Page 9 of Loved By the Gargoyle

I touched her again, using the shadows to apply more pressure against those nubs.

I did not imagine the desire shivering through her body. I felt it vibrate against my own.

Every sound was delicious rapture. My mouth watered against the onslaught of foreign, delicious, sensations that coursed through me as my phantom touch traveled lower. The silk garment moved as I bunched it up in my claws, exposing her skin even further. There was a curious little hole in the center of her belly, further proving how different our anatomies were. It was so small, I dipped the very tip of a shadowy claw into the groove. Her body shuddered and squirmed in response. Curiosity sated, I made my way down to the cloth that covered her lower region.

She stirred against the lightness of my touch, but seemed to curve into it as well. Her breathing hitched, the sharp points of her breasts poking against her clothing. I held my breath, swallowing the arising saliva behind sharp teeth to keep down the craving.

I slipped my fingers into the spaces of her clothing… and I found rapture.

Warmth that I longed to touch skirted along my touch. I could feel it like a whisper, but not the solidity of it. Still, I explored, shoving down the sleep shorts to her thighs, exposing my wife. She was bare for me. Her center weeping for a touch, a taste of her husband.

She was bare there. All smooth skin, wet and ripe for me. My claws slid down her slit, stroking a little button in curiosity.

Her body moved. Her mouth groaned. She heated, leaning towards me in sleep. Her gasps fueled me, and I slid my fingers further, teasing the wetness and smearing it across that little button once again.

My wife groaned, her body bowing.

And I wanted more of her. More of those noises. More.

So I slipped my fingers into her slit…

And I found heaven.

I dreamt of hands touching me. Of hands sliding over my body, caressing and igniting a pathway of fire in their wake and burning me all over.

I chased the bliss, shuddering and reaching, hands bunching at my blankets because there was no one I could reach for or grasp, even if it was what I desperately wanted.

Hands skirted across my nipples, tweaking them into turgid peaks of desire. They traveled lower then, never staying in one place to explore for too long. The desire was just out of reach and yet so close at the same time.

I cried out, moaning when a hand slid between my legs, a finger sliding between my leaking pussy to tease my own wetness against my clit.

It left shocks through my skin and I leaned towards it. Wanting–no, needing–more.

A few seconds later, I got it. Something hard slipped between my legs, stroking through the inside of me.

I moaned then, leaning into the friction as the finger, so thick and long, slid in and out of me. My hips began moving of their own volition, chasing, seeking. Everything inside me erupted. It had been so long, too long, since I had anyone against me. Inside me. It didn’t take much for me to detonate.

For the orgasm to explode through my system.

I bowed up in bed, my eyes flying open as the orgasm from my dream chased me to my waking consciousness. My eyes opened and a cry formed on my lips.

Darkness greeted me, illumination from outside my open window shining through. The orgasm kept me in its clutches, like a warm embrace that was reluctant to pull away.

I sighed onto my mattress, my hair spanning against my cheeks, my fingers grasping at my silky sheets in its own tight grip. I felt languid with the release, unable to muster up embarrassment at the fact that I’d orgasmed from a dream without even being touched.

It had felt so vivid, though. Like it had been happening in real time.

Perhaps I’d just gone far too long without intimacy that it hadn’t taken much to set me off in the first place.

The aftereffects of it had me in an almost drunken daze of bliss. Another sigh pushed past my lips, and I found my lips moving, moaning out a single name.

“Xavir…”

My lids fluttered closed. I didn’t know what he looked like, but my own mind was so needy for him that I’d conjured up shadows and named them after him. I wanted to meet him. I needed it like I needed air.

I wondered if I had frightened him with my eagerness in opening the door. What was holding him back? Or was he shy, like me? Honestly, those were the vibes I got from him. Like he was being reserved. Or maybe, like me, he had been worried about talking with a stranger.

I wanted to ease those fears. To let him know that I was afraid too, but maybe, just maybe, if we let go of our fears, we could try to build something.