How to Seduce a Gargoyle in 10 Days (3 page)

She wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

He’d touched her, so she wondered if maybe fair was fair. She reached out slowly, to return the caress he’d given her. Just a touch of her fingertips against his cheek.

Slade watched her with that same intent expression—he was every inch a wolf.

No—he was a gargoyle. A killing machine.

She wondered how it had ever happened they’d prevailed in the Gargoyle Wars. He could crush her with his bare hands.

And that’s what she found the most attractive about him.

Gavin’s strength had always been rooted in her own, in the money and influence gained from that money. He’d never been powerful on his own. With Slade, he didn’t need anything from her. That was maybe more of a turn on than his sculpted body.

His cheek was like the rest of him—hot, hard, granite.

“That wasn’t so sharp,” she managed breathlessly.

His claws curled around her wrist gently. “These are. My claws would rip through your softness so easily.” He guided her fingertips to his lips.

Ginger was sure her heart was either going to stop or explode with expectation.

He drew her fingertip to a sharp canine tooth. “And these are for fighting and tearing—and marking a mate.”

She couldn’t help but imagine him biting her throat, branding her with his mark.

Goddess, what was she thinking? She’d just divorced one man, she didn’t need to be marked by a gargoyle just to have an orgasm. Except, maybe she did. Maybe she wanted to.

“Back in the days before the war, some gargoyles took witch mates as tribute. They survived it.”

He released her hand and looked at her pointedly.  “Some did. Some did not.” She took a deep breath. “What are you telling me?”

He smiled, baring his sharp fangs. “That you should think long and hard before deciding what you want from me.”

Ginger swallowed.

Long.

And
hard
.

Dear Goddess in a ball gag.

“I don’t know what you mean.” It really seemed like the only reasonable response.

“I think you do, sweet Ginger.” He closed the distance between them, his wings burst to their full glory behind his back casting a long shadow over her. “It’s why I brought you here. So you don’t make a decision you’ll regret because your heart hurts.”

“It’s not my heart that—” She swallowed the rest of her words.

Ginger didn’t know what it was about the gargoyle, but just being in the same space with him made her think and do things she’d never have considered otherwise.

He arched a brow. “No? Then tell me what hurts.”

“Nothing. Nothing hurts.” She shook her head.

Why couldn’t she just reach out and take what she wanted? If he’d been like Valerian, open and… for lack of a better word, light, it would’ve been easy.

But he wasn’t.

And she didn’t want Valerian anyway. She wanted Slade, and she wanted him exactly the way he was.

“Are you sure?” His gaze focused on her lips.

They were suddenly dry. She licked them, wishing he’d just grab her and bend her over, take what he wanted.

“Because you don’t seem sure. Your voice, it says one thing, but your scent, it says something else.”

“You can smell me?” she squeaked. Ginger had never been so embarrassed. This was worse than being naked. Witchy bits weren’t meant to be sniffed. The few times Gavin had put his face anywhere near her bits it had been right out of the shower and two grooming charms. She had to make it taste like apple pie, or he wouldn’t do it.

“I forget you witches and warlocks don’t speak of such things.” He shook his head. “And, sadly, don’t enjoy them.”

“Enjoy?” She hated that she sounded like a mouse. She was Ginger Butterbean, feared socialite and powerful witch. Squeaking was beneath her.

Apparently, so were orgasms. Her mother told her she should lie back and think of family and honor while her husband
did his business
.

Like he was taking a dump on her or something and sex wasn’t to be enjoyed. She’d always thought that way until Aradia had told her differently.

Ginger exhaled slowly. “I don’t think it’s that we don’t enjoy them. I think it’s that you can perceive something about us during sex that’s supposed to be secret, and that makes us vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable isn’t always bad.”

“So says the six-foot-seven, five hundred pound, winged behemoth who can punch through castle walls.”

Slade laughed. “So says the witch who could have me put to death for taking her to gargoyle lands without her permission.”

The law to which he referred had been enacted by their ancestors because gargoyles would steal human brides. “Kidnapping really isn’t acceptable courtship.”

“Among our people, it’s proof a male is strong enough, clever enough, wealthy enough to care for the female.”

“Do you have a… female?”

“No.” He still loomed over her. “If I did, I’d be with my people. Mated males don’t serve warlocks or witches.”

“It’s a punishment for you to be sent to us, isn’t it?”

“For some.” Slade nodded. “When Valerian was exiled, I chose to come with him.”

“Why was he exiled?”

“That’s his story to tell.”

She was aware that the space between them was ever dwindling, and Ginger didn’t know if she was thrilled or terrified by the fact. Perhaps a bit of both.

Slade looked up at the sky.

“The hot springs will freeze as dusk falls. The temperature changes here in the Aerie are harsh on witch flesh. Let me take you home.”

She splayed her palms on his shoulders and pressed herself close to him. It occurred to her again that he was so hot and hard everywhere. She memorized the way it felt to be against him, and what it felt like for him to be against her.

The loincloth between them did nothing to hide his thoughts on the matter.

And those thoughts were very deep and intense.

Even more so when she dared to wrap her legs around his waist—in the interest of not being dropped to a certain and ugly death while they flew, of course.

He made no comment on her chosen position, but his grip was much different than when they’d arrived. One arm was braced under her ass and other around her waist, locking her against him.

Ginger buried her face in his shoulder and inhaled the scent of him—he smelled like those flowers from the meadow. She couldn’t get enough.

She wondered if he’d ever had sex while flying. She wanted to ask.

No, she didn’t want to ask, she wanted to experience it.

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat.

“Today is for thinking.”

She didn’t have to meet his perusal so it made speaking what was on her mind much easier. It was silly, she supposed, that she was intimidated by him while they were standing on solid ground, but up here in the stratosphere she dared almost anything.

