Stone Lover Read online

  Stone Lover

  by

  A.C. Warneke

  Copyright©2012 by Andrea Warneke

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 140173751

  ISBN-13: 978-1470173753

  Cover design: Alaina and Andrea Warneke

  This is dedicated to the ones I love: my friends, my family and my readers and to those serving in the armed forces; you have my gratitude.

  Thank you

  Table of Contents

  One. 6

  Two.. 17

  Three. 31

  Four. 40

  Five. 51

  Six. 63

  Seven. 73

  Eight. 85

  Nine. 99

  Ten. 109

  Eleven. 118

  Twelve. 130

  Thirteen. 141

  Fourteen. 151

  Fifteen. 161

  Sixteen. 169

  Seventeen. 180

  Eighteen. 192

  Nineteen. 203

  Twenty. 214

  Epilogue. 226

  One

  Melanie Jacobs stood in the doorway of the roof access, her azure blue eyes sparkling with laughter at how ridiculous she was acting. The rest of her was buried beneath a heavy, down parka of red and purple plaid; two thick scarves, one in magenta, the other gold; a lime green hat pulled down low over her ears, and a thick, mismatched pair of wool mittens. She was willing to face the cold, harsh winter on the roof of her building just to be near him.

  From the very moment she had moved in the evening before, she had been inexplicably drawn to the roof, even if she had taken a bath instead of exploring. The luxurious, claw foot tub had been simply too tempting to pass up. It wasn’t until she got off work in the afternoon and hurried back to her new place that she finally had a chance to get up there. And though the route from her apartment to the roof access door was not straightforward and she was pretty sure it travelled through the neighbor’s lavish apartment, she knew the way as if someone had given her a map. Even the door disguised as just another wall panel proved to be no problem for her. But it wasn’t until she saw him that she understood the need to be up there.

  He truly was the most extraordinarily gorgeous creature she had ever seen and she could have spent hours gazing at him. But then she wouldn’t be able to touch him, run her hands over the hard planes of his sculpted chest, the furrowed lines of his broad brow, the flaring nostrils of his snout. She wouldn’t have been able to see if his teeth were as sharp as they appeared, or if his ears were as pointy.

  Leaning against the door, she sighed in pleasure as she drank him in: he was in a crouching position, as if prepared to attack whoever dared to trespass on his turf. Clawed feet were planted, ready to fly into action; his arms were curled upwards, his claws unsheathed and deadly-looking; and his wings were spread in their full glory. Corded muscles covered his body, his curved calves, his powerful thighs. He was magnificent.

  A large, impressive stone penis curved upwards from between his stone thighs, lovingly carved from marble; a penis that would be absolutely monstrous if it ever was to grow and become erect. Melanie smiled at her whimsical thoughts; it was carved of marble. He was carved of marble; it was, er, set in stone. Above the thick penis was a set of eight-pack abs that many men would kill for. Muscles blanketed his ribs, his pectorals, his broad shoulders, his thick neck.

  Her eyes wandered over his face, the frightening mouth overflowing with razor-sharp teeth, the elongated snout and broad, triangular nose. Whisker lines were carved into the bulbous area above his upper lip. His expansive brows were drawn together in a fierce scowl over gray eyes that seemed to track her movements without moving themselves. The pointed ears added to his leonine appearance.

  Walking over to her gargoyle, ignoring the other two gargoyles entirely, she ran her covered hand over the distorted features of his beautiful face. Frustrated with the barrier, she put the tip of her mitten between her teeth and pulled it off. Immediately, her hand returned to the gargoyle’s face but the unexpected heat from the stone had her snatching it quickly away. Holding her hand against her chest, she tilted her head to the side and studied the marble beast; was he laughing at her?

  After a moment of considering that possibility, she dismissed it; he was a marble statue, he didn’t possess consciousness. After another moment, she realized that she was sweltering in her winter gear, which was surprising considering the subzero temperature and negative fifteen wind-chill that normally ripped through the warmest coats. Almost hesitatingly, she began peeling off the layers of her clothes: the other mitten, the scarves, the hat. Pausing only a moment, she unzipped the parka and pulled it off her shoulders, letting it slide from her arms to the ground.

  It was warm, pleasantly so; the long sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans she wore were almost too much clothing and if she weren’t standing outside on a roof in the middle of St. Paul with buildings on either side she would have seriously considered stripping down to her panties and bra. With a self-conscious gesture, she brought her hand up to her hair and then realized that she didn’t care that her long, chocolate brown hair was matted to her head; there was no one around to impress.

