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ONE
William
My mind is sluggish these days. That doesn’t stop me from noticing whenshewalks across centerstage at the Grand Theater. The brunette’s lithe beauty catches my eye from my rooftop perch where I have a view through the glass dome above her. My vision is sharper than it was when I was human. I can see in the dark better than I used to as well. So I have no trouble narrowing in on her shapely legs where they peek from the long dark jacket she wears. She strides to the front of the stage and stops.
The woman looks around. I can’t tell what she’s looking for. The theater is empty. It’s evening, but there’s no show on tonight. There hasn’t been a show since the threats escalated. Not that I care. I prefer it that way.
I wonder what she’s doing here. She fishes a small metallic device I recognize as a phone from her purse, sets a song playing, and puts down her things on the edge of the stage. A rhythmic, sensuous beat plays and she sways her hips. It seems like decades since I even moved my head, but you’d better believe I move it then. I swivel my head all the way to the right for a better look at her fingers slipping up the seam of her jacket, unfastening each button one by one.
If I wasn’t already literally fixed in place, I would be now.
She slides the jacket over her shoulders and casts it aside, revealing pert breasts cupped in a lacy black bra. Tight black shorts ride low over curvy hips. She’s still wearing her stiletto heels and they make her legs look amazing when she turns and bends at the waist, giving me an exquisite view of her juicy rounded backside where the tiny shorts absolutely do nothing to cover it. I stare as she runs her hands down the front of her legs slowly, and then she flicks her long, auburn hair back over one shoulder and straightens.
My god, she’s gorgeous. I’ve seen many women—fucked many women—in my lifetime. Most of them before I was cursed, of course.
None of them—not a single one—has ever captured my attention the way this woman does with just a flick of her hair and the sway of her hips. A few simple movements and the shape of her body is etched into my memory. I can feel my heart pounding inside a chest I thought had turned to stone years ago.
Her hands caress up her sides, sliding past breasts I long to feel for myself. She brings them back down her body and toys with the waistband of the tiny shorts. She pulls the shorts down a few inches until I’m sure I catch a glimpse of a smooth, bare mound. Then the shorts are back in place and she’s turning, swaying, dancing to the music. She continues her deliberate torment. Does she know she has an audience?
Bending and sliding onto the floor, she kicks out her legs, spreading them wide. All sorts of wicked thoughts flick through my mind. She rolls to her front, rocking and thrusting her hips until I can’t do anything but picture her over me, chasing pleasure as she uses my body in just such a way.
I’m riveted to the spot, or I’d be through that glass dome to snatch her up in my arms and carry her away with me. She’s lucky. There’s no way I’d be able to hold back from doing all the filthy, carnal things her dance has put into my head if I actually had her in my arms.
My breath catches in my throat when she turns her back, unfastening the bra and pulling first one arm then the other free while keeping her hands over her breasts. My mouth waters as she spins with a coy smile. Then she drops her hands and lets me see the most perfect dusky pink nipples.
My hand flexes at my side and I look down, surprised. The movement is fleeting, but it’s more than I’ve been able to do in many, many months. My hand isn’t the only thing to move. Between my thighs, my cock juts up proudly, hard and ready. Wretched thing is taunting me. I’m all but frozen into stone, yet there’s always a way for it to be worse.
With a sigh, I look back to the stage, where my pretty brunette is bending forward, tugging down her shorts to reveal a luscious ass, perfectly proportioned to give a man a two good handfuls as he thrusts into her from behind.
God’s troth, I haven’t been this wound up in years.
Too soon it’s over. She stops the music and collects her clothing from where it’s strewn around the stage. She puts each item back on and ties the belt of the jacket around her waist. Then she strides out of my sight and I’m left longing for more.
Dark laughter to my right makes me glance around. Sethos leans against the tower where I perch, his dark wings folded behind his back and long, leonine tail flicking against his furry leg. A brow lifts on his handsome face as he smirks at me. “So there is something still capable of getting your attention, I see.”
I roll my eyes. “Spare me. A man would have to be dead not to notice her.”
“Ah, but you’re not a man, are you, my friend? Not anymore.”
A growl rumbles in my chest and my claws dig into the stone archway where my left hand rests. “I’m not your friend, either.”
Sethos chuckles again. “Better and better. A few more nights and we’ll have you up and moving again.”
“I assume this means I have you to thank for that little show?”
“Naturally. Can’t have my investment going to waste, can I? I told you when I had you shipped here that I needed someone to guard my theater. I’m not running a charity here.”
I turn my gaze away from the sphinx and down to the street, hoping to catch a glance at the woman as she leaves the theater. Not like he ever asked me what I thought about my current living and working arrangements. Who asks the stonework what it thinks? There I was, perfectly satisfied to wallow in my own misery, ready to be demolished along with my cathedral, when he up and bought me at auction like a fucking Michelangelo or something.
Ha! Far from it. Even in stone, my ugly hide is pockmarked with battle scars and imperfections. The tip of one horn is broken, and I’m fairly sure my wings are cracked. I’ll probably never fly again.
Who am I kidding? I’ll never do anything again. I’m too far gone. Sethos is a fool for thinking he can rouse me. Rousing a gargoyle in the process of petrifaction is next to impossible. Apart from anything else, he has to want to be roused, and I’ve got nothing to live for.
Still, as the saying goes, a fool and his money are soon parted. Who am I to tell this idiot how to throw away his cash? Seems like he has plenty to throw.
Eventually he gives up trying to engage me in any further conversation and leaves. I spend the next few hours staring up and down the street, knowing I won’t see her, but hoping anyway. When I drift into my morning sleep, it’s to dreams of the pretty brunette. She creeps up the steps to my tower, crawls into my lap, and rocks her sinful hips over me. All the while, she clings to my neck and whispers sweet nothings in my ear.
