At the end of the pathway bordered by tall bushes and made impenetrable by dense vines and weeds, she saw an opening and walked steadily toward what she assumed would be the grassy area beyond the formal garden.
Frogs croaked, and crickets chirped, creating a cacophony of sound that reminded her again just how far from home she really was.
The open grass was farther than she’d thought, and she considered turning back, but the smells welcomed her. She recognized a hint of roses and paused to inhale the sweet fragrance from small white flowers studding a long vine wrapped around a leggy bush.
Honeysuckle.
She smiled, recognizing the blooms from the pictures of the travel book she’d read on her flight across the sea. The scent was sweet, nearly cloying, but she inhaled deeply, entranced with her discovery. She plucked a bloom, held it cupped in her palm, and continued down the narrow pathway.
At the end of the path, she exited the dense, tall foliage into a clearing. A gazebo, its lattices intact but in need of paint, stood against the darkening forest. To her left a stone bench sat next to a large statue. The fading sunlight limned the statue and lent its surface a pearlescent sheen. The figure of a winged gargoyle, its massive body upright, its arms and wings outstretched as though ready to take flight was so exact, so detailed, she couldn’t help but stare. “Oh, my.”
She crept closer. Oddly, the large statue wasn’t supported by a sturdy base. Instead, the feet of the mythical creature were mired in dirt and grass. Vines crept up the thickly hewn calves and thighs, curling around and around. Leaves like ivy and blooms of honeysuckle entangled to clothe his naked body, even twining around the masculine appendage rising between his thighs.
She wondered how such a large statue remained supported by only the two feet planted in the dirt and thought the artist must have been truly gifted to achieve the balance. Entranced, she could only stare in awe at the massive object.
Shadows accentuated the outline of the long muscles cloaking his legs; light sparkled on the bulging, straining curves; veins tracked along arms and thick, leathery-looking wings.
While she stared, she realized there was nothing stopping her from touching it with the bare pads of her fingertips. She’d touched intimately only one masculine body in her life and had learned to her dismay the dangers. But this figure carved in stone couldn’t respond to her curse, and she could indulge her curiosity about his masculine form.
Timidly, she touched his knee, opening her palm over the cap. Surprised, she pulled back her hand. The stone wasn’t cool to the touch. Perhaps it had soaked up the warmth from the sunlight. The surface was so smooth it had felt real, almost pulsating.
The allure of the forbidden was too great to resist, and she pressed her hand against his thigh, trailing it upwards, admiring the sleek, hard muscle. But vines impeded her exploration.
She reached up and took the uppermost strands and peeled them away, one by one, exposing his body to the fading light, unwinding them as she moved around him. “Almost like undressing a man,” she mused whimsically.
When the vines lay in long tendrils on the ground, she stepped between his bent thighs and stared into his face. Here wasn’t the bug-eyed gargoyle she’d expected, but rather he wore a warrior’s fierce grimace, frightening in its intensity.
She smoothed her fingertips over his heavy brow, caressed the sharp blades of his cheekbones and blunt nose, and traced the curve of his thinned upper lip and the surprising fullness of the lower.
“How would such a man’s lips feel beneath mine?” she whispered.
She glanced over her shoulder at the house that seemed farther away than it had when she’d first entered the garden but found no curious glance trained her way through the windows.
She shook her head, her mouth curving slightly. “If Mr. Spalding sees anything, I will tell them it must have been someone else.”
Turning back, she gripped the tops of the figure’s broad shoulders, stood on her toes, and grazed his mouth with hers. The texture of the warm stone was soft, deceptively malleable, but perhaps it was only the give of her own lips as she brushed over his again.
She dropped down, her glance following the flow of her hands as she cupped and molded the densely muscled chest, swept over the hard whorls of hair, marveling over the detail. The abdomen, a study of tautly ribbed slabs, caused her breaths to deepen and her imagination to imbue them with life that rippled gently beneath her caress.