  Except for the marvelous gargoyle and he was a statue, even if she had the feeling there was something… living about him. But that was only in the Saturday morning cartoons of her youth; gargoyles didn’t come to life at night and protect the city from villains.

  Stepping closer to the object of her unexpected obsession, she began slowly caressing the lion’s face, his chest, running over his sculpted muscles. The stone beneath her hand was smooth, warm, and if she concentrated, she could almost feel a heartbeat, very slow and steady. She tilted her head back and watched as it tried to snow; a flake would drift through the air, never quite taking the plunge and falling. It really was strange that there was no snow on the roof; that it wasn’t cold at all.

  It was magical in its strangeness; just like her gargoyle.

  Her gaze drifted to her hands moving over the warm stone. Her brows pulled together as her gaze traveled lower; did her gargoyle always have that enormous erection? Distracted by the thick phallus straining upwards from between massive thighs, she felt her brain short-circuit. Goodness, the details of his erection were exquisite: the substantial shaft threaded with corded veins, the bulbous shape of its head, the defined crest. It was smooth and hard, exactly like a real penis except for carved in stone. And it was hot; really, really hot. Tentatively, she ran her finger over the realistic slit on the swollen head and could have sworn she felt the stone leap beneath her touch.

  Melanie glided her hand the length of it, from base to tip and back. Wrapping her hand around the shaft, she found that her fingers couldn’t even circle the thing; there was at least a two inch gap from fingertip to thumb tip. She slid her hand back down, cupping the stone scrotum, feeling the curve of carved testicles. Had she ever seen anything so terrifying and beautiful at the same time?

  But she was almost certain that the erection hadn’t been there before, which was… ludicrous. He was a stone statue, carved out of marble. The artist who crafted him certainly admired the male form, which would have been an absurd thought to have if she wasn’t ridiculously attracted to him herself.

  Her body temperature was increasing and she knew that it had nothing to do with the abnormal heat and everything to do with the magnificent gargoyle. She could feel her breasts swelling, her nipples tightening, and her knees weakening. Heat pulsed low in her belly as she stroked the burning stone erection and as she pressed her body against the hard, unforgiving planes of his chest lust rampaged through her flesh.

  Her thoughts were becoming liquid like the rest of her body and she wanted to melt into the stone lion. Burying her face against the curve o
f his neck, she inhaled deeply, taking in his smell of the wilderness and moonlight, a decadent scent of mystery and magic with a hint of ozone. With a wry smile at her fanciful thoughts, she moved her hand over the bulbous tip and stroked down. Her sex heated and softened, preparing to accept the glorious stone weight into her body, not caring that it would never fit.

  Licking her lips, tasting the warm stone with the tip of her tongue, she pressed her thumb against the sensitive underside below the smooth ridge and felt the stone tremble. But stone can’t tremble…

  Melanie frowned. In truth, she didn’t know what the big deal was about sex; it was okay but it was kind of messy and, well, boring. Peter, her ex of three and a half months, had always climbed on top, laboring and grunting as he thrust away, sweating and dripping on her as she lay there waiting for him to hurry up and finish. Even though she considered him a good friend they had never really connected in the bedroom. In fact, they were much better friends than lovers and there had been no hard feelings when they came to the mutual decision to break up.

  She often thought she should be more like her friend Vanessa, who had a new guy in her bed every weekend and enjoyed every single one. But she also knew herself well enough to know that she wasn’t able to separate sex and love, even if her feelings for Peter were not passionate. She did love him as a friend and if they hadn’t become sexually active in high school, they never would have dated for as long as they had.

  Despite her sometimes outlandish outfits and somewhat capricious nature, she really was an old fashioned girl at heart, hoping to find love and happiness, get married, have two or three kids, a dog and a white picket fence. She wanted someone she could grow old with, a friend as well as a lover.

  Of course, if her beautiful gargoyle ever took human form, all bets would be off; he was her one exception to the rule. And since that was never going to happen, she was perfectly safe to fall in love with a nice gentleman and create a life together with him. Even if she longed for a magical gargoyle.

  The image of the leonine gargoyle wrapping his arms around her, pressing his stone mouth against her breast, filled her head. His harsh expression would soften as he looked at her with adoration, as he ran his rough, stone paws over her body. As she rubbed her body all over his. She briefly wondered what it would be like to have sex with the gargoyle and his more-than-generous marble cock but she just as quickly dismissed the absurd thought; he’d tear a girl apart.

