by Mel Teshco
Mesmerized, Loretta watched as living, breathing tissue hardened into a rigid carving of stone.
She took a couple of steps forward, her heels sinking into the lawn as she faced him. “I know so little about you.” She tilted her head to one side, studying the superb lines of his stone form. “I don’t even know if you can hear me right now, if you can see me.”
She ran a hand over the cold, muscular planes of his shoulders and upraised arms. A shiver chased goose bumps over her skin. “I have no idea if you can even feel me while I touch you,” she whispered.
Her hand drifted low, to outline his cock. It must take superhuman—paranormal?—self-control to ensure every part of his body looked the same, night after night. He no longer had an erection but his cock was still impressive. She could only imagine—vividly—what his superb equipment would feel like inside her.
A current of heat hit her pussy dead center. She closed her eyes with a ragged sigh, skimming a hand under the hem of her dress before sliding her fingers inside her panties. Parting the already slippery, wet folds of her vulva, she scraped a nail along her aching clit.
Her breath snagged, her lids flicked half-open. Her inert gargoyle was now a hazy silhouette. “See what you’ve reduced me to?” she said on a gasp, hot tingles firing along the countless nerve endings in her cunt and ricocheting through her body in ever-increasing waves.
She threw her head back, her fingers stroking in rhythmic circles. “I hope you can see me,” she said hoarsely. “Because it would be killing you right now, wishing it was your touch making me come…” With a startled groan, she did exactly that, electric pulses making her quiver again and again.
She let out a ragged breath and pulled her hand free, allowing her dress to flutter back into place. “Whoa,” she murmured weakly, stunned at the ferocity and suddenness of her self-gratification. But then, bringing herself to orgasm felt doubly pleasurable knowing Cray might be watching.
Her fingers glistened. She raised them slowly to her mouth, staring deliberately at his fierce, stone face as she inserted a forefinger into her mouth and sucked away its musky sweetness.
“I would much prefer to lick my juices off your cock,” she said huskily.
“Loretta! There you are.”
Passion instantly dissipated. Loretta dropped her hand and turned to face her father’s right-hand man—her unofficial minder in daylight hours—as he approached. “Max.”
He nodded his styled blond head but his warm brown eyes hardened upon seeing her swathed in a man’s coat. His nostrils dilated as if he’d caught a whiff of her cum in the breeze. “I see you’ve been enjoying yourself again.”
Her eyes narrowed at his surly tone. Yes, they’d had a week-long fling a few months ago but he’d known the score. With the exception of Cray, she just wasn’t a one-man type of girl. As far as she was concerned, relationships were for the needy.
Besides, didn’t he ever sleep? It was the early hours of the morning for heaven’s sakes! “I had a good night.” She raised her chin. If only Max knew it was really Cray’s jacket she wore! “And he certainly didn’t complain.”
He’d been too drunk to care.
Max stopped before her. “He?” An unpleasant smile curled the corners of his lips. “Tell me, do you even know his name?”
Her spine snapped tight. “Since when do I discuss my private life with the hired help?”
Damn. Where had those words come from? She’d never once felt more superior for being born into wealth—most times, quite the opposite. But it was too late to offer an apology now. Much too late if the grim look on Max’s face was anything to go by.
“One day you’ll discover the sting of rejection,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I’ll toast the gentleman who brings you to your knees.”
Who said it would be a gentleman?
Her attention returned to the gargoyle as Max marched back through the double doors.
She swiped the pink-tipped nails of one hand through her hair. Perhaps she was a spoiled little rich girl who wanted the one thing she couldn’t have. But she burned for Cray. And no amount of lovers could ever cool that flame.
She looked up into his carved face. “I’ll be long gone by the time you come to life when the sun goes down tonight. I think the fresh mountain air is just what I need. If you can hear me, you know where I’ll be.” She reached up and ran a manicured hand along a granite-smooth cheek, her voice husky as she said, “And this time, I know you won’t push me away.”