Downward she trailed her hand, halting just above the whorls framing the phallus, and again, she noted the veins tracing along the long shaft, the finely carved cap, so smoothly sanded there wasn’t a single rough edge or bump to mar the surface. Her hand smoothed up, then down, then dropped away. She’d gone too far.
The engorged state of the statue tempted her beyond common sense. Beyond her own natural modesty. Moisture dampened her sex. Her heart fluttered. Her breaths betrayed a ragged texture.
Waning sunlight glimmered through the trees, flashing bright orange, then faded. Darkness settled around the garden, and still there were no lights beaming from the house.
No one could see her in this dark, lonely garden. No one would be disgusted or repulsed by the impulse that burned inside her.
She’d lived alone so long, repressed desires that were natural for a woman, due to the curse that kept her separate from others.
Her touch couldn’t arouse this beast-man, couldn’t incite him to rape. For once, she could pretend she was any other girl, learning the wonder of completion with something other than her own fingers. She could pretend she held a lover inside her embrace, one who wouldn’t be so consumed with lust that her pleasure was forgotten. She could take what she desired to serve her own needs.
Petra stepped backwards and dropped her gaze from his stony, unseeing glance, nevertheless embarrassed by what she contemplated. Just once, she’d heed the urge. Just once, she’d dare something indescribably erotic. Tomorrow, she’d be surrounded by the workers the executor had hired to complete refurbishing the house, and again, she’d hide her true nature within gloves.
She opened her blouse, her fingers gliding down the row of buttons. Her bra opened with a deft twist, and she dropped both items onto the ground beside her. She stepped from her slide-on mules, unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down her hips.
When she was naked, she succumbed to the urge to cover her breasts as she approached the statue. At the last moment, she reached behind her head and removed the clasp, letting her hair fall like warm silk between her shoulder blades.
The bend of his upper thighs made a convenient perch, and she stepped onto one thigh then slid her left leg around his waist. Holding his shoulders again, she squatted over his cock, finding the nudge of the warmed marble, and circled her pussy over the blunt tip.
The feeling was indescribable. And almost enough to send her over the edge. She did it again, moaning when liquid seeped from inside her to anoint the rigid tip. Growing more breathless, she knew she must slow down, must breathe, must savor this moment because she didn’t know if she’d ever find the courage to try this again.
Wrapping her hands around his thick neck, she leaned toward him, kissing his open lips, sucking on the lower, pretending he was alive and responsive to her overtures. And she sank, slowly, her slick folds consuming his cock, inch by inch, her moisture and warmth heating up the thick phallic stone she rode as she began to move on him.
Her heartbeats quickened, growing louder. “Can you hear them?” she whispered. “Can you hear my heartbeats? How they tremble for you, my gargoyle?”
Petra rose and fell, her body melting inside and out, growing slick with desire and sweat. Her breasts rubbed against his stone chest, chafing softly, her nipples blooming. Her belly undulated, rocking slightly forward and back as she thrust downward, her inner walls stretching to surround him.
He filled her, the notches of his hips and the strength of his shaft supported her as her limbs weakened the closer to release she cli
mbed.
Her eyelids fluttered downward, and her mouth gaped open as fine ripples began to climb along her inner walls, vibrating around his solid cock. And then her mind flew, imagining a pulsing tension emanating from the cock lodged so deeply inside her, imagining that the stone gave slightly as she sank then rocked, shallowly stroking inside her.
It wasn’t until something soft caressed her shoulders and back that she opened her eyes.
The expression of her stone gargoyle was no longer gray and frozen, but dark and taut; his dark eyes stared back at her. The wings were no longer spread, but folded forward, surrounding her in heat and trapping her against his body as he brought her to the ground.
But it was too late to scream because her orgasm erupted, bowing her back, shoving her pelvis hard against her demon lover’s as the rhythmic pulsing swept over her body, causing her to tremble and moan.
