She clutches my arms and looks up at me again, her breathing ragged. “I… I need you to touch me. I’m burning up and… I can’t… I feel so…hungry.”
Hungry…
The hot, breathy way she says that word…
No, she’s definitely not talking about my apple muffins and vegan waffles, as award-winning as they are.
“Auggie?” She slides her palms up my chest, her touch hot and trembling, her gaze searching my face, the look in her eyes wild and desperate and a little bit baffled, as if she truly can’t understand what’s come over her.
When she speaks again, her voice is a harsh whisper, her cheeks dark with lust.
“Please. I just… Don’t judge me, but I… I need you to make me come.Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
AUGUSTINE
Well, damn.
I don’t know where the fuck this is coming from. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on inside her head. I don’t know the fucking deal with that unformed dark entity I felt, or the otherworldly light I saw, or Westlyn’s sudden onset memory loss pertaining to the mages she sliced up.
But I do know this:
There’s no fuckingwayI’m going to allow a woman I care about—thisfucking woman—to suffer needlessly. Not when it’s in my power to fix it and the solution is so damned easy. Touching her? Making her come for me? Yeah. In a night of a thousand fucked-up wrong turns and miscalculations,thisis a thing I can actually accomplish.
With. Fucking. Pleasure.
Maybe it’s sick and twisted, maybe we’ve both got terrible timing, maybe the devils we meet at the end of days will shake their heads and cast us out of hell for such an indiscretion, but when my little witch looks at me like she’s looking at me right now, her chest rising and falling, her lush lips parted…
It’s hard to care about anything else in the world but giving herexactlywhat she needs.
So, shoving aside all my worries and unanswered questions, I flash her a sly grin, hooking my fingers into the waistband of her pants and drawing her close. “I’ve got you, witchling. I’ve fucking got you.”
Dipping my head low, I run my nose down the slope of hers, then claim her in a searing-hot kiss, groaning into her mouth as she parts for me, her soft little tongue darting out to taste mine, her breath sweet and hot, my cock pressing hard against my pants…
“Wait!” she gasps. All too soon, she’s breaking away from me, panting and shaking her head. “Not… not like this. I need the real you.”
“I’m right here, witchling. It’s me. It’s always been me.”
“No. I’m talking aboutyou, Augustine Lamont. Not the glamour you wear to fool everyone else. But the gargoyle I…” She stretches up on her toes and presses her palm to my cheek, a moment of sweetness in the midst of our dark depravity. “The gargoyle who bought me real maple syrup and let me touch his wings and kisses me like he might starve if he has to go a whole night without it.”
Something inside my heart—some wild, needy thing I thought I locked up and forgot about long ago—cracks open at her words. At her smile. At the light in her eyes—the real light. The light that’sallWestlyn Avery.
Warmth floods my chest, exhilarating and terrifying and a complete fucking wonder to me now. If I’ve ever felt this way about another person before, I sure as hell don’t remember it.
Not like this.
We’ve never talked about it—the fact that West could have us either way. Men, monsters, even a bit of both—a quick-change artist between the sheets, guaranteed to satisfy every craving from the stuff so vanilla you couldalmostdo it in church, to the sort of triple-X, five-alarm fantasies that are illegal in at least half the states and usually best left to the professionals.
Our glamours are more than just visual. As long as we’ve got them in place, to any outsider who looks at us, touches us, fucks us… We’re as real as any human man on the street. Or, in the case of supernaturals, as real as any fae male.
West never asked if it was possible. Never seemed to look at us as anything other than who we were. From the moment we revealed our true selves, she accepted us, no question.
Before tonight, I only ever kissed her as a gargoyle. Touched her as a gargoyle. Felt her lush lips around my gargoyle cock, brought her into my gargoyle bed, and made love to her with my gargoyle tail and claws and tongue and every monstrous part of me.
Even when I shared her with Jude, it was only ever as a gargoyle.
As me.
