Page 12

CHARLOTTE

I don’t know how I’m going to tell my sister that I spent my night chatting with some hot gargoyles and eating surprisingly good pizza. She’s going to kick my ass, then kill me, cry about my death, find a way to bring me back, and then throttle me for not giving her an impossible invite to the fun.

I feel like I’m more lost than when I began. Maybe going through the whole cycle of life and death at the hands of my best friend would help me get out of my head for a bit.

They’re all so stinking hot that I can’t think like a rational and logical person, but I need to. There’s no way I can resist literally carved-to-perfection men. Add in the fact they have tails and wings, and it alights something in my fantasy reader heart and loins.

We’re going to be roommates—castle-mates, really—and they’re just supernaturally beautiful in different ways. Cool, cool, cool. I can totally handle that. I’m pretty but not supernaturally hot like them.

I groan and toss myself onto the bed I’ve laid claim to, shuffling under the blankets without so much as dressing after my incredible shower. I don’t have the mental energy to deal, so I shall not. Nothing wrong with being naked in my own castle…but not my own anymore.

“I am so fucked,” I groan, pressing my face deeper into the pillow like maybe it’s a portal to Narnia but a Narnia where things are normal again. So normal-er?

I snicker at my silly joke, tossing and turning until the bed is the perfect amount of messed up before I grab my phone from the nightstand.

It’s a decently acceptable time to be calling across the ocean right now, but the fear around my throat hasn’t released its iron grip.

I want to tell her everything and nothing because right now these gargoyles are mine.

Something about keeping them my dirty little secret feels thrilling.

“Mine?” Saying the word out loud makes it feel even more ridiculous. “They are so not mine.”

My finger hovers over the call button on her contact, but I can’t find the strength, or the will, to get over myself, just yet.

I toss my phone into the mess of sheets and blankets and stare at the ceiling. A gargoyle now lives right above me. His office is right next to me too. Marcus is down the hall with Julius. And Atlas…I have no clue where he is, but I think that’s for the best.

When he was in the room with me, I felt like my skin was on fire. Everything about the way he looked at me made me want to fight him and then fuck him. I’ve never had such a strong feeling about anything except my art, and even that’s pushing it.

“I’m just getting used to it. It’s been a while since I’ve done the deed, and now I’m just wondering what gargoyle dicks look like,” I grumble as I drift my hand under the covers.

I take my time, appreciating every bit of soft skin that my body has to offer.

The lumps, bumps, and rolls may not be for everyone, but I know I’m fucking beautiful because of them and not despite them.

I give one of my breasts a hard squeeze, trying to imagine what it would feel like if my grip were replaced with one of stone.

My breath catches as my other hand, almost without conscious thought, delves right between my plush thighs and parts my dripping folds.

I’m already throbbing, and I haven’t even thought about anything penetrating me.

Just looking at them all, I’m sure I could come absolute buckets if this is the reaction my body is having.

“Holy fuck—” I hiss as my fingertips make contact with my throbbing clit, and I nearly come from the simple contact.

My vision is filled with blinding stars as I bite hard into my lip to keep from embarrassing myself.

Slowly, when I’m sure I’m about to combust, I begin to circle my clit with the pads of two fingers, rolling the sensitive little bundle in the way I like best. I slowed my breathing to longer, softer moans as I pinch and pull at my nipple in time with the lazy circles.

It feels so damn good to make love to myself after everything.

I’m not the same person I was when I stepped foot onto that plane in America.

When I got off that plane, the world was different and I was sprinting to catch up.

Now I’m just here, and I’m enjoying myself.

The pizza was good, the conversation with Julius and Marcus was even better, and this…

well, this is going to be cataclysmically amazing.

I whimper, turning my face toward the window, forcing my eyes wide to stave off the orgasm that is barrelling toward me.

On either side of me are hot, strong men who are undoubtedly skilled in the ways of the female orgasm.

There’s no way you get to be that fucking sexy without being baptized in a woman’s cum.

The thought of all of them, mouths and fingers soaked with my release, is what sends me barreling over the edge. My legs lock, and my whole body spasms with the force of the orgasm that nearly makes me squirt.

“Marcus!” I cry his name quietly before ripping my hand away from my breast and slapping it over my mouth.