With the corners of his lips curving upward, Petra’s heart thudded against her chest. Indeed, her curse was so vile she’d incited lust and awoken a stone god.
Chapter 2
The shock reflected in the woman’s blue gaze couldn’t have been any greater than his own. From one moment to the next, it seemed, Octavius had felt his heart petrify, his mind freeze in horror—and then, he’d awoken, his wounds healed, and his cock wrapped in silken heat.
He wasn’t sure what it meant; only that he couldn’t let her go. Would he return to stone without her touch? He glanced up at the darkened house. No light shone in the window he’d exited. Moonlight glinted on replaced panes of glass. Around him, the pristine garden had given way to neglect. He’d slept a long, long time it seemed.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, pinching him. Her back bowed then her hips bucked, almost dislodging him, but he couldn’t let that happen.
With his wings wrapped tightly around her, he fell to the ground, cushioning her against the crash, and rocked his hips to sustain her orgasm that rippled all along his shaft.
Her cunt caressed his whole length, flushed it in liquid heat. He growled and pressed deeper, rutting, his knees digging into soft grass to gain leverage and continue stroking.
“No, no, no,” she whispered brokenly, her head thrashing. “This can’t be happening.”
“It’s happening…between us,” he gritted out, nearly as overcome as she, so wild were the sensations rocketing through him. “Give yourself to me. Save me.”
“Save you?” she gasped as he stroked deeper, harder. “You’re raping me.”
Octavius forced himself to ease the ferocity of his strokes, knowing the herbs he’d consumed might still be ruling his body. “Am I raping you?” he said, between clenched teeth. “How did I awaken with my cock embedded deep inside you?”
Her lips trembled. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “You were stone. I…”
He lifted a brow, mocking her. “You used me to gain your own pleasure without my consent. Is that not the definition of rape?” Still, he gentled his thrusts, screwing in slow circles, and rested his elbows beside her shoulders within his winged cocoon. “Although, personally, I don’t feel the least violated,” he said, letting his voice ease into a softer rumble.
Her forehead furrowed with a scowl. “You aren’t real…weren’t alive…it’s not the same at all.”
He wondered if she even realized that she’d tightened her legs around him to bring him deeper. “I’m aroused,” he replied. “Don’t you feel any responsibility for my condition?”
“I apologize, and you can’t know how sorry I am. It’s my fault that you’re ‘awake’ at all. But still…”
“Yes, it is your fault. So why shouldn’t I expect compensation for your use of my body?”
“Compensation?”
“Quid pro quo.”
“I said I’m sorry,” she said, a hint of stubbornness in the tilt of her chin.
Octavius bent and scooped at that chin with his lips, nipping it gently. “I don’t share your remorse. You freed me.”
The fair-haired woman beneath him wrinkled her nose. “If you feel gratitude, then how can you not release me?”
“I’m afraid to, love,” he said truthfully, letting her see a fraction of his desperation in his face. “I don’t know how this happened, but I suspect you’re the key. I don’t want to be returned to that state again.”
The fingers pinching his shoulders eased to cup them. She drew a deep breath. “So, do you plan to stay inside me forever?” she said softer now, nearly whispering. “How awkward would that be?”
“Not forever,” he replied just as quietly, sensing her surrender. “Just please don’t ask me to withdraw. Not yet. The sensation is too incredible. You’re very warm, so wet.” Tentatively, he rocked his hips, driving his cock inward again, watching her expression for signs of alarm or revulsion. Didn’t a “gargoyle” hold her pinned to the ground?
Her mouth rounded, and she gasped. Her eyelids fluttered then closed. “Do what you must.”
Octavius snorted. “What I must? Take my pleasure? Would you make me your rapist after all?”
Her eyes opened, tears welling again, and then she turned her head away. “I know better than anyone that you aren’t responsible. It’s my curse.”
“You believe you invite rape?”
“My touch makes a man forget himself.”
“You are lovely, but why would you think your allure is any more compelling than another woman’s?”
