by Nia K. Foxx
She bounced with a laugh. “I don’t know. For some reason you don’t strike me as the traditional sort.”
“Really?” he was tugging clothes off as he followed her.
“Wait.” She stopped him as he propped one knee on the edge of the bed.
“You’re kidding, right?” he stared at her in disbelief.
“It’s just…” She felt suddenly nervous. “I was wondering if…well, if you… can you enjoy sex in your gargoyle form?”
A wicked smile crept up his full lips. “More than you can ever imagine, but it’s not something I would recommend, for the obvious reasons.”
“I got used to your normal size pretty quickly.”
He regarded her with doubt in his eyes.
“Okay, let’s compromise. Why don’t you only partially transform?” she suggested coquettishly.
“As you wish, ma cherie,” he agreed, each move he made toward her on the bed bringing about subtle changes in his body until his physique was that of both man and gargoyle. In mid transformation wings sprouted from behind his back. They weren’t massive in his current state, but impressive nonetheless. Emerald eyes darkened in hue, and he regarded her with raw lust.
She couldn’t believe her body’s instant reaction to him.
He stopped mere inches from her on the bed, sitting back on his heels, wings slightly open, thighs spread, and drawing attention to his colossal erection. Fatima took in his altered state, allowing her eyes to roam slowly over every nuance.
“Would you like me to change back?” he asked, worry evident in his voice, after her extended silence.
“No. I was just wondering where I should begin.”
“Anywhere you’d like.”
“Are your wings sensitive?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
With boldness unnatural to her she sidled behind him marveling at the deep creases in his extra appendages. She touched them tentatively, tracing every crevice. A low rumble started from deep within Lorn, a sound somewhere between a purr and growl. Feeling bolder, she allowed both her hands free reign over the contours of his wings. Edging closer, she traced the path her fingers had taken with her tongue, enjoying the texture of him against her. She trailed leisurely up and down his spine where his wings met.
“Good god, woman, what are you doing to me?”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, big boy,” she purred, sliding around his body until she sat in front of him, knee to knee. Leaning in she kissed him tenderly at first, edging closer when the gentle brush of lips wouldn’t suffice. She groaned against his mouth, slipping her tongue between his teeth, cautiously tracing it against an incisor. Needing to feel him, she ran her hands up the soft thin patch of fur covering his chest. One hand slipped between their bodies, seeking out his thrusting appendage. His veined cock throbbed as he pushed into her caress. She massaged the length of him, her other hand joining in the stroking in order to fully encompass his girth.
“Yes,” he moaned, and creamy moisture trickled from his tip giving her just the amount of lubrication she needed to increase the rhythm. Fatima couldn’t believe how turned on she was becoming simply by touching him. Without preamble she slid down on the bed, bracing herself on her elbows while she did her best to take him in her mouth. Her full lips were stretched to capacity with only a couple of inches of him. Not deterred, she worked her mouth around the head of his penis as if he were her favorite flavor ice cream, while her hands continued stroking his length.
“Ooohh yes,” he mumbled, grabbing fists full of her thick mane as she worked her mouth over him.
In all his years he’d never felt anything so deliciously addicting. He would never get tired of feeling her warm mouth on him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock, dipping into its opening. Needing to touch her, he reached over, stroking his hands over her T-shirt clad back, down to her firm round ass. He kneaded the tight cheeks through khaki shorts, forcing her legs apart until he could cup her mound through the thick fabric.
Impatient to feel her bare skin he pulled her from her greedy ministrations.
She pouted at him.
“I want to see you.”
Fatima easily slipped the T-shirt over her head, allowing her mahogany breasts to spring free. Drawn to the sway of her rounded globes, Lorn’s eyes feasted on her while she lay down to wiggle out of her shorts.
“Come here,” he ordered, pulling her up. “I have to taste you.”
“How?” she asked, remembering all the ways she and enjoyed cunnilingus on her in the past.
“Sixty-nine.”
She smiled knowingly – it was definitely one of her favorites. He eased down on the bed. Impatient to have her over him, he easily lifted her into mounting position.
Fatima cursed softly when his mouth latched onto its target. He laved her with the fervor of a man possessed, roughly stroking her clit with his tongue while he fingered her moist warmth. So vigorous was his assault she nearly forgot about his cock. Encouraged by his enthusiasm she assailed him with equal passion, her head bobbing over his distended member.
She tried to hold on as long as she could but the combined attention of his tongue and fingers pushed her closer and closer to the edge. He lapped at her clit, pressing his tongue firmly against her little nub, twirling his we flesh around it until –.
“Oh!” she shouted, grinding her hips into his rapidly drumming tongue. She didn’t have a chance to recuperate before he had her on her back, spreading her thighs wide to make way for his added width. With surprising restraint he pushed into her slowly, her walls stretching to encompass him.
“So tight,” he gritted, edging in further, each slow surge bringing him deeper into her hot channel.
“Oh, god, you’re so big.” She met his thrusts with eagerness.
He leveraged her legs on his arms, giving him better access to drive into her with long strokes. He plunged into her repeatedly while grinding against her sensitized clit with each motion, until he brought her to a second climax. Her body contracted around him rapidly, sending him rushing to his own completion.
