Gargoyle (Woodland Creek)(7)
Isaac quickly cleared his throat again, grumbling, “We’ll go to another—”
“Wait! That is Carla, isn’t it?”
“Mandy, mind your own business.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Mandy.” It was a warning.
A quiet beat, then a small choked snicker. “I won’t tell the bitch.”
Isaac’s Gargoyle growled quietly. “Nor will your guest, whom I could revoke at any moment.”
“My lips are sealed,” a respectfully quiet reply from her wizard ‘guest.’ A quiet beat. “Hello, Kennedy.” And…he definitely had better hearing than Mandy did.
I couldn’t help it. I snorted softly. This situation was ridiculous.
Isaac glanced at me, eyeing me a moment, then lifted a hand and shoved it against the wall. I felt a flux of nightmares right before I heard the wizard grunt heavily. Isaac lowered his hand, and then he stated smoothly, “I will revoke it. Don’t tempt me.”
“Understood…” the wizard muttered on a quiet growl. “It’s coming again.”
“I know,” Isaac murmured, his gaze now back to mine. “It’s almost here. Worse than it currently is.”
“What?” I groaned in a whisper, already feeling the fire inside me warming back to a frenzy. “Isaac…”
Pound. Pound. Pound.
“Go to another room, brother!” Mandy shouted…before groaning. “Oh shit.”
“Goddammit, guest. Take my sister to the other side of the room!” Isaac growled the order harshly just as he jerked us away from the indented wall we rested against, stalking to the other side of this room, even as I started lifting and rising on his hardening cock, my head falling back. “Jesus...”
I sucked in a harsh breath as he fell to his knees, shoving me down onto the short carpeting inside the room, then I screamed as a flux of power rammed us, so brutal it threatened to make me insane.
I lost myself in the pleasure.
The pleasure that a shifter was giving me.
The ecstasy of a Gargoyle laying over me, f*cking me without remorse, my wrists held over my head, crushed inside his brutal grip. His strength was going to leave marks on my body, and I didn’t care.
I wanted more.
He gave it.
Slapping at his head, I muttered, “Freaky shit, freaky shit.”
His skin was beginning to shimmer a deathly silver. “Apologies.” He still didn’t stop the light glimmer.
My eyes damn near crossed as he rotated his hips before thrusting into my wet heat. “No claws.”
He groaned brutally, “No claws.”
I slapped at his head when they sliced through his fingertips. “Dammit, don’t cut me.”
“I’m not,” he growled, slamming my wrists back above my head. “Quit hitting me.”
I wiggled inside his hold. “Dammit!”
“Shut up, Kennedy,” he said patiently, but with aggravation. His claws retracted back into his fingers…just gone. “I won’t cut you. I said that already.”
My eyes narrowed, but my hips still lifted to his, meeting his thrusts, the power in the air sizzling inside my veins. “You do that again, and I won’t kiss you.”
The Gargoyle growled softly, but the claws didn’t reappear. His lips met mine.
Sinful, purely sinful.
Only for his teeth to capture my bottom lip in a brutal hold, not releasing me.
Damn Gargoyle.
Opening my eyes gradually, I went quiet inside.
The first rays of dawn were muted against the tinted window, but it was enough light to clearly see the man that I was curled against, both of us facing each other, our limbs intertwined, having passed out as we had finished. We were inside a generic office. The furniture was made of the darkest wood—what was left after last night, most having been broken as we made our way around the room during our many bouts of straight, hardcore f*cking—and there was a bathroom we had found in the middle of the night when we had accidently fallen into it. A black, soft blanket was thrown over our naked bodies that we initially slipped on when we had landed on the lone couch of the room—where we still were—the two recliners and small coffee table now ‘nonfunctioning’ pieces of furniture, those being the first places for us to land…and break.
Raising my head the barest bit, I peered silently at the Mayor’s face.
The Mayor of Woodland Creek—one f*cked up town secretly run by shifters and wizards.
I stared.
His features were peaceful in his slumber, so unlike his normal persona on television. His deep black hair, chin length, was disarrayed, the remembrance of it being thick and smooth as silk in my gripping hands more than troubling, a few strands now lying over one of his cheeks and partially covering one eye. His lips—God, his lips—were just as plush as I had remembered, red and naturally kiss swollen against his sunkissed complexion, his skin literally tanned by the sun, still darker than my own suntan. My mouth pinched, now seeing something I had been unable to see before, and the cameras had never picked up.
“You have freckles,” I whispered, staring at the tiny splattering of freckles on his nose spreading out the barest bit on his defined cheekbones. It made him appear so innocent, sweetly adorable even. Not like a man who killed and plumaged so many. I lifted my hand off his chest ever so slowly, hesitating long moments, thinking about the last time we’d had sex.