Free Black Briar by Sophie Avett Page A

shades of silver, eyes snapping open. Awakened. Black eyes cut the darkness to ribbons, as he peered between his flanks to the witch reaching for him, arm growing up from the bed like a tower.
     
    Fingers and talon touched. One single, precious moment of stolen time.
     
    He climbed off the post, and gray clawed fingers were cold and large, swallowing hers. Thick calf muscles contracted as he found footing and she pressed her thighs together to smother the painful pang of desire. Lips chapped and cold, yearning for the smooth creases of his sinful bend. “Why are we here?” Why did you stop?
     
    “Just a dream. Not enough.” His voice was harsh, hoarse. Each individual muscle etched into his granite torso was flexed, tense. Wings open, but pinned back. He stood with an angel’s ballast and rent his hose with sharp claws, tearing them from his legs. Fabric clinging stubbornly to his menacing muscles like a worthless second skin. “Never enough.”
     
    “But…”
     
    Sybille was stunned into silence as he fell over her like a meteor shower. Sprawled over her body, he pressed it down into the mattress. His weight nearly collapsed her lungs, but he braced himself on his elbow after a moment, lingering long enough to catch her necklace in his teeth and tug. “Stay.”
     
    He used his knee to urge her legs farther apart. Her body tingled as his slick talon traced a gentle path over the curve of her modest sopping black panties. “Wet, so…”
     
    Shut up. She snapped up off the bed and swallowed his crass words with a kiss, nails clinging to her shoulders. Just put me out of my misery. Murder me.
     
    The gargouille tore her underwear from her in one harsh pull, jerking her upper-body deeper into the pillows. Fabric cut into her sensitive flesh, material rending in the silence and warm air teased her skin. She begged against his mouth, “Nova…”
     
    “Don’t beg.” He nibbled on her lip, bloodying it with a gentle nick. “Makes little difference.”
     
    The tiny splice in her bottom lip burned and her clit throbbed. “Nova, please….”
     
    A growl vibrated in his naked chest and suddenly she was wearing too much. Sybille pushed at his shoulders and tried to wriggle her hand and get a grip on her dress. It felt like cage. Everything was closing in on her. Air. Why wasn’t there any air…?
     
    She scrabbled, abused nail beds cringing in pain. I can’t…
     
    “Breathe,” he snarled in her ear. “I’m not going anywhere. The dress remains. I like it.” He flexed his length against her sopping wet center and her pussy clenched. Furious. Needy. Wanting him. He caught her wrists. They were wheat stalks in his massive hands as he crucified her to the bed. “Stay still.”
     
    The gargouille peered at her, daring her to disobey, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he simply wasn’t in the mood. Tonight would be about nothing but obedience. Pure and simple submission. Or else.
     
    And if she disobeyed, what would he do to her? Her insides melted, her mind taken with the wicked things he’d already done to her. Creative. Her gargoyle was creative. And so deliciously ruthless about punishment. It was always terrible. Painful, humiliating. The kind of soul-rending erotic torture that left her shaking and needy. So very, very needy.
     
    She lolled into her pale waves, squeezing her eyes shut as the words deflated her chest and left her utterly open. “Yes…Sir.”
     
    “Sybille.” He melted on top of her, completely undone and pressed a sweet kiss behind her ear, burning the curl of her ear with a guttural purr, “There is no shame in serenity.”
     
    Her eyes fluttered open. He pulled back. Eye contact.  
     
    No fear. Never fear. Clarity.
     
    Her bottom lip trembled and her hands sought his shoulders. “Promise?” she whispered.
     
    He sealed the oath with a deep, languid kiss, swallowing her little cries of remorse and sorrow. He had no eyelashes, didn’t need them. But she