. Then his hands clasped her waist as though they belonged there. On the softest of sighs she leaned into him, giving in to her desire and soaking up his heat, his strength, his vitality.
I love him so much.
His lips trailed over the side of her throat as his big, capable hands moved to her front and slipped low. Using a slow, circular motion he massaged her pussy through the slippery fabric of her dress until she was almost a puddle at his feet and craving so much more.
Oh god. How did he do it? How did he leave her wanting him so badly? How did he help her forget the past until she lived only for the moment? How did the need to soar through the skies become nothing short of an afterthought?
“You’re not wearing underwear.” He growled in her ear, sending a cascade of goose bumps over her body. She managed a nod and his breath was warm on her earlobe as he asked, “What are you doing out here? I mean, really doing?”
She tensed. A smattering of high-pitched laughter floated their way, the women’s gossip obviously in full swing.
“Let me guess,” he said into the silence, “you wish you were flying right now?”
“Yes…I was,” she conceded weakly, barely thinking straight.
His hands tightened. “Is there anything I can do to make you forget that idea?”
She could feel his cock straining against his pants and her breath hissed when he ground his shaft between her thighs. “Yes,” she said hoarsely.
Oh, yes!
His breath became heavier in her ear when one of his hands moved and she heard the whistle of his zipper coming undone, the rustle of his pants and boxer briefs. He tugged up the hem of her dress. His freed cock pushed insistently against her bare ass.
“Someone might see us,” she said weakly, titillated and appalled in equal measure.
“Yes, they might. Isn’t that a delicious thought?”
She threw her head back, allowing him to suckle the sensitive curve of her throat as she gasped, “You. Always. Did. Thrive. On. Danger.”
It was just one of the many things she loved about him.
“I could hardly be in the position I’m in without enjoying some danger.”
Touché.
He lifted her hem a little higher. A growl rumbled from deep in his chest when he spread her thighs with a knee and rasped, “You feed on danger just as much as I.”
Then he thrust forward, deep into her eager cunt.
“Oh, Saul.”
His cock filled her with a pain she barely acknowledged as pleasure immediately followed. He drew back then drove forward again. And again. Hard and fast. No foreplay and very little restraint. Just a wild, utter abandonment that excited the gargoyle in her and turned her human side on in oh so many ways.
Growing pleasure was spearheading too quickly toward orgasm.
And he knew it.
Her dress no longer a barrier, he deftly parted her vulva with one hand and massaged her clit. The act pushed her doubly quick to the edge of climax and beyond and she shattered around him with a startled cry, clinging to the railing with a white-knuckled grip.
He plunged deeper still, his outspread hands clasping her hips to drag her back against him. He groaned, long and hard, holding her in place over his erupting cock.
They stayed joined for some minutes, panting and still. Then Saul reluctantly pulled free. He settled her dress back into place before refastening his pants. Clasping her forearms, he turned her gently to face him. “You’re safe. No one saw.”
“Yes.” Her legs barely supported her with the lethargic aftereffect of great sex. “But your friends must be wondering where you are.”
He dropped his hands, his grin wickedly amused. “Oh, I think they have a fair idea.”
No doubt.
She swayed a little and he took hold of her again. Staking claim? He studied her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m just…tired. I probably should have an early night.” Some time alone to think, to adjust.
“Sounds like a fine idea. I’ll just let the guests know we’re retiring early.”
“No. Please. Stay with your friends.”
His shadowed eyes glittered. “You don’t want my company?”
“It’s not like that—well, not entirely. Your men already dislike me, knowing I left you, especially Lewie. And now…after my request, I don’t want to give any one of them even more ammunition.”
Saul’s rage was tangible. “Lewie is more than aware I’d kill him if he so much as touched a hair on your head. You know that.”
Tell him! A voice screamed inside her head. Tell him the fears you still carry around after all these years, the panic attacks that strike you when you least expect them. The deep-seated foreboding you feel whenever someone like Lewie so much as looks your way.
She couldn’t tell him. The words simply couldn’t push past the sudden thickness in her throat. And somehow it felt too late to tell him now.
Way too late.
Though it had been years after the rape incident when she’d met Saul, the memory and grief had still been too fresh, too raw to confide in him. No matter how naïve and innocent she’d been at the time, somehow she’d felt guilty—still felt guilty—as though she’d asked for everything she’d gotten by approaching her would-be attacker in all her naked glory.