He shouted his orgasm as he made one final downward thrust. Shooting his seed into her satiated body, he convulsed in a series of shudders before relaxing in his human form.
After several seconds he pulled his weight off her. “Are you okay?” He searched her face for any indication of discomfort.
“I feel great.” She smiled. “Better than great, in fact.”
“Thank you.” He gathered her up in his arms, bringing her limp body to lie on his larger one.
“For what?” she mumbled.
“You’re kidding, right?” he kissed the top of her head.
“I should be thanking you,” she replied, feeling completely relaxed.
“Why?”
“For making it so easy for me to love you.”
“What did you say?” He shifted them to get a better look at her face.
“I said thank you,” she said sleepily.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He cupped her chin. “Did you say you loved me?”
“Did I?”
“Fatima!” he gave a warning growl.
“Oh, all right. If you’re going to go get all gargoyle on me, then yes, I said I love you. Now can a sista get some sleep around here?”
“Yes, ma cherie,” he chuckled.
“Is that all I get?” She eyed him.
“Was there something else you’re wanting? You seemed a little too tired for additional activity.”
“You know what I’m talking about.” She punched him squarely in the shoulder.
“Ah, yes, amore. Ma cherie, I love you more than words can express.”
“Really?”
“Truly.”
“Good, cause you’re stuck with me.”
“Forever,” he promised.
Epilogue
“I can’t believe they actually ran this ad!” Fatima gasped, shifting to a more comfortable position in her lounge
chair. It was a surprisingly warm spring afternoon, too beautiful to be spent indoors. She loved the winter in her new home but had looked forward to the warming weather. Today, it was as if it had been served up special for her.
“I don’t know, I think it has a certain charm to it,” Lorn defended.
She shook her head at her husband and mate before reading the advertisement aloud for the third time:
Ebony Beauties wanted to Marry Rich Bachelors.
Age unimportant. Must be willing to relocate.
Criterion: Winged-Shaped Birthmark.
Tattoos are not acceptable!!!
“Do you know what kind of nuts they’re going to get responding to this thing?”
Lorn shrugged, reaching over to the poolside table for the tube of aloe vera cream. He squirted an ample amount into his large hands before rubbing the thick substance on his mate’s extremely rounded belly. He’d told her once before the preventative measure was unnecessary. As a Fledgling her body would recuperate without the faintest hint of a stretch mark, but he indulged her anyway, loving any opportunity to touch her.
“Aren’t you the slightest bit concerned about the kind of wacko your brother could end up with?”
“So long as she’s a Fledgling.”
“Oh, so just any ole Fledgling will do?”
Lorn rolled his eyes heavenward. Although he’d become accustomed to her mood swings during pregnancy he still hadn’t learned when to keep his mouth closed.
“There you two are,” Krail greeted, stepping out onto the patio.
“Hello, sire.” Lorn jumped at the welcome interruption.
“Hello, Father,” Fatima returned.
“My goodness, you blossom even more into a spring flower every time I see you.”
“Thank you, but there is no need to be polite. I know I look like a brown whale, Father.”
“Nonsense,’ he chastised. “And I would cut anyone down who suggested otherwise.” He shot Lorn a threatening look that his son pointedly ignored.
“Hey, I tell her every day how beautiful she looks, but it’s only your opinion she values.” Lorn looked affronted.
Fatima quirked an eyebrow in her mate’s direction. “It’s because I can tell who’s being sincere and who’s trying not to get kicked out of our bed.”
“Your point being?” he asked.
“Whatever. Have you seen the ad the other Protectors are running internationally?”
“Ah, yes. Not the approach I would have taken.” He shook his head disapprovingly.
“I agree whole-heartedly. Number one, they’re going to have every crazy from here to San Diego responding. Two, there is no basis to assume only women of African descent still carry the mark of the Fledgling. If they had just consulted me before running the thing.”
“You would have begun a scientific analysis that might take years to complete. Some of them don’t have years,” he said remembering Vladimir.
“I know, but –“
“What’s done is done,” Lorn dismissed. “All you need to worry your pretty little head about now is resting up for the birth of our son.”
“Lorn Berenger De LaRue, did you just shush me?” She rose up enough to give him the evil eye.
“Me, shush you? I wouldn’t think of it in a million years.”
She harrumphed. “On that note, I think I’ll go and finish the smidgeon of ice cream left over in the freezer before I end up beating you with a seat cushion.”
Lorn waited until she’d waddled inside before saying to his father, “At this rate the next time you see her she will have blossomed enough to make a bouquet.”
“Lorn, you know I can still hear you,” she yelled from somewhere in the house.
He winked at his father. He knew he would probably pay for the comment later, and smiled at the numerous ways he would make the teasing remark up to her. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier.
The End
About the Author
Nia Foxx is a mother of three children (and one cat). She steals time to read and write when her busy life permits. Like most author’s Nia began writing at an early age, elementary school to be exact. She considers writing to be a mini-vacation from the world around her. To see Nia’s other works feel free to visit her site at www.niafoxx.com
