“Nova…” She curled her fingers into the plush sheets. I’m…scared.
Pinpricks of awareness needled her skin. She was being watched.
Her eyes drifted up to the massive winged idol dwarfing her, a gothic princess’s canopy and sentinel. Clawed feet biting into the flat of the massive stone headboard, her gargouille “slept” poised over her bed like Cerberus. In slumber, Nova was forced into full-shifted gargoyle and was completely taken over by rock, wings and horns bared to beautiful effect. Sightless soapstone eyes. Windows no more.
It was written that the span between gargoyle waking and slumber hours would shorten until they never woke again. That was their version of death. There was no warning. There was never an indication that this would be their last dawn, so they lived with death. They did not fear it, nor did they give it inappropriate power over their psyches. It was a constant. Natural. And it was always accepted with grace.
Well, most of them accepted it with grace. Not her gargoyle.
Nova refused to meet Death without proper introduction for the lady at his side.
“Nova?”
She lifted a pale hand and the gargouille’s stone skin livened into shades of silver, eyes snapping open. Awakened. Black eyes cut the darkness to ribbons, as he peered between his flanks to the witch reaching for him, arm growing up from the bed like a tower.
Fingers and talon touched. One single, precious moment of stolen time.
He climbed off the post, and gray clawed fingers were cold and large, swallowing hers. Thick calf muscles contracted as he found footing and she pressed her thighs together to smother the painful pang of desire. Lips chapped and cold, yearning for the smooth creases of his sinful bend. “Why are we here?” Why did you stop?
“Just a dream. Not enough.” His voice was harsh, hoarse. Each individual muscle etched into his granite torso was flexed, tense. Wings open, but pinned back. He stood with an angel’s ballast and rent his hose with sharp claws, tearing them from his legs. Fabric clinging stubbornly to his menacing muscles like a worthless second skin. “Never enough.”
“But…”
Sybille was stunned into silence as he fell over her like a meteor shower. Sprawled over her body, he pressed it down into the mattress. His weight nearly collapsed her lungs, but he braced himself on his elbow after a moment, lingering long enough to catch her necklace in his teeth and tug. “Stay.”
He used his knee to urge her legs farther apart. Her body tingled as his slick talon traced a gentle path over the curve of her modest sopping black panties. “Wet, so…”
Shut up. She snapped up off the bed and swallowed his crass words with a kiss, nails clinging to her shoulders. Just put me out of my misery. Murder me.
The gargouille tore her underwear from her in one harsh pull, jerking her upper-body deeper into the pillows. Fabric cut into her sensitive flesh, material rending in the silence and warm air teased her skin. She begged against his mouth, “Nova…”
“Don’t beg.” He nibbled on her lip, bloodying it with a gentle nick. “Makes little difference.”
The tiny splice in her bottom lip burned and her clit throbbed. “Nova, please….”
A growl vibrated in his naked chest and suddenly she was wearing too much. Sybille pushed at his shoulders and tried to wriggle her hand and get a grip on her dress. It felt like cage. Everything was closing in on her. Air. Why wasn’t there any air…?
She scrabbled, abused nail beds cringing in pain. I can’t…
“Breathe,” he snarled in her ear. “I’m not going anywhere. The dress remains. I like it.” He flexed his length against her sopping wet center and her pussy clenched. Furious. Needy. Wanting him. He caught her wrists. They were wheat stalks in his massive hands as he crucified her to the bed. “Stay still.”
The gargouille peered at her, daring her to disobey, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he simply wasn’t in the mood. Tonight would be about nothing but obedience. Pure and simple submission. Or else.
And if she disobeyed, what would he do to her? Her insides melted, her mind taken with the wicked things he’d already done to her. Creative. Her gargoyle was creative. And so deliciously ruthless about punishment. It was always terrible. Painful, humiliating. The kind of soul-rending erotic torture that left her shaking and needy. So very, very needy.
She lolled into her pale waves, squeezing her eyes shut as the words deflated her chest and left her utterly open. “Yes…Sir.”
“Sybille.” He melted on top of her, completely undone and pressed a sweet kiss behind her ear, burning the curl of her ear with a guttural purr, “There is no shame in serenity.”
Her eyes fluttered open. He pulled back. Eye contact.
No fear. Never fear. Clarity.
Her bottom lip trembled and her hands sought his shoulders. “Promise?” she whispered.
He sealed the oath with a deep, languid kiss, swallowing her little cries of remorse and sorrow. He had no eyelashes, didn’t need them. But she watched his eyes sweep closed, his entire being willingly lost to her and she was lost. She’d never be able to help it again. She was his. Wholly his.
Nova.
She would stay wherever he would continue to give her wings. The gargouille’s mouth twitched as if he’d heard her thoughts and he rewarded her with his firm hands pushing up her legs, bending them at the knees. He pushed them until they were folded up high. Leaving her vulnerable and completely open beneath him. Eyes squeezed shut, Sybille curled her fingers into the mattress, the spindle pendant suddenly heavy. The glittering chain pulled tight against her windpipe, choking her. She barely managed breath…
I’m scared.
