She gave his empty perch the side-eye. “Yes.”
“Thank you. Then I’ll wait.”
She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Suit yourself.” She hopped up onto her perch and shifted into her stone form without speaking another word.
Griffin waited—until the rain began, a great deluge that came out of nowhere. One moment, the air was calm, although thick and humid, then the wind picked up and the skies opened and rain poured down like a waterfall while thunder roared and lightning lit everything up in quick, two-second flashes. It was like no other storm he had ever experienced.
He sought shelter under the narrow portico over the sealed entrance to one of the crypts. Did Sofia enjoy storms? Or was she afraid of them? Was she, at that very moment, wishing she had someone to snuggle with while the rain poured down all around them?
Was she wishing that someone was him?
Probably not. After all, he’d done what he’d promised and left her yet again. Only this time, he’d given her an explanation, one that involved never seeing her again.
He wished Oliver would hurry and return. He did not like leaving Sofia and Penelope without a gargoyle protector, even though yes, Antoinette and her colony were perfectly capable of ensuring their safety.
As the night droned on and the storm tapered off, Oliver still hadn’t returned and Nikki was refusing to shift so he could speak to her, no matter how much he tapped on her stone foot. Finally, his frustration at a peek, he shifted and flew away, out of the cemetery and back to Antoinette’s mansion, where he found Sofia sleeping alone in that oversized bed. For a moment, he panicked because Penelope was not there, but then he found her down the hall, sleeping in the lower bunk in Henri’s bedroom.
Everyone was safe.
So he returned to Sofia’s side, standing next to the bed, staring down at her still form. Her chest rose and fell with her steady breaths. Her lashes fanned over her cheeks, and her hair spread out, starkly dark strands against the pale blue pillowcase. She wore a pink camisole, and the comforter was pulled up to her waist.
He desperately wanted to slide under that sheet and curl up next to her. The urge had nothing whatsoever to do with her safety and everything to do with the emotions he wasn’t supposed to feel.
But he would have to leave her for good sooner or later, and each moment they spent together made that a more difficult prospect. It wasn’t fair to her for him to continue to indulge his own desires.
She stirred and her eyelashes fluttered open. Once her eyes focused on him, she smiled, soft and gentle. “Hey, you,” she said, her voice rough with sleep. “You came back.”
He carded his hand through his hair and cupped the back of his neck. “Yes. Oliver wasn’t available.”
“Mmm, too bad.” She flipped over the covers. “Why don’t you come to bed?”
“I…” He should not, tempting as she was. The heartache would be so much worse the longer they carried on their affair.
“You’re second-guessing yourself, and you should stop.”
She was right. He tended to do that, to overanalyze a situation until he convinced himself one way was better than another, and more often than not, his first instinct would have been on point. And right now, every instinct in his body believed there was no better option than to crawl into that bed next to her.
So he decided, for once, to go with his gut.
He stripped down to his boxer briefs and slid under the sheet, pulling her close, tucking her body nice and snuggly against his own. She wiggled her bottom and purred, sounding like a content feline.
And then she pressed her ass against his hard as stone erection while arching so that her head rested on his shoulder. He kissed her nose and then her mouth, cupping her chin, flicking his tongue between her lips and exploring her mouth. She moaned and rubbed more insistently against his cock.
She was probably half asleep and not entirely in her right mind. He ought to stop, because the chances of her regretting this in the morning were high. Hell, he’d be gone before dawn. He needed to get back to the cemetery to talk to Oliver. He needed to ensure Sofia and Penelope were appropriately protected against both Darius and any wayward warlocks who might make their way into New Orleans.
She reached around and stroked him through the thin material of his boxers. He groaned and kissed her more insistently, one hand slipping into the top of her camisole so he could massage her breast. She bucked like she might have had a mini orgasm, and he wrapped his other arm around her hip, sliding his hand over her mound, two fingers pushing into her. She arched into his touch, pumping, bouncing, silently begging him for more.
He gave her everything.
“More,” she demanded, pressing her ass against him again.
“Okay, okay.” He rolled onto his back and pawed at the top of the bedside table. They’d tossed a pile of condoms there the day before; surely they hadn’t gone through all of them?
His fingers brushed against a thin edge, and he slapped his hand over the foil square. One left.
He’d better make this worth it.
While she writhed next to him, he quickly shed his boxers and sheathed his painfully hard erection, then he rolled over behind her again. She immediately snuggled back against him and grabbed one of his arms, pulling it down between her legs.
He tugged off her panties and obligingly stroked her. She threw her head back and groaned.
“Lift your leg, baby,” he whispered before giving her earlobe a playful nip.
She flung her right leg over his and stretched out her left, widening herself,