And deep down, she couldn’t help but wonder just what Saul would think and say if she told him.
At her silence, one of his hands gripped her chin, forcing her gaze back toward his too-astute stare. She swallowed. He all but quivered with suppressed emotion, with bleak despair.
“What is this really abou
t?” His voice roughened. “Are you already pining for your old life? Your freedom? Your…lover?” He bit the last word out as if it was hot acid on his tongue.
“No, not my lover. But yes, to my freedom. Surely you can understand? I’ve had the liberty of the skies for so long now—”
His grip tightened almost painfully. “No flying. No wings.” His silky quiet voice throbbed with danger. “Promise me.”
Chapter Five
“No.” Her answer shocked even her. It wasn’t until that moment that she knew it was an impossible request, despite her earlier thoughts to the contrary. “I am a gargoyle. You can’t take that away from me. No one can.”
His hands dropped. He shook his head. “You’re right. Of course you’re right, I know that.” He moved back, releasing a jagged breath. “What was I thinking?”
She followed him and took hold of his arm. Sometimes the best defense was direct attack. And she really, really wanted to attack him right then, make him pay for wanting to take away her only escape from the terrible memories haunting her every single day. “Why don’t you tell me, Saul? What were you thinking?”
He shook his head. “Bloody hell, Zee. Don’t you see? I don’t want to lose you. Not again.” His eyes closed, concealing his pain. “But your fierce independence, your free spirit, it’s a big part of you and I can’t change that. I don’t want to change that!”
Her fingers tightened on his arm, squeezing the taut muscle. “Trussing me up with rules is what pushed me away the first time.”
He nodded, releasing a heavy breath. “I know.” He grinned ruefully. “Mortal rules don’t apply to you. They never have. You’re no one’s puppet.” The hand he moved to cup beneath her chin was all gentle tenderness this time. “I can’t believe I just tried to change that.”
She released a sigh, tension ebbing. Everything was going to be all right.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Let’s dance.”
“But your men are waiting.”
“It’s my party, my birthday. And I want to spend it with you.”
He drew her back into the showroom they’d vacated. The women were still there, drinking their coffee and tea, a couple of them tossing back champagne in slender flutes. Their eyes went wide as Saul walked her out onto the polished wooden floor that occasionally served as a dance floor.
He pulled her into his arms, nodding at the man who’d returned to play piano. A dreamy, romantic piece filled the room, at complete odds with the women’s stares that cut into her back like hot blades.
“We’ve got a rapt audience,” she said with an arched brow.
“Mmm. Every single one of them is wishing they were you.”
Yes. They each want to be the woman in your arms. Her laugh was half hysterical. “Not if they saw the gargoyle side of me.”
He pulled his head back. “You look nothing like those gargoyle statues that guard cathedrals. You hardly change at all in your winged form.”
True. Except for a thickening of her spine and her huge wings, there wasn’t a lot of visible change, despite the tales to the contrary.
“You don’t like me as a gargoyle.” Funny, having said it aloud, bitter emotions immediately churned within, her vision swimming with the threat of tears.
His nostrils flared. “I love you in any form. What I despise is the fact your wings, your love of flying, means I may one day lose you.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting him expertly guide her around the floor as she said, “I’ve only ever wanted to enjoy the best of both worlds—no judgments, no recriminations.”
His brow furrowed and his stare was thoughtful. “Sweetheart, do you think such a thing is even possible?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
His hands slid over the curve of her ass cheeks. He wedged her close and a little mewl of need escaped her lips. Her stilettos provided just enough height for the restrained bulge of his cock to push almost dead center against her pussy.
“So you want your cake and to eat it too?” he murmured, the serious note in his voice revealing acceptance of the idea.
“Is that so wrong?”
He clasped her hands as she leaned backward in a half-sweep, his cock jutting hard against her pussy before he pulled her upright again. One of his hands moved to cup behind her head. He held her stare. “No, it’s not wrong. It’s who you are.”
Thank you. “Saul, I’m here to stay this time, no matter what form I take.”
They stilled, caught up in each other’s stare. The piano tinkled on.
“You really are,” he murmured at last, his relief palpable.
She nodded. “I made a promise. I’m not leaving you Saul. Not ever again.”
His eyes were fierce. Possessive. And yet tenderness shone deeper still. “I believe you.”
