Page 54 of Stone Guardian
FORTY-SEVEN
Stan stalked her, following her to the bedroom as she shed her shoes, her jacket, her shirt and her stockings, before she struggled with the strange fastening of her skirt, something called a zip.
He'd already removed his shoes and shirt along the way, but he would keep the trousers for a little longer. Until she begged him to remove them, at least.
She swore as she tugged at the zip, her eyes widening as she turned around and saw how close he stood. Alethia squeaked, then forgot about the skirt and unfastened the tiny corset she called a bra, so that her breasts spilled out, begging him to touch them.
Stan didn't care how much time had passed. He would have her, now. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed, nodding in approval as she crawled backwards until her back pressed against the pillows, just like last night.
But unlike last night, her tight skirt kept her thighs together, preventing him from taking what she wanted to offer him. With both hands, he wrenched the skirt up to her waist, where it was no longer in his way. Her knees fell open, revealing the scrap of lace between her legs that was all that now stood in his way. He slid one claw between her skin and the offending lace, rubbing his knuckle against her wet heat as she gasped at his touch. Then a second claw, as he met her questioning gaze.
"I told you I would tear them off you," he said, as he shredded the useless piece of lace with his claws, and tossed the remains on the floor.
He lifted her legs over his shoulders, just like last night, and traced her lower lips with the tip of his claw, circling that sensitive spot she called her clit until she shivered. "Do I have your consent, Alethia?"
"Fuck, yes," she gasped. "Please, Stan."
Last night, he'd taken his time, exploring every inch of her most secret places. Now, he knew exactly what to do to make her scream. Once, twice, three times...his trousers were growing so tight, if he didn't take them off soon, he'd burst the seams. God, and the taste of her...it was driving him wild.
He licked at her lazily as he tugged off his pants, bringing her closer and closer to her next orgasm as his cock sprang free.
She must have seen it, but she was no shy maiden, to be frightened by his length and girth. "Yes, please. Give me more, Stan. Please!"
He allowed himself one last lick, savouring her taste, before pushing her hips down against the mattress, angled just right. Then he rubbed the head of his cock against her clit, now swollen from all the attention he'd lavished upon it.
"Oh yes. Yes, please!" she begged.
"I will ruin you," he warned her. As if he had not ruined her already, by the rules of the society he'd grown up with. "I will ruin you so thoroughly, you might never forgive me. But I will claim you as my own, too, so that you will never need another man in your life or in your bed."
"I need you inside me now!" Alethia complained, wiggling her hips as though she meant to drag him inside her against his will.
"First you must say the words," he said, still stroking her with the head of his cock. Oh, she was close now. So close.
"Anything. Whatever you want," she said.
"Say you're mine." In the oldest traditions of his people, this was at the heart of marriage. Two people said the words that bound them together, before consummating their union. No banns or brothers or anything else, but two people making a promise. It might not mean anything in the laws of this time – his nephews had said as much – but it would be enough to vouchsafe the future of his soul and hers, whether he was a demon, a gargoyle, or some other monster entirely.
Alethia's eyes regarded him, dark with desire over her beautiful breasts. Breasts he could not wait to caress. "You're mine," she said, as her hand fastened around his cock, pulling him to her.
He'd never met a woman so bold. But he loved her for it, more than ever. Stan closed his eyes, then opened them again. Perhaps this was not how the traditional words went, but times had changed, and he must move with them. He freed himself from her hand, twining his tail about her wrist to keep her from grabbing him again.
"And you're mine," he said as he thrust deep inside her.
She screamed, tight walls clenching down so hard Stan could do nothing else but savour the sensation of her searing heat, claiming him just as he claimed her.
The orgasm released its grip on her body, and she released her grip on him, so that he could move within her again. One slow thrust. Another.
"Mine," he growled as he drove deep again.
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes!"
A hundred, no, a thousand times yes, as he took her, and she welcomed him, until her pleasure built to another climax and she screamed his name. At some point, her legs slipped off his shoulders, first one, then the other, and he leaned down to bestow a thousand kisses on each of her breasts, kneading them, sucking on her nipples, until she came apart beneath him again, writhing with pleasure only he could give her.
Over and over, he took her, revelling in her ecstasy as he shared his own with her, until she collapsed atop him, utterly spent. Her head rested on her chest, her legs splayed on either side of his, as he closed his wings around his bride, his beloved, and was finally content.
The rest of the world could go to hell, for all he cared, but he would stay right here.