Chapter Two
The veranda’s sofa swing gently swayed as Loretta leaned back in her ankle-length, fleecy jacket, getting comfortable for the long wait. Tucking one leg beneath the other, she watched the growing dusk, and with it, an incoming gray-white band of rain.
Frogs croaked into song with the gentle patter on the tin roof. Within seconds, nothing could be heard but the din overhead as the sky unleashed its fury.
The tumultuous mood of Mother Nature seemed to echo her own and she welcomed the display—even when some two hours later the downpour still hadn’t abated. She closed her eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. Please God, please let Cray notice me…want me. Her lids flicked open and as she watched the rain she acknowledged the rules really had changed. The game plan was now on a whole new level.
Beneath her jacket, the ice-cold night puckered her flesh with goose bumps. A shiver slipped down her spine when the flash of headlights at last announced his arrival.
She’d put him at quite a disadvantage by coming here. The mountain retreat was too high for him to make use of the night air currents. Unlike most winged creatures, he couldn’t fly. But he could soar through the heavens until his weight and lack of air thermals brought him back to ground.
This time he’d had to use conventional transportation to follow the “brat heiress who takes her safety for granted”.
She shielded her eyes as the headlights arced over her, dazzling her vision. They caught hold of the tangle of trees that, on a clear day, framed the inland patchwork valley far below.
Cray braked the SUV in front of a railed safety fence and cut its lights.
Her belly twisted, warmth pulsing through her pussy as she rose, toed off her sheepskin boots and slipped out of her jacket before padding barefoot along the floorboards.
Rubbing her chilled arms, she flicked on the outside light and waited on the veranda’s top step. And like an apparition, a fantasy brought to life, he stepped from the darkness into the circle of illumination.
He seemed barely conscious of the rain that stuck his long-sleeved shirt to his carved body like a second skin. His denim jeans plastered his muscled thighs, emphasizing his bulging cock as he strode purposefully toward her.
He paused on the first step and looked up. The rain eased to mist as their gazes locked. His eyes glittered. “I can’t give you what you want. I’m under oath to protect you.”
Her lips compressed. Her hand clasped the rail beside her. “I don’t want your protection.”
I want you.
“Nevertheless, you need it. And I made a vow that if I had to guard someone, had to become close to them, it would never be on an intimate level.”
Her throat went tight. It hurt. But it was his honor as a gargoyle that he protected, not her own. “And if I release you from that role?”
“Only your father can retract the oath.”
“Then…I’ll convince him.”
He raised a dark brow, a half-smile pulling at his lips. “Even if Lincoln released me, the curse would compel me to find someone else to safeguard.” At her horrified silence he added, “Besides, your dad is more worried than ever about your indiscretions.”
She moved down a step, now eye-level with him. The light rain clung to her hair and moistened her skin, glazing droplets of silver over her sleeveless jade dress. Yet heat warmed her from the inside out, passion running lava hot in her blood and warding off the cold.
Head high, she forced a serene expression wh
ile unclipping the diamond studs holding it together at the front.
“Better to have this one night than nothing at all,” she whispered. Slipping the dress from her shoulders, she tossed it aside. She wore no underwear beneath. She’d planned her attack. The trick was all in the execution.
“You’ll catch your death with cold,” Cray murmured, even as his eyes flared. He stood stock-still, his shadowed expression doing little to conceal the tic of a muscle along his tight jaw. He’d seen her naked plenty of times and had resisted her even when hunger had scorched his gaze.
Not this time. Please, not this time.
She leaned forward, cradling his wet face with outspread hands. Her lips merged with his and she closed her eyes, savoring the taste of raindrops and masculinity, of barely restrained passion.
Yearning swelled as she sank against him, her bared breasts rasping against his sodden clothes. When bolts of pleasure shot straight to the throbbing ache at her core, before seemingly liquefying her bones, it was all she could do not to crumple in a heap at his feet.