She nodded, her chest aching. Compared to her immortal years, she had only a short time with Saul. She didn’t want to waste even a second of that precious time on distrust and suspicion.
“Let’s get out of here,” Saul said thickly.
In an almost dreamlike daze, she followed him into the elevator and rode it up to his floor, ever aware of the growing heat between them, the anticipation. The utter need.
When they stepped into the suite, the rowdy crowd of men could easily be heard in his private card room. She glanced at Saul.
He grinned. “Seems they’re managing to celebrate without me just fine.”
“Should we wait until they’ve—”
“No. They know better than to invade any part of my private living space.”
She gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth as a sudden memory tweaked.
Saul frowned. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“I left my underwear in the card room.”
Amusement at her modest concern lurked just beneath his heated stare. “I have a very discreet cleaning service. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
She slumped, so utterly relieved. It was probably beyond weird to strip and fly naked in front of any member of her clan without any self-consciousness, yet be so ill-at-ease with just the thought of her torn panties on the floor for anyone to see. For the perverted Lewie to eyeball.
Saul led her into his huge bedroom. Closing the door behind them with a firm click, he had her stand in front of a full-length mirror that was opposite the floor-to-ceiling window.
“You don’t see your beauty, do you?” he asked huskily. “I mean, not really.”
Gargoyles were genetically a beautiful species, but they didn’t view themselves the way humans did. There was no artifice to them in either form, they embraced their natural beauty, loved themselves for who they were and appreciated their wings for the gift of flight, despite the fact humans would consider the webbed, batlike wings ugly.
A human’s vanity was one of the reasons a gargoyle was unwilling to live permanently as human and sacrifice the utter joy of flight.
She frowned, peering at the mirror. If she looked, really looked, at herself through human eyes, she could see why men approved.
Her long dark hair with its wild curls framed her oval face, enhancing large hazel eyes and her just-kissed lips that bordered plump. She wasn’t tall for her species. In her heels she was a few inches shorter than Saul, who was just shy of six feet.
Saul cocked his head to the side, studying their reflection. “I can’t help but wonder what you see in me,” he mused aloud.
He wasn’t classically handsome. He was rugged, built like a professional football player after a lot of knocks. His nose was a little crooked, a touch big, his jaw a little too square, his stare a little too hard. But add the power almost bristling from him and the entire package drew the eye, made him charismatic as hell.
She arched a black brow. “You’ve never been short of female admirers.” She lifted her hands, covering his fingers clasped at her waist. Her skin was porcelain smooth alongside his dark, rough-textured hands, her long fingers comparatively slender and
dainty. “I like you just exactly how you are.”
“Like?” he murmured. “I was hoping for a little more than that.”
He wasn’t just talking about his looks and they both knew it. But she wasn’t ready just yet to say those three little words that had filled her head from almost the moment she’d laid eyes on him all those years ago.
She guessed she still had trust issues to deal with when it came to the human race…to human men. Her attacker—Pascal’s father—really had scarred her emotionally and mentally, for life.
She shivered, but resisted an urge to jerk out of Saul’s arms. She had to tell him the truth about her past if they had any real hope of a future together.
“Guess I’ll just have to convince you, hmm?” he said into the silence. Turning her in his arms, his eyes searching hers, he whispered huskily, “I. Love. You.”
Oh, Saul. I love you too.
The words built in her throat. Then his mouth abruptly slanted over hers. She collapsed against him on a moan, once again caught up in the moment until all else but the now was a distant memory.
But there was no great urgency. This time they took their time to rediscover one another, their tongues tangling and tasting in a leisurely exploration that was like a well-loved journey travelled all over again.
He pulled back, his expression tender and fierce all at once as he pushed the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders. He watched, clearly fascinated as it fell in a whisper of sound to the floor, barely skimming her naked body.
He released a ragged breath, drinking her in. “I envy Pascal his artistic ability right now.”
“He’s an artist?” she asked breathlessly, drinking in the knowledge even as she drank in the man before her. God, she’d have done anything to come back and see her son, spied on him from afar if need be. Anything just to know he was happy, safe.
Yes. A sculptor.” Saul gently clasped either side of her jaw, drawing her close as he stared at her with an intense, primal hunger. “I’d give almost anything to have his talent, to capture exactly how you look with nothing on but your pendant.”