Page 24 of Coached By the Grumpy Gargoyle

He has to lie diagonally, and his feet still hang off the edge. I climb over him, knees on either side of his hips, and pause with my hands on his chest as his cock presses to my stomach, impossibly hard and maddeningly hot. He's looking at me so openly that I forget to move for a second. There is nothing guarded about his face now.

His hand settles on my thigh. "Come here."

I sink onto him slowly, watching his face as I take him. His hands tighten at my hips, but he holds still, giving me time to adjust. I draw a shaky breath and lean forward, feeling the warmth of his chest under my palms.

"Are you okay?" His voice is rough, his eyes fixed on mine.

"I'm better than okay," I manage, and start to move.

His wings sweep forward around us. The string lights disappear behind the membranes, leaving us in warm, close darkness. I can see his face and the pale striations in his wings. His hands span my waist, and when I lean down to kiss him, one slides up my back to hold me there.

I move more slowly, my mouth against his. He lifts his hips to meet me, and I lose the kiss on a gasp. For a while, all I can do is hold on to his shoulders and move with him, listening to the sounds he makes when I get it right.

The pleasure builds until I can't keep moving. My forehead drops to his, and I come with his arms around me, shaking against his chest. He holds me through it, then follows with a roar that goes through the mattress and the floorboards.

I feel sorry for the neighbors below. I’ll have to bake them a fresh batch of muffins or something as an apology.

Bram's wings loosen, and he eases me down beside him. For a long while, I lie with my cheek on his chest, catching my breath while his hand moves slowly up my spine. One wing stays draped over me, warm against my cooling skin.

I should probably ask if he's comfortable. His feet are hanging off the bed, and most of the pillows are on the floor. But his arm settles around me, pulling me closer, and I can't quite bring myself to suggest that either of us move.

Then his other hand shifts on my hip, and leather brushes my skin.

His right hand is bare on my spine. His left, resting on my hip, is still wearing the black field glove. He's had it on the whole time, but I was too turned on to notice. I lift my head and look at it, then at him.

"Bram." I put one fingertip on the leather cuff. "Why are you still wearing this?"

His hand stops moving on my back. He looks down at the glove, and for a moment he doesn't answer. Then he winces. I start to take my finger away.

“It’s okay. You don't have to tell me."

"I do." He shifts against the pillows, helping me sit up beside him. His wing slides down to cover our legs. I keep a hand on his arm while he works the glove off, slowly, until it comes free of his fingers.

At first, I don't see anything unusual. Then he turns his hand toward me, and the string lights catch a raised band around his left ring finger. It runs all the way around, smooth and unbroken, the same gray as the rest of his hand.

I touch it lightly. It's warm beneath my fingertip, warmer even than the stone beside it.

"What is it?" My voice comes out small and quiet, more like a whisper.

"It's a mating mark. It appears when a gargoyle touches their one true mate.” He watches my hand resting on his. "Gargoyles have one mate, for life. We don't choose who it is, we just react when we find them."

I stop tracing the band. "You mean I'm your mate?"

"Yes, Rory. You're my mate."

His hand stays open beneath mine. I look from the band to his face, waiting for him to tell me I've misunderstood. He doesn't.

"When did this happen?"

"That first night. The mark was there when I woke up."

When I was already gone. He found this on his hand, and I wasn't there for him to tell me. My stomach tightens.

“Is that why you’ve been wearing gloves at work?”

"Yes."

He nods, and I close my fingers around his hand.