His hands were suddenly on her waist, bracketing her in place with so very little effort. And even in his human form she was aware of his latent strength, was totally turned-on by the leashed power that wasn’t just physical.
Could he taste her passion, her need, the burning for him that seared her soul?
Time seemed to slow and she held her breath. Then everything quickened to double-speed as he groaned and his set mouth softened and opened beneath hers.
Desire hit her like a shock wave, an electric current that sizzled the nerve endings along her lips and everywhere he touched. She gasped, opening her eyes and jerking back her head.
His veiled stare of frostbitten indifference was no more. His eyes glowed like a flame heated blue, snapping with fierce desire and longing.
Cray sucked in a breath, slow and deep. He should get the hell away from her while he was still able. Instead, he drank her in as if he couldn’t get enough, everything within him aching as it hadn’t for almost a century. With her parted lips and rivulets of water cascading between her perfect breasts, he was reminded why the last three years had been a torture worse than being frozen in stone.
He’d held on to his honor by sheer force of will. But no longer.
It wasn’t her naked perfection that undid him, but the stirring of wonder and need in her eyes. A wonder and need for him—the man.
Her desire had never been subtle. Except, this time was different. She’d let down her guard and shown real hunger. Not just for his body, but for him, the person inside. And the realization touched him far deeper than anything physical.
Scooping her into his arms, he growled, “You win.” Long strides took them indoors, where he laid her down on a soft cream rug in front of a blazing hearth.
The minx really had gone all out to seduce him. Flames crackled and spat, throwing light and shadow on the log walls and caressing Loretta’s slender form with yellow warmth.
He knelt beside her. She reached up, her eyes full of wonderment as she silently traced her fingertips along his brow, down his cheekbones and under his jaw, as if memorizing every line.
He sucked in a breath, forcing calm. Lord, she made him feel almost…beautiful. How tragic could he get! Loretta was sex on a stick and innocence all rolled into one, her beauty incandescent, the very antithesis to his twisted stone form.
Her hands fell as he bent low, pressing featherlight kisses to her smooth temple before moving down one side of her throat and sucking the tips of each of her exquisite breasts. She arched on a gasp and need seared through him like quicksilver as she pushed her taut, shell pink nipples closer still.
He swirled his tongue over the hard peaks of her rosebud nipples and he heard the sharp catch of her breath as she writhed beneath his touch. He raised his head, swallowing back a possessive growl. God, if only he could reveal just how much she meant to him, how much more he wanted from her. How much he wished this now was for the rest of their lives.
His jaw clenched. He couldn’t think beyond the present. It would be enough to make love to this woman who’d tantalized and teased him to the very edge of endurance. He’d give them this one night—make it enough.
He drifted one hand lower, over the satin-soft skin of her flat belly and past her dark gold, silky strip of fuzz. He parted her folds like a ripe peach, exposing her moist pussy to his stare.
Sweet heavens above.
Breath whooshed from his lungs. And when she moaned, her thighs falling apart, the last of his resolve blew apart as if it had never been.
Her shiny cunt beckoned and he gave in to his primal instincts and dipped his head with a hungry growl, flicking his tongue over her clit and around its hood, tasting her honey-musk essence. She whimpered, and when he tongued the open slit of her pussy with one long, hot stroke, her fingers found his scalp and dug deep.
His cock jerked, growing impossibly harder. Damn. He ached to grind his fully loaded cock inside her pussy with its sweet, welcoming juices. Ached to fill her sexy pussy with his cock, his cum.
But first he wanted to pleasure her, wanted to hear her moans, watch her face as she fell apart, piece by piece, at every stroke of his hand, every lap of his tongue.
He inserted a finger and pushed deep into her cunt. She gasped, then squirmed when he slid another finger inside and started a relentless rhythm. He licked her swollen clit, tasting her arousal and inhaling her delectable musk scent as a connoisseur would the finest bouquet.
He increased the tempo and pressure of his hand and tongue, relentless until the very moment he felt her inner muscles abruptly clench. She shrieked, coming hard and loud, her throat arching as she sucked in air.
