How to Marry a Marble Marquis(36)
“And what would happen if someone were to take advantage of your sleeping state in a lewd way? Would you even know what was happening, my lord?” Her nails scraped at his clavicle, trailing down his chest slowly until they reached the soft shape of his cock, resting against his thigh. It won’t be soft for very long at this rate.
“Now, that’s an interesting question. I’ll start with the second part first, I think. Would I know what was happening? Let’s see . . . If I were to be taken advantage of in my vulnerable state at dawn when I only just turned? Yes, I am quite aware, then. It always takes me a bit of time to fully fall asleep. I can still feel what’s happening to my body, even though I can’t react. Once, a small bird had the audacity to land on my shoulder and peck at my neck as if I were a bloody tree, and I couldn’t do anything about it.“ She giggled at the confession, taking him in hand. “Similarly, I am awake shortly before dusk on most nights. If you would have seated yourself on my lap rather than my great uncle’s back, I would’ve felt it.”
He thickened in her hand, his cock slowly growing as stiff as it had been just a short while earlier when he was encased in marble. She did not pull away when he nuzzled his nose into her hair, and his heart lifted. A small misstep, that’s all.
“Well, apologies to great uncle,” she murmured against his neck. She had begun to stroke him, utilizing her newly gained knowledge from the previous evening, and it did not take long for him to be stiff and straining, standing at attention without the aid of her hand. “You said that was the second part?”
“Yes, the first part of your question — what would happen if someone were to take lewd advantage of me. Well, as I said, Miss Eastwick — a gargoyle is quite protective over the privacy and seclusion of the place where he sleeps. It is not a secret we tend to share. If you know where a gargoyle makes his perch, it is an indication that he trusts you implicitly, in which case, your ravishment of his sleeping form would likely be most welcome. I daresay if I were to wake to find you using my body as an instrument of pleasure while I slept, I would be most pleased. As a matter-of-fact, little moth, I’m going to be rather offended now if it doesn’t happen.”
It did not take much maneuvering to turn her, her thighs spreading wide, straddling his hips. She whimpered when he stroked his cock head against her folds, pulling his foreskin back to press his head against her clit, back and forth, until she gasped, her fingers tightening at his sides. It was always pleasurable to spill his seed as soon as he woke. He faced the rest of his night with a clear head, a bounce in his step, and if one would poll any member of his staff, they would likely say the lord of the manor displayed a better mood, as well. He wanted to fuck her like this, right here, on his perch. The intimacy of such an action made his insides quiver. It would not likely seem significant to her, but to enjoy the carnal delights of another in the place where one slept was normally a right exclusively reserved for one’s spouse. He wanted her to ride his cock, and would teach her how to roll her hips, finding pleasure for them both . . . but first, he needed to get her ready.
He had taken decisive action upon returning to Basingstone. His first two claws on both hands had been cut down to the quick, filed on a diamond stone, and gentled to a softly rounded shape. He probably looked like an idiot to some of his beastly parliamentary peers, but Silas reminded himself that if anyone questioned the odd affectation, he could remind himself and anyone listening that it was an indication he was fingering a sweet, delicate cunt regularly and if they thought it odd, it was merely their jealousy showing. Eleanor’s small hands hooked behind his neck as he began to rub her pussy with his fingers. Gentle strokes up the length of each delicious fold, rolling over her clit in a way that made her gasp again. When he dipped his finger into her opening, he was unsurprised at the slickness he pulled away.
“This sweet honeypot is already overflowing for me, little moth. I want you to drench me in your nectar, do you understand?” Another dip into her, her head dropping back, giving him access to kiss the long column of her throat. Once his fingers were coated in her slick, he withdrew, returning to her clit. Silas took his time exploring which movement made her jolt against him, which angle she preferred the pressure, the speed at which his fingers needed to circle to make her pant. She was already bucking against him as if she were riding a horse, her eyes closed, the unconscious movement of her hips making her bounce against him.
The dress she wore that night was sage green with embroidered ribbon trim across the neckline. It was several inches too high to be fashionable, the square neckline doing nothing to accentuate her shape, gaping in the corners from the pull of her heavy breasts. If she were his wife, every garment she owned would be minutely tailored to her figure, each seam hand-stitched just for her, each dress selected in a color that brought out the rosiness of her cheeks and made her doe-like eyes glow, each fabric picked with its drape in mind, so that she would never need to be self-conscious again. Whichever lord married her would need to spoil her. He wondered if that was a note that could be passed along to the Monster’s Ball, deciding he would check and see. In any case, the dress was an impediment to seeing her lovely breasts bounce with her movement, and he was certain had no choice but to rectify the matter immediately.
She gasped in shock when he slipped his hand into the neckline of her dress, pulling out one full breast and then the other, her head whipping around as if she expected to see the entire household staff standing behind them watching.