Page 8 of Loved By the Gargoyle

Though it was not violence that had me spanning my wings against the night sky and flying higher and higher towards my wife’s window. It was desire.

Foreign but there, gripping and biting at my heels.

I had never known true hunger until I laid eyes on her.

And I would lay my eyes on her again and feast over every inch. I would learn every dip and curve, every hollow on her lush flesh. I would know the exact shade of her skin and the precise curve of her lashes. I would learn every piece from afar until I could memorize the taste and feel and sound…

My body morphed into shadows, becoming wisps of night and air. Flying up to her window, I slipped inside as though it were a phantom and flung myself to the ceiling. The claws on my hands and feet dug into the wall as I clung there, staring down at her sleeping form against her blankets.

She appeared so peaceful in sleep. Her body splayed like an invitation to the husband she had no idea was watching, shrouded in shadows.

Almost as if she could sense me there, her body lashed out, kicking away her blankets and exposing smooth, white flesh.

Watching her made an ache build within me, one that would not cease until I had her. I had been content enough to watch from a distance. To pen letters in her language so that she may know me. But it was no longer enough. I needed to touch.

I needed to feel.

In sleep, my wife moaned, a light and airy sound that made my entire body prickle with feather-soft awareness.

I leaned closer, chasing the sound, hoping to hear it again.

Her black hair splayed beneath her in silky strands. When she moved, her hair did as well. Like silk filaments, it slid over her shoulders, appearing so soft I wondered what it would feel like, slipping against my claws, threading between my fingers.

I reached a hand out, claws reaching towards her. I was shadows in the darkness, air and nothing more. I could touch. I could give in to the urge, and she would feel but a caress. She would not see me.

This, I could allow myself.

I wanted it desperately.

My shadows slunk out like tendrils, reaching her body, sliding through her hair. She sighed into the phantom touch, seemed to lean towards it, a soft sigh slipping from her lips.

The sound was an immediate addiction, one I wanted to chase over and over again.

My shadows caressed the curve of her cheek. The warmth of her skin burned into me. It sizzled down deep to my core. It was not even the true form of my skin against hers, and yet…

She groaned, pushing her cheek against the shadowy palm.

It lit me.

Transformed me.

What would happen if I were to go lower? What sound would I wring from her lips, then?

I palmed her throat with my shadows, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse. I moved lower still, sliding those tendrils down the top curves of her small chest, slipping them over the lace of her garment.

I watched the change in her body with rapt attention, seeing the way sharp points rose, poking through the material of the top. I wondered at the changes in her body, the slightest pucker of those little nubs.

My phantom fingers reached for them, fingering over the raised bumps lightly before I grasped them between my fingers and twisted…

She gasped louder, curving up into my touch, seeking it out.

Seeking me out.

My breath caught at the sight she made.

My wife wanted me. She wanted me to touch her.

Her lashes fluttered and I paused before she settled back against her blankets. Even from the darkness, I could see the rising flush on her cheeks, the way it spread down her neck…