She didn’t know why. She’d lain with him time and time again. She’d let him do despicably wonderful things to her. Leaving her bruised and broken the next morning. And she’d never been so pleased. Kept coming back for more. But tonight, every touch was too much. Her skin was singing. Smarting. Itchy.
Gaping up at the sex swing, the leather and metal, her eyes widened as visions of asylum bars flashed before her eyes. Nova…
Kneeling between her legs with his tail curled neatly around his feet, he knelt, peering down at the naughty picture she made, long ebony hair disheveled like a willful Ronin.
Her pale pubic curls were wispy, wet. Flesh swollen. Aching for him. His own length was hot, heavy. Bobbing proudly between his folded thighs. He was in no hurry and the longer he looked, the more moisture wet the helmet-shaped tip.
“Nova…” she croaked, fighting the urge to pull her legs shut. Stop.
“Hush.” He curled over her with little warning and sealed his mouth over her pussy.
Suction. Electricity. Pleasure. Her hips lurched, her spine bowing. He pulled softly at first, flattening his tongue against her slit. She couldn’t hear anything. Blood was pounding in her ears. Pleasure. So much, dirty-can’t-get-enough pleasure…
God, she hated when he did this. She hated whenever anyone wanted to put their mouth there.
Enjoy it?
Sure. As much as the next girl.
Like it?
No, not at all.
It didn’t feel…right to have his face so close to her that way. Nose and mouth, he was so close. Scent and taste. What if he didn’t like them? Not every man did. She didn’t even like it. Almost rued the very sight of the furry triangle. It was ugly. Folds wrinkled like pink, pruned lily petals. She didn’t know where the thoughts were coming from, but it was all she could think about and suddenly long and languid, loving licks weren’t felt. They were endured. I don’t want…I don’t like this.
His nose smooshed against her in his effort to make sure his long, dexterous tongue fucked her channel nice and deep. She scrabbled, clawed, marring the splendor of his silk sheets with her mangled black fingernails. “Nova.” He suckled her clit, lavished his tongue over it in figure eights. “Nova!”
He released his suction with a little pop. “In Draconel,” he whispered, gently slipping a t
alon along her swollen and slick pink flesh. She shook, but his steady voice drew her focus to his wet bottom lip. “There is word for this…”
A hunger pang folded though her gut and she followed the source of the ardor in his eyes to her pretty pink folds. She was so wet. The soft dusting of downy blonde hair framing her nether lips was drenched, matted with juices. He blew on the plump bud of nerves and kissed the tiny pulse beat. “Ren bombe.”
“What…” Her pussy fluttered, squeezing another drop of honey to coat his talon and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, “What does it mean?”
“Loosely translated…?” The gargouille took hold of her thighs and seated them over his shoulders, stocking bare feet pointed to the heavens. “Flower bomb.”
He dipped his head between her legs. His tongue slicked over her wet folds, teasing them. Tender. The heels of her feet dug into his shoulder blades as she lurched up and snagged a fist full of black silk. She tried to scramble back, run from the overwhelming pleasure, but he caught her hips in brutal hands, leaving bruises and handprints, and hauled her ass right to his mouth. His nostrils flared. Soft suckling noises of utter fucking abandon. He was eating her with purpose. Without shame or second thought. Without even a passing concern for himself like whatever pleasure he gave was his to reap. All his.
“Nova…” Her pussy was coiling…tighter. Tick, tick…tick.
Boom.
Ecstasy warped and blistered through her core, and she let out a ghostly cry and scrabbled up, clutching his horns so she could roll her cunt against his tongue. “Fuck…yes.”
Tiny talons hooked at the curving pollex of his wings chastised her fingers with nicks. Blood seeping from the smarting paper cuts, she lost her grip, falling back on the bed only to be pinned by the weight of the heavy flesh extensions. Pinned until the gargouille was finished ravishing her. He ate her until she wept for him to stop. For him to keep going. For mercy. He continued, unfazed. Leaving terribly vicious bites on her hips, the sensitive skin behind her flanks—punishment for disobedience done deliciously.
“Sybille.”
He came up for a kiss but left them in his wake along every inch of her body. He started from her sensitive, bruised inner thighs, suckled bruises on her rib cage, leaving leopard prints, and then, sunk back down to her ankle. His mouth lingered on her inked anklet tattoo, a shackle of roses and thorns. From the instep of her foot, and eventually, to the tops of her shoulders, teeth scraping and lips soft. Leaving marks that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. It felt like being branded.
Such raw and honest affection. No pretention. No air of authority to off put her. He was there to rack and control, not conquer and ruin. Contrary to popular belief, the two were very different. One was about breaking will. The other was about supporting it. He came up for air and stretched out between her thighs, rubbed his length against her slick center, sealed her reservations with brutal kisses. He wasn’t there to play with her heart, he was there to steal her heart and play with her clit. Mostly, at the same time. It was that simple to him. So fucking sexy. So fucking rare.
