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No, no, no, no! Gargoyles didn’t exist!
Too bad her rational mind was at odds with every other instinct in her body. He was a gargoyle, all right. A damn find one at that.
“You called me.” His voice was not loud, but it was deep and gravelly; and for some reason, easily heard above the boom and bass of the music blaring throughout the club. “I heard you call and accept your offer.”
“My-my offer?” Her voice was wobbly and weak. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew he could hear it nonetheless. The cocked brow was a dead giveaway.
“To mate,” he explained impatiently, moving forward enough to force her backward.
“Uh, I think there might be some mistake.” He kept moving forward, so she kept moving back, until she found herself flat against the back wall to the right of raised platform booth containing the deejay.
“There was no mistake,” he growled all sexy-like at her. Her panties were instantly wet. A bolt of raw, unadulterated need shot through her body.
Oh, man she was in trouble! Looking around, she noticed no one, not even Anne, was looking in their direction. In fact, Anne was staring wistfully at the spot Rebecca had so recently vacated on the dance floor.
“They can’t see us,” the gargoyle informed her. “They see you as you were. We are completely masked.” His hands came to rest on either side of her head, trapping her against the wall. “I fought for the right to have you, and you will be mine.”
Next Door Favor
“Mine!” he roared and hauled her in his arms.
“Then act like you want it, motherfucker!” she spat.
Act like he wanted it? Act?! Was she fucking kidding? He didn’t have to act like shit—he wanted Lightning and he was going to spend the rest of the day proving that!
“I don’t have to act like I want what’s mine. I’ve wanted it since I laid eyes on it,” he drawled in her ear.
“Well, then, come big or stay at home!” she challenged.
“I am at home,” he returned as he backed her into the counter and acquainted himself with her curves.
“Then there’s nothing left for you to do…except for come,” she said as she lifted her pelvis into his.
Having his arm full of his fantasy felt right, but Sebastian still needed more. Pulling her closer, he reached down and caressed her sex, reveling in the way she opened for him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, dragging the scent of her arousal deep into his lungs. He couldn’t help but feel arrogant knowing he was the reason for the dew that soaked her scrap of panty. Feeling her wrap her legs tightly around him, he thrust his jean-covered crotch against her mound, mimicking sex.
“Sebastian,” she moaned. “Sebastian.”
The sound of his name on her tongue almost broke him. He’d never heard his name said like that. He’d heard his name said with contempt, apathy, textbook pronunciation, anger, fear, lust, even maternal love, but he’d never heard his name come out of anyone’s mouth the way it had from Lightning’s. She said his name so good, so honest, so feisty, and now he wanted to hear her scream his name with all of that passion. Hefting her in his arms, he made his way to the bedroom.
His trek was interrupted by the star of his fantasies. “The sauce, Sebastian. Don’t forget the sauce.”
Grabbing the sauce on his way, he made a beeline for his bedroom.