Removing his fingers, he placed an outspread hand over the soft fuzz of her mound, holding her still as he sampled her cum.
Cream and honey. The dew rolling off a succulent plant. The first scoop of ice cream on a sunny and cloudless day. His lips twitched. He wasn’t poetic. Ever. But she really did taste of all that and much, much more.
He lifted his head, his eyes feasting on her as she lay spread out for him like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Bloody hell. Food had never tasted this good, never looked so brazen or sensuous or inviting.
Fuck. He raked an outspread hand through his hair, forcing his eyes shut to the vision that had his cock in peril of immediate detonation.
He was no saint. But this long-simmering attraction would have tested the endurance of even the most trustworthy monk.
Truth be told, when each nightfall had seen his curse lift, it hadn’t been his oath that had sent him tearing after the heiress to bring her safely home. A day spent imprisoned in his own body, dreaming and thinking of little else but Loretta—it drove a man to the brink.
She played with fire, risked her safety, flaunted it like no one else he knew. And until night fell, he could do little but wonder where she was, who she was with. Daylight robbed him of life. Only when darkness shrouded the horizon could he ensure she was safe.
His impenetrable cloak of hardness had been worn for so long now, it’d become part of him. Was him. Yet sometimes he had to wonder if Loretta guessed she was his Achilles’ heel.
The thought left him lightheaded with hope and despair.
Aside from nighttime sex, he had nothing to offer a woman. The reality reinforced his need to remain cold and closed and distant. He could never reveal how much he truly did care for Loretta. How much he…
His eyes sprang open as Loretta stirred. She sat then laced her fingers behind his head, clearly impatient for his attention, for another taste as she tugged him back down with her. Her eyes held his, glinting with arousal. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop!”
With a harsh groan, he capitulated. His lips branded hers. His tongue plunged inside her soft mouth, sharing her musky flavor as her body quivered beneath his like a live wire. Mouths still fused, he helped her strip off his jeans and underwear. She wrenched his shirt apart. Buttons rolled ont
o the floor, for a moment catching the light from the flames.
Her hands traced his biceps and the bared ridges of his chest. When she lightly brushed his nipples and they pricked to attention, he couldn’t stifle a hoarse growl of appreciation.
One of her hands slipped low, her fingers so delicate and yet so sure as they enclosed his engorged cock, her hand immobile for a moment as she stared, clearly fascinated by his reaction.
He reared back and gritted his teeth, caught between the agony and ecstasy of near-release.
Only after her breathy, wondrous sigh as one fingertip discovered his bead of pre-cum and massaged its moisture over the head of his cock did he snare her wrist.
“Enough.” The command came out like a whiplash—sharp and hoarse and biting. Shit. He didn’t want this exquisite joining to be over before it’d even begun. He could be a gentle and considerate lover—later.
He kneeled and pulled her close before slipping her legs around his hips. Her dewy cunt seeped delectable juices, glazing his upper thighs before trickling like a caress over his ball sac.
His breath hissed between his teeth and his cock strained like an unruly mastiff on a leash. His head fell back and his hips surged forward, drove deep. Impaled her. He wasn’t small and he felt the muscles of her tight pussy jerk around his cock.
Like an inferno unleashed, passion snapped and raged between them, an unstoppable force that was a reckless and uninhibited need to possess. To be possessed.
He released a jagged breath. When he rocked inside her, his strokes long and deep and fierce, she met his piercing stare with burning, half-closed eyes, met his rhythm, accepted every inch of his hard cock. Gloried in it.
The cherry-like points of her nipples grazed his chest, sending darts of pleasure straight to his groin. He groaned through gritted teeth, his balls tightening almost painfully.
Then her inner muscles abruptly convulsed around him. A hoarse cry tumbled from her lips a nanosecond before he surged hard inside her. He threw his head back, bellowing at the dizzying pleasure-pain spurts of his cum.