She frowned. “You were stone. Now, you’re living, breathing.”
“I lived and breathed before. Your touch released me from my prison.”
“Do you always awaken aroused?” she asked more harshly now, meeting his unflinching gaze.
“I’m male. But I understand what you ask. I was given an herb that muddled my head, fired my blood. My cock was constantly aroused throughout the battle I fought just before I was made into stone.”
“Then it’s not just because of me?”
He heard a hint of doubt in her voice and wondered about it. “I’m grateful to be breathing again. Pleased to be awakened like this. But I’m also afraid that I must finish this with you. You sought concourse with this body before to please yourself. Why not use me to appease your appetite again? Please us both.”
Her frown dug a faint line between her pale brows. “I don’t know. This is different. Embarrassing.”
“Because I’m aware?”
She let out a short, strangled laugh. “That sounds so wrong.”
“Because it is. Make it right.”
Fleeting expressions flickered across her face. Her teeth worried her bottom lip while her gaze slid away again.
He slowed his thrusts again although the effort nearly killed him, offering her a moment to make a clear-headed choice.
Her chest rose, her tiny breasts poking at his chest. Slowly, her glance raked his shoulders, lifted and rested for a moment on his lips, then hesitantly swept up to meet his gaze. “I’m not like this. Not…sexual.”
Warmth filled his chest—fueled by amusement and a strange tenderness. “You’re a woman, all parts lovely and welcoming to a man.”
“You’re not human. Not a man.”
“I am male. Do the wings frighten you?”
“They’re soft. Tensile. I’m not frightened…exactly.”
“Shall I unwrap you?” His gaze dropped to her expressive mouth. Her lips were plump, almost pouting. She teased him now.
“The grass is wet,” she said, her tone slightly sullen.
“Would you prefer I keep you dry?” His lips curved. Her sex was very, very wet.
A swallow moved the smooth skin of her throat. “When we’re done, will you release me?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
She shook her head. “This is a very strange conversation. And maybe I’m not frightened because I’m in shock.”
“Then let me give you something to be truly shocked about.”
Octavius came to his knees, which forced her to straddle his la
p, and slowly unfolded his wings, unwrapping his lovely hostage like a present. Despite the silvery light shining above, her hair gleamed gold and was long and straight. The oval shape of her face served as the perfect canvas for her overlarge and pouting mouth.
A deep rumbling growl worked its way up from his diaphragm, but he ignored her widening gaze until light glinted on blue irises.
He crooked his forefinger and lifted her chin.
Her eyelids drifted down, her lips trembled.
“Let me see.”
Her eyes opened slowly, her gaze rose hesitantly, and then locked with his as he stared at the glowing blue discs. The girl wasn’t full human.
“It explains a lot,” he said softly.
“Now, will you let me go?” she asked through tightening lips.
“I’m not holding you. You sit astride my hips. You impaled yourself on me.”
Her hands flattened on his shoulders, and her thighs tensed. But she didn’t rise as she’d intended. Instead, her gaze, still held steady by his own, filled again, this time overspilling. Tears tracked down her cheeks. “Does my touch not ignite your passion?”
“Your sex, gloving mine so wetly,” he gritted out, “feeds my hunger for you.”
“But my hands…they don’t feel different from other women’s hands?”
“They’re warm…” Gods, they were hot, her whole body was warm, moist… He shook his head; she’d asked the question like it should mean something.
She blinked away moisture. “Maybe because you aren’t human, you’re immune. Wouldn’t you know it would take another demon to be able to resist my curse?”
Octavius blew out a deep breath, trying to even them, trying to keep himself from plunging upward. “I’m no demon, but you speak of a curse…”
“My touch incites men into sexual frenzy, makes them lose their minds.”
Her shiver helped him concentrate. He canted his head, read the tension on her face, and he got a hint of the deep anguish inside her. “Has it forced you to keep away from men?”
Gargoyle's Embrace Page 2
