Stone-Cold Lover (3 page)

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 onto 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.

“
Cray…
” She went limp beneath him. Her crystal green eyes shimmered, bringing a lump to his throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.

No. Thank you.
He couldn’t voice the words and didn’t want her to read anything in his face that would give her hope of something he couldn’t give.

He pulled free from the warmth of her body but was unable to mentally withdraw and leave just yet. He tugged her to him until her back rested against his front. His cock stirred, but for the moment he was able to ignore his physical demands.

He cradled her in his arms, watching with aching tenderness as she subsided against him before slowly giving in to sleep.

It took more effort than he wanted to admit to release her and dress. And still he didn’t leave. He watched, at once protective and fascinated, and yearned for so very much more as she sighed with dreams, her breathing rhythmic and steady,
her
pulse fluttering at her throat.

He had no idea how long he stayed there, the fire snapping and hissing behind them, while he drank in the flawless line of her beauty.

At last he forced himself to move, to carry her into the single adjoining bedroom with its rustic furnishings and queen-size bed with blue-checkered quilt.

It felt so right, the way she snuggled in his arms like a warm, trusting kitten, the feeling of completeness—two parts of a whole that had finally come together after a long separation.

He called himself all kinds of a fool as he jerked back the bedcovers. His muscles
constricted,
steely hard, when he laid her on the mattress. He stepped back. He wouldn’t join her. Wouldn’t reveal to her just how considerate a lover he could be, after all.

Self-control.
Discipline.
It was his safeguard, his insurance against depravity.

It was hell to face the crack of dawn each morning and know in seconds he’d become inanimate stone while every one of his senses went rampant—a visceral high-octane rush without an outlet.

Much of his restraint had been lost from the moment Loretta had touched him in his stone form. His dick might not have grown in her hands, firm and hot and pulsing, but he’d
felt
the spark leap within—the warmth—as clearly as if he’d been fully functioning and…human.

Then when he’d watched Loretta bring herself to orgasm, it’d been like withholding a meaty bone from a starving, feral dog. He’d wanted her with a ferocity that had been ravenous, unquenchable. He’d wanted to fuck her senseless, to replace her hand with his mouth and have her screaming his name.

He’d wanted her as he’d never wanted anyone in his life. And that hadn’t changed one bit. He may have taken the edge off his hunger for now but sampling her had only intensified the cravings.

He tucked the bedcovers high. A wry smile tugged at his lips. She’d bewitched him, made him forget for a little while who he was…
what
he was. Oh hell. His smile disappeared, a deep sadness engulfing his moment of joy.

He’d sworn to protect her. And there could be no excuse for breaking the oath he’d given Lincoln, her father. His identity as a gargoyle could no longer be guaranteed if he so easily dismissed the pledge which bound him.

If Lincoln revealed his secret to humans, none would idly sit back and allow him—a beast—to roam the moonlit streets or glide the velvet-dark skies. They’d sooner lock up his cursed gargoyle body than allow his freedom.

Besides, he fooled himself if for one moment he believed Loretta could love the stone gargoyle he became at daylight, or the twisted, disfigured monster any other time he wished, as much as the human form she fancied.

She deserved better.

Their night of passion would not be repeated.

* * * * *

For the first time in too many days to count, Loretta woke alone. She didn’t care. She was satisfied.
Fulfilled.
Replete.

She was
happy
.

She grinned and then winced as she rolled over. She’d fucked countless men over the years with little or no memory of the event. What she’d experienced with Cray had been unforgettable and had gone way beyond an extraordinary lay.

Oh, he’d filled her pussy to its very limits and had had her bucking and writhing beneath him. But it’d been so much more than that and now her aches were a physical reminder of the most emotional, joyful experience of her life.

With a little sigh, she sat up, rubbing sleepy eyes as the late morning warmth caressed her face through the open wooden slats on the window. The pungent scent of eucalyptus drifted in, the air crisp and mountain fresh.

She peered at the bedside clock. In a couple of hours it would be midday. She’d never slept half the morning away before. Then again, her body had never hummed with such lethargic bliss, never felt so thoroughly fucked and sated.

She could get used to this. Used to finding pleasure in the darkness with Cray, then sleeping in daylight hours as most other humans went about their lives, completely unaware.

She kicked the bedcovers aside and climbed out of bed, the floorboards warm underfoot.

Cray would be stone now. But where was he? Delight dissipated. Her teeth gnawed the edge of her bottom lip. In the past he’d always managed to get her back to her father’s house before sunrise. He’d always ensured she was close by before he became an inanimate gargoyle.

She raced outside barefoot and bare-assed, wondering inanely how many birds, wallabies and koalas would appreciate the view.

She stilled on the veranda, her belly twisting into a tangle of knots. Beside the fierce gargoyle
who
safeguarded the steps leading to the veranda and front door stood Max.

Her gaze flew to the other four-wheel-drive vehicle that was parked beside Cray’s.
No way.
A slow burn filled her until she wondered if her skin might steam. Her father had obviously told Max about this mountain retreat!

Max didn’t acknowledge her presence. Instead, he stabbed a finger toward the gargoyle and snarled, “What is that
thing
doing here?”

Her vision narrowed.
Damnation.
Aside from her father, not one person had ever imagined that Cray, the bodyguard, was also Cray, the gargoyle.

Would he spot the similarities and make the connection? She had to distract him, and quick.

She swiped up the wet dress she’d left on the steps the night before and pressed it against her like a shield. “Good morning to you too, Max.”

He swiveled around. His eyes widened and then burned hot as he looked her slowly up and down. “You’re not dress—”

“Yes, I know.” She scraped a hand through the wild tangle of her long hair even as she fought a tide of revulsion. What had she ever seen in him? Or perhaps every man would now fall short beside Cray. She forced a smile. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He shoved away from the lifeless Cray. His change in body language was dramatic as he fisted his hands, the veins on his neck and forehead popping. “Do you have any idea what seeing you like…like
that
does to me?”

She glowered. Fine! She dragged the still-wet folds of the dress over her head and snapped it into place. “Better?”

Ramrod straight, his eyes overly bright and his face mottled as if he’d glugged a bottle of poison, he rasped, “Better?
No!
In fact, things have been sliding downhill from the moment our relationship ended.”