For a long moment I hold my breath, not moving a muscle, and just wait.

I should have asked if they have super hearing, or if the walls of the castle were thick enough to withstand some pent-up woman’s clitoral DJ session.

Now I feel like a fucking pervert. He was so sweet to me, and all I want to do is rail him while he prattles on about his beloved footie.

“Footie.” I snort a little. “He means soccer.”

The next morning comes far too quickly. A lot like me last night.

I groan as my body involuntarily stretches out and pulls at all the taut muscles I must have used to have the best orgasm of my life last night.

“Fuck, ouch.” I try to complain, but my mouth is so dry that my tongue is sticking to the roof of it. “Water, breakfast, need.”

Rolling out of bed is a Herculean effort, but I manage it and even get myself into a pair of overalls and a T-shirt before I walk out stark naked. What a way to greet the day and my new roommates, with my tits just…right there.

I shuffle out of my room with my eyes basically closed and find my way to the kitchen on the ground floor.

The room is warm and smells of baking bread, but as I tiptoe around, I find where the scent and sounds of life are actually coming from.

Tucked into the corner is a small, nondescript staircase.

Taking it down a few steps brings me into an even larger and more castle-chic commercial-style kitchen.

Julius stands before one of the three different stove tops, stirring a pot. Freshly baked loaves of bread and muffins sit steaming on the counter.

My mouth waters at the smell of citrus and sweetness, so I follow my nose right to the muffins. I lick my lips, not having alerted Julius to my presence yet, as I slowly scoop one up. I didn’t notice that none of the muffins have liners until I’m holding a steaming hot breakfast pastry in my hand.

“Hot!” I yelp, dropping the poor muffin to the floor and shaking out my reddening hand.

Julius is beside me in a second, cradling my hand in both of his, the tips of his fingers brushing gently over the skin as he looks at the injury.

“Nothing permanent or life threatening, thankfully. Maybe grab a plate next time.” He chuckles softly but doesn’t let go of my hands as he looks down at me. “Want a muffin? Or was it just the thrill of the pilfering that gets you going?”

My face goes more crimson than my smarting hand. “No! Nothing gets me going. I’m not a pervert.”

The green gargoyle laughs again, and I notice his wings are gone, along with his tail, and he isn’t actually all that green anymore.

Instead, he has human-like skin, and he’s tan, as if he spent a few hours soaking up the sun on a beach.

His hair is soft looking and warm brown with a slight wave to it, but he still has verdant green horns.

I force myself not to look at his perfect mouth.

I did way too much of that while he was telling me about his love of cooking last night.

“What happened to your—” I point at him, snapping my mouth shut so I don’t offend him any more than I probably have already.

I need to get food and water and hide in my art room for the rest of eternity, or however long it takes to discover myself, whichever is longer.

He smiles and pushes up the gold frames of his cool octagonal glasses. “It’s a bit of magic. We can…be more or less of our supernatural selves at will. This is like…twenty-five percent,” he says and tips his head in thought, his horns catching the light and sparkling brilliantly.

“Do you have gems in your horns?” I can’t help the question.

I was talking to this guy for a few hours last night before going to bed, and I didn’t notice just how truly spectacular he is to look at. Silly me. Spank bank has been updated.

“Yes, I installed them myself.” He reaches up and touches the base absentmindedly.

My jaw drops. Installed them .

The pot on the stove bubbles up angrily, hissing steam and making him curse.

“Sorry, simmer pots like to be tended.” He returns to his place and begins to stir the pot gently, coaxing it back to an actual simmer.

“This is really weird.”

“What is?” Julius asks, keeping his eyes on the pot.

“Everything, but mostly the fact that magic is real, and this castle is magic, and you’re magic.”

“I think it’s a beautiful thing, not a weird thing.” He teases me so easily, the grin on his face taking any sting from the words before it can even land.

“Beautiful, sure, you’re beautiful, but—” I pause. “Wait.”

“Why, thank you, Charlotte. I think you are very beautiful yourself,” he says, and the dark little chuckle that follows makes me shiver, my nipples getting hard as fucking diamonds.

“Thank you. I just keep making this more and more awkward, don’t I?” I deflate as the words tumble out.