Sleepy Fox Hollow she tells me 'worship in the bedroom'

He was still beneath her seeking lips—as if even the slightest of motions would render sense to the way she sought him now—or, perhaps he sought to consider ways to pull away from her embrace.

Pull away he did not. She withheld strangled relief within her throat—what would have been a sigh of yearning, but not released vocally—and selfishly, she pushed past thoughts of what any of this meant—this goodbye was nearly as hard as the one she had given Stigmata, for this was choice rather than being stripped from her.

She had to be strong enough to do it. To move away from the passive days she had fallen victim to with her grief.

His own ministrations were gentle—her teeth plucked forward to the base of his nape, rumbling toward him, insistent for his attention. White and honey blended to smoke and darkness. The scent of the gargoyle before her was all that she knew in that moment, and the heat that radiated from him—and how she needed more.