“I
am
thinking,” she whispered in the pointed shell of his ear. “I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

“Are you thinking about what happens if I hurt you? If I can’t stop, and I mark you? A pretty little society witch like yourself with the mark of a gargoyle on her neck?”

If she were in the real world, the idea might horrify her. But they were still flying, and there was no one to see. Images flooded her of him inside her, his powerful thighs thrusting his hard cock inside her, and those teeth piercing the tender flesh just at the pulse in her neck.

Ginger wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she bit him. She closed her teeth around the vein in his neck just hard enough to let her know she was there. Ginger’s blunt teeth were never in danger of piercing his skin, but it was more about the symbolism.

It was easier for her to bite him than to ask him to fuck her.

But her little nip didn’t elicit the reaction she’d imagined.

He promptly dropped her.

So she didn’t die.

There was something to be said for magick.

But she learned never to bite him while flying.

As if he’d ever take her flying again after
that
debacle. As if she’d ever even want to go.

Ginger corrected her thoughts. Of course she’d want to go. She’d fly any chance he’d give her.

Goddess, just thinking about being wrapped around all that hard gargoyle made her quiver with need. It had been so long.

She hadn’t even touched herself in these last years with Gavin off banging his
Slag du Jour
. Why had she tolerated it for long? Why had she denied herself?

In the early hours of dawn, she could see Slade’s outline in the position he’d chosen for himself on her bedroom balcony.

He’d said he could scent her, and she wondered if he’d know if her hands wandered swift and sure down between her thighs and delved into the heat that he caused to burn there.

Would he smell her desire, her need, her culmination?

The part of herself that she kept buried for so long wanted him to know. The proper witch who’d been in charge for so long definitely wanted to hide it. Witches of good breeding didn’t diddle themselves under the covers. They certainly didn’t do it fantasizing about some capture scenario with a gargoyle.

She remembered the stories he’d told about the days of yore, and she rather imagined that she herself was some unsuspecting witch he saw from afar and wanted.

He would claim her while they were flying.

Her legs would be wrapped around his hips, and his cock would be so hard it would pierce her deep. So would his teeth.

She remembered what he’d said about marking her, his sharp teeth buried in her tender flesh proclaiming to all the world that she was his.

Ginger imagined them soaring through the sky, even speeding toward the ground below in a death spiral because he was determined to fill her up and wring her out.

She dipped her fingers into her soft, wet folds.

Goddess, it felt so good to be touched, even by herself.

Ginger moved over her engorged clit slowly, wondering if this was how he would touch her. If he would taste her. Just thinking about his dark head dipped between her legs, his long, ink black hair brushing her thighs… She pushed deeper and whispered an incantation for pleasure to help her along.

What if he heard her witching off to him?

What if he came inside and caught her?

She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. Ginger had never felt so bold, or so deliciously wicked.

But all of her lust fled when she considered that he might not have the same reaction as what she fantasized about.

What if he caught her or what if right now, he was out there, horrified at what she was doing? If Gavin didn’t want her, why would Slade?

Her need died a cold death and she lay in bed for a long time before starting her day.

She was going to seduce him.

Then she’d know for sure how he felt about things. Yesterday had been an epic failure. She couldn’t even bring herself off. That was ridiculous and no way for a witch to live. If he didn’t want her, she’d deal with it and move on with her life.

A picnic on the grounds of the estate. The little grotto wasn’t a mountain aerie, but it would be beautiful. A perfect spot for seduction.

Ginger was so nervous. She’d never done this before.

Well—the sex yes, but the seducing no.

He’d spent the previous night as he had the first, perched on the balcony outside her window like the guard dog from hell.

She rather liked it. His presence made her feel safe.

Ginger decided she might have to look into hiring some extra security when her ten days with him were up. She wondered if just having anyone watching over her would make her feel this way, or if it was Slade himself.

She wandered out onto the balcony. “I was thinking of taking a picnic to the grotto.”

 “Will you be packing enough for company? You have more visitors. I saw them on the approach.”

Ginger’s shoulders slumped. She definitely didn’t want company. She just wanted to do this so she didn’t lose her nerve, and possibly any chance she had at taking control of her life.

“No visitors today.”

“This couple was riding a McLaren broom.”

“Oh! That’ll be Hemlock. You say she has someone with her?”

“One of the Cherrywood brothers, I think.”

“I suppose there’ll be no getting out of tea. I wonder what they want.” She sighed.

Ginger wasn’t disappointed that Hemi had come. She was almost afraid to face her. When she realized what an awful witch she’d been, it had been Hemi who deserved the first apology, but Ginger was so embarrassed.

And it would mean admitting that she was wrong. Ginger had a hard time with that.

“Hemi is your…daughter?”

“Stepdaughter. Maybe there are some things in her room she wanted.”

Ginger went to answer the door.

“Wait, I’ll do it. Would Gavin have sent her?”

“Unlikely.” Ginger liked that he wanted to protect her.

She opened the door and saw Hemi looking positively radiant. She was obviously in love.

“Ginger.” She pursed her red lips. “Since he took me to meet his mother, I thought I’d bring Raven to meet you. But if you’re busy—”

“No. I’m not busy. I was just going to take a picnic out to the grotto. Would you and Raven like to come?”

Hemi seemed startled, and Ginger couldn’t blame her. It had taken kicking Gavin out before she’d seen how truly awful she’d become. She hadn’t treated Hemi well, either.

Hemlock was the only daughter she’d ever have. She couldn’t have children of her own. And all Ginger had ever done was criticize her and push her away.

When Hemi didn’t answer her, Raven did. “We’d love to.”

“We would?” Hemi squawked.

“Yes. We would.” Raven threaded his fingers through hers.