Page 34 of Bumpy, the Gargoyle Slayer

When I descend the elaborate floating staircase, it’s to find many of the guests already arrived. Alain stands to the side, his makeup in place, looking completely human, albeit with a slight hump on his back. All the butterflies swiftly flutter around inside me as I wait for him to notice me.

And when he looks up, his gaze stutters, his mouth gapes, and his eyes blow wide. Gratified, I take the rest of the stairs, and when I reach the bottom, three men I’ve never met race to greet me.

Alain plows right through them. They go tumbling, but he doesn’t even cast them a glance. His eyes are glued to me. “What are you wearing, little girl?” he growls, before shrugging out of his black tuxedo jacket.

I guess it’s instinct that makes him throw it around me, but when he does, the shape of his crushed wings become clearly visible beneath his white silk shirt. I quickly step down to the ground floor and rotate him so my back faces the guests.

“Your wings,” I hiss under my breath.

“Why are you wearing the nightgown I picked out for you for later? Are you trying to put on a show? Is exhibition your thing?” He throws out sentences through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with barely suppressed rage. Or outrage. “Or are you picking out your next conquest before I’ve even fucked you?”

It takes a good few seconds for me to understand what he’s saying. I guess that explains why he didn’t also lay out undergarments. He expected me to wear this nightgown for him. Later. Alone.

“Oh. Oh, no.” My eyes seek him again. “I thought you picked out this dress for the party. You said…”

“Your dress is hanging on your closet door. This nightgown is for our private party.” His jaw works from side to side as he grinds those sharp teeth, but he flicks his gaze behind me. “We’ve attracted enough attention.” His hand raises.

In response, Jean-Luc plunges through the crowd and hands Alain his uniform jacket. “Put this on, boss.”

Alain doesn’t bother addressing the gaping crowd after throwing on the poly-blend security tuxedo jacket. He just picks me up in his arms and runs me up the stairs. In less than a second, we’re at the top and disappearing down the hallway. But to my surprise, he passes right by my room and heads straight for his.

I wind my arms around the back of his neck and nuzzle into the small space above his shoulder. “You missed my room.”

He growls at me.

Fine. I’ve wound him up. I didn’t mean to, but I kind of like this show of possessive anger, even though I know I shouldn’t. I mean, I’m the first girl to tell a friend—if I had any left—to leave the guy who won’t let her wear revealing clothing in front of others. But Alain isn’t like those guys. I’m not afraid of his fists or his rage. I trust him enough to know that he’ll never hurt me.

That is, until he kicks the door down rather than slow to turn the knob.

“Fucking door,” he growls. We’re across the room in an instant and he tosses me onto the middle of the bed. He points a finger at me. “Stay, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is that an order?” I narrow my eyes and pretend I’m outraged, although honestly, I’m so turned on, I’m probably sopping the pretty nightgown and his jacket that’s lodged beneath my ass. It covers me nearly to my knees, after all.

He growls again before turning back to the door. He flips it off the floor before examining the hinges that broke. With an impressive frown, he shoves the portal back into the space, and when it only falls out the other side, he sighs, and leans his head against the adjacent wall.

“There’s always my room,” I say, trying to be helpful. “You know, if you’re intent on ravishing me and want some privacy.”

Rotating his head a fraction, he flicks me a glare from the side of his eyes. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bumps. I swear, I’ve never met anyone who could rile me like you can.”

That’s a pretty good compliment, actually. He’s placid most of the time.

I shimmy off the bed and cross to him, leaving the jacket to fall to the floor as I move. By the time I get to him, I’m done. Finished. I don’t have any willpower left to resist anything he wants to do to me, even the weird stuff. He looks like he’s caging all his worst instincts, burying them beneath stone, and it’s so hot, I’m burning up from the inside.

He turns and leans his shoulders against the wall. His fingers reach to gently stroke my cheekbone. “You have no idea how much I want you, Bumps. It’s making me insane.” His fingers drop and he clears his throat, hanging his head before shaking it. “I don’t want to force you, or take away your choice. I’m sorry for throwing you on the bed and going all caveman on you. You can go, of course, and… what are you doing?”

What I’m doing is falling to my knees before him. Submitting to him. Telling him without words that I’m his, if he’ll only take me. My hands stroke up his tuxedo-clad-thighs, the soft, luxurious fabric at odds with the rock-hard flesh beneath. Trembles fly up my body and tighten in my core. I want him so badly, I shake with it.

“Lean further. You’re still too tall.” Because even up on my knees, I can’t quite reach his dick. I let my hands rove to the creases where his pants meet over the part I’m looking for, so he understands what I want.

“Bumps…”

“Please.” I lick my lips, and delight in how his focus latches upon the tiny sliver of my tongue. “Give me this for your birthday.”

Hunger fills his gaze. Something tics above his cheek. He studies me carefully, but honestly, I can’t imagine how he can misinterpret what I’m offering. What I’m asking for. Or how he can continue to resist.

His fingers twine in my hair. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to. Please.” There. I’m on my knees, begging for his dick. What more does this fastidious, uptight gargoyle want from me?