I don’t deserve him.
She blinked back tears and willed her heavy arms to move. Her hands fanned out across his pectorals, fingers trembling as she pushed, “Lay down.”
He caught her earlobe between threatening teeth. “Why?”
She pushed and he rolled, pulling her with him and dropped them back into the middle of starry sheets. Sybille scrambled to find her balance, straddling him low on his pelvis, leaving his dick to press against her stomach as she caught his mouth in a kiss. So freely given, his eyes drifted closed and a growl rumbled in his chest. His hands slipped around her hips, completely covering the image of three Shakespearian fairies branded into her skin with colored flash ink.
“Sybille.” Curving off the bed, he pressed his brow against her ill-beating heart, laying wet, reverent kisses down the valley of her small breasts. “Ride me. Ride me like you ride your dragon.”
Her pussy clenched in utter fucking agreement.
“No.” She sank her fingers into his hair and whispered against the top of his head, “Lay down…please.”
The gargouille pulled away far enough to sweep his eyes over her in askance. Everything went still for time. It was his bed. His rules. That much always went without saying. But tonight...she wanted something, and she wanted him to know that.
She pushed at his shoulder gently and bit her bottom lip. “Please.”
Expression blank, he humored her by lying back down on the bed, wings trapped and sweeping off the mattress in twin waves of muscle and silver ribbed flesh, his hair an inky ocean beneath his head. It was her turn to kneel in awe of the majesty. Hairless from his temple down, ears pointed and elfish, and those bottomless black eyes. God, he was so beautiful.
She traced her fingertips across the smooth leather inner veins of his wings as she melted down, crouched near the end of the bed, elbows supporting her weight between his inner thighs.
No eyebrows, but his corrugator muscle pulled and lifted with surprise. “What—”
She didn’t let him finish the question and plunged her hot open mouth down his cock. Skin was cool and warm at the same time, velveteen smooth flesh pulled tight over supple marble. The liquid leaking from the slit at the top had a faint salty taste akin to copper. Bitter and metallurgic, almost like blood. Addictive.
It was thick, long. She couldn’t take it all in her mouth at the same time. And it frustrating. All she wanted was more. Sybille lost herself, her inner cheek walls soft and salivating for him. She pistoned her mouth up and down, pausing to swirl her tongue against the vein running along the underside of his cock. Popping, soft, and sweet sucking noises saturating the quiet. She sank a little lower onto the mattress, face low and ass up as she reached between her legs with trembling fingers and pressed the tip against her slick bud. Fever running wild. Her pussy aching, jealous of the attention.
It didn’t seem to have much of an effect on him. He’d eased up on his elbows to watch with sharp roving eyes, but he didn’t make a sound. His hips and pelvis still and calm, the water’s surface beneath her balmy hand. Like he would never concede to getting on the floor and doing it dirty with her. Like he was above it. Beyond pleasure. Beyond her reach.
Heat blistered her cheeks and ears and she slurped hideously as he tried to pull her mouth off him. His cock slipped from her swollen, numbing lips with a pop and his clawed fingers sought her hair, knotting in the gold briar tendrils, holding her still. “Have you changed your mind?” His whisper was rough, quiet. “Am I insufficient?”
She found herself gazing at his mouth. “Why do you ask that?”
“I am unwanted,” he said simply and touched her lips with claws still tangled in her hair. It tickled. “You can leave tomorrow, if you want.” His black eyes devoured the sight of her pale neck. “In the morning,” soft words laden with such raw sadness and understanding. “Stay tonight.”
Even if that had been her problem, how dare he think it was okay? How dare he think it was okay if she didn’t love him? He wasn’t allowed to love her enough for both of them. That wasn’t allowed to be enough for him. Better yet, after such a declaration, it really shouldn’t matter to her that she couldn’t seem to please him the way he claimed she did.
Which one of them was lying? Why did it matter at all?
Because it did. She wasn’t a “good” person. Sex didn’t matter to her for the most part. Sex mattered with him and that wasn’t a choice. It was a need. One that he filled so effortlessly for her, but she couldn’t seem to even rattle the stone cage he wore like a second-skin. But he loved her? Enough to suffer by himself? Even if it meant seeing her happy in her freedom?
Get the fuck outta here.
She turned her cheek, hiding in the curtain of blonde hair snarling in knots around her face. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you don’t…”
“Why I don’t…what?” Nova’s brow wrinkled w
ith genuine confusion, which only made her feel like more of an idiot. Like she was over exaggerating the whole situation.
There was still time to save face. She could play it off, if she wanted to. She could crack the right joke and urge him to make a mess out of her. Anything to push this blissful crack of composure into the far outer-reaches of her memory.
Sybille sank back on her knees and covered her eyes, peering through the splices of her fingertips at his length. Still ready and hard between them. “I don’t understand why I can’t…”
“Sybille.” He slipped a talon beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his warm black eyes. They were bright with male amusement. “My skin is thick. I require heavy stimulation for release.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “But your mouth is very sufficient…”
Black Briar Page 7
