Page 17 of Loved By the Gargoyle

“I love you, Xavir.” I looked deep into his eyes. “I fell in love with your wit and devotion, even through your words on paper, even if we’d never met in person before. I wanted to meet you so we could explore this, so we could explore us. And when you didn’t send me a note yesterday, I thought…” I swallowed, wanting to look away.

But Xavir pulled me closer, so close that our chests pressed together and I could feel the beating of his heart, so close that the fire that seemed to glow beneath his chest warmed me like I was standing too close to a campfire.

“I thought you regretted me. That you didn’t… that you didn’t want me.”

A low growl tore through him, and his claws flicked my hair behind my shoulders and pressed to my bare skin.

“Mia.” My name on his tongue did something to my insides I couldn’t quite describe. “My little flower, there are many things in my life that have filled me with regret, but loving you is not one of those.”

I could already feel the tears filling behind the lids of my eyes. “You love me?”

He grabbed my hand in his and pressed it to his glowing chest, right over the thumping of his heart. “I imagined what love would feel like,” he whispered, so softly like they were a confession. “But it does not compare to the things that you make me feel inside, my little flower. I never imagined love was obsession or devotion, that it was a desperation to see you smile, to hear you laugh, to watch you play music. I did not imagine it was the eagerness of receiving your words on paper, even when you did not truly know me. If love is the rapture I feel when watching you come undone at the touch of my hands and wanting to learn your body, your mind, the texture and sound of your soul? Then yes. I love you. Every part of me has loved you from the first moment I glimpsed you, and every part of me will love you until the day I have disappeared from this world.”

The tears couldn’t stop flowing then. His words were everything I’d ever longed for my entire life. I was overfilled, overjoyed with emotions. They poured out of me, tumbling one tear after another and leaving a trail down my cheeks.

“Are these joyful tears?” Xavir asked, and I swore I could hear a hint of worry in his tone.

I cupped my cheeks to wipe the moisture away. “Of course.”

His nose touched the tip of mine, mushing against me in a clear sign of affection. When he pulled away, he seemed to glow brighter.

“I have one more question…”

“Ask anything of me, my little flower.”

I sucked in a breath. “Why were you spying on me from my ceiling?”

That bright blue color seemed to rise towards his high cheekbones. It appeared almost like a flush of embarrassment.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I wanted to touch you. Explore you.”

I recalled those very vivid dreams. Of phantom hands touching and caressing, bringing me to orgasm over and over again.

It was my turn to blush.

“That was real, then?”

“Your voice changed in tone.” His head tilted to the side as he regarded me closely. “Are you displeased?”

“It’s just…” I didn’t know how to explain it in a way he would understand. Clearly, we came from very different cultures. In his, he stole brides and mated them. That wasn’t done with humans in today’s age. Clearly, spying on me and touching me was a sign of affection. Still, if we wanted things to work, I was going to have to explain things to him. “Voyerism–watching people while they sleep–is good when you have their consent,” I explained slowly. “Consent means you have to ask permission before doing it, otherwise it can be considered a bad thing.”

His head tilted slightly to the side. “Bad?”

“Earlier you said stealing brides was for the sick and depraved, remember?” He nodded. “Watching people, even touching them without their enthusiastic consent, or permission, is also sick and depraved.”

His body tensed and he slowly released me, pushing himself away a few inches. “I am a sick and depraved fool,” he hissed. The wings on his back snapped out like a fan, and I gasped at the sight of them. Grainy, leather, and nearly see-through in the dimness. A second later, he pulled them back against himself once again, his agitation clear in the way his body tensed. “I shall see myself to the Underworld and accept however many lashings you see fit as punishment for my slight against you.”

I reached out and grabbed his forearms before he could fly away from me. “Look,” I said quickly. “It was wrong what you did, but I’ll be honest with you, I did enjoy myself. I… I liked it when you touched me.”

I wasn’t lying just to placate him. It was thrilling, knowing that he’d seen me in a vulnerable moment, one in which I thought I was alone. A moment that was for the darkness, pleasure for myself. He’d witnessed it, had taken part in it without me knowing. A primal urge to do that again gripped me, and my entire body responded with a flush of heat.

I wanted to be dominated. I wanted to be chased. I wanted to be watched.

And I wanted Xavir to be the one to do it.

“I will still lash myself on your behalf,” he insisted.

I shook my head. “No lashings.”