  Besides, it wasn’t right to lust after…. She shivered, unable to dismiss the attraction, the lust. She quickened her stroke and the gargoyle seemed to be purring in pleasure, nearing release, his face twisted in delightful agony.

  As Melanie watched, his stone eye lids slid down and his expression of torture morphed into one of ecstasy as the marble shuddered and she felt an invisible drop of liquid heat. Surprised, she stumbled back a step, releasing her hold on his erection. Maybe it had been a snowflake that quickly melted in this heat, even though the snow didn’t fall anywhere near here. She tilted her head back and looked closer at his face, sighing over the slight smile and slumberous eyes.

  “Your expression,” Melanie whispered voice held no small measure of awe. Studying the gargoyle, the garish smile that was all teeth, the flared nostrils, the drowsy eyes, she was half in love with the marble beast. Reaching up, she lightly ran her fingers over his ridged brow, his taut cheekbone, his stretched lips. Was that a puff of breath? No, she was just imagining things; he was a stone statue, carved from marble and inanimate. He wasn’t real.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she finally looked at the other two gargoyles standing just behind her, one on her right and the other on her left: one that resembled a griffin and the other that resembled a mischievous, flying monkey. They seemed to be accusing her of some grave offense and she felt the heat spread up her neck and across her cheeks. The griffin looked particularly angry, glaring at her with malice that was almost tangible, enough to make her step away from the lifeless figure and bump into the lion.

  Laughing a little uncertainly, she turned back to the statue she had just man-handled. “I feel like I should introduce myself after molesting you; I’m Melanie, Melanie Jacobs. No, no; you don’t have to say anything…. I agree; it is a little weird and I have no excuse for….”

  She let her words trail off, lowering her chin and focusing her gaze on his navel. He really was quite exquisitely formed; the details were….

  Pressing her forehead against his chest, she closed her eyes; she was almost twenty-four and she felt just as lost as ever, not quite in step with the rest of the world and she was surprisingly okay with that. Despite her amazing family and wonderful friends, she didn’t quite fit in, spending too much time with her head in the clouds, daydreaming about fairy tales and gargoyles. In fact, the only other person who truly understood her, who shared the same love of the fantastic, was her niece Ferris, who was six. The two of them shared a special bond that confounded even Jenna, Ferris’s mom and Melanie’s sister. Most everyone else was just so… so… practical.

  Tenderly, she pressed her lips against the strong column of his throat and kissed him. Stepping back, she brushed her fingers along his jaw. “I wish you were real, that you were….”

  Alive. But she didn’t say that last part out loud; there were limits to even her madness.

  With a sigh, she looked up to see the sun starting to dip beneath the horizon; it was going to be night time soon and she just wanted to curl up in the gargoyle’s lap and disappear for a while. Of course, instead of spending her time up on the roof with a gargoyle and wishing he was real, she should have been in her apartment unpacking all of her things. Not that she had a lot of stuff; her new apartment was tremendously small. In fact, most of her stuff was back home at her parents’ house.

  Still, she really needed to finish unpacking and making it habitable; she couldn’t very well live out of boxes and eat ramen for every meal. There was just enough space for her bed, a small café table in the tiny kitchen, and a wall-mounted television. She was able to hook up her MP3 to some small speakers in order to play her music. She even had a few of her favorite books on the small nightstand; there was, a loveseat at the foot of her bed and she was absurdly content.

  As she considered her small studio apartment, she had to smile: from its teeny-tiny kitchen to the miniscule bathroom with its little skylight and surprisingly large claw-foot tub, to the gorgeous French doors that led to the barely-there balcony while letting in the early morning sun, and the wardrobe that would hold as many clothes as she could stuff into it, the entire place was perfect. While she could definitely afford a bigger apartment, nothing could compare to the architecture of the building, the second selling point after the magnificent gargoyle on the roof.

  It was like something from her imagination, with the intricate carvings of mythical creatures and enchanted forests adorning the cream-colored walls to the arched windows and gothic turrets giving it the feel of a fantastical medieval castle. It always amazed her that such an incredible work of art existed in the middle of city, so close to one of her parents’ candy stores; it amazed her even more that no one was even aware of the uniquely gorgeous building.

  But the sun was setting and she had work to do. Besides, tomorrow was New Year’s Eve and she had a ton of things to get done before she went out with her friends to welcome in the New Year.

  It was going to be a good year.

  With one last look at her gargoyle, she slipped back inside, barely paying attention to the sumptuous apartment she had to pass through in order to get back to her room. It was perhaps a little odd that the door to her room on the fourteenth floor was the only one with a number on it but she didn’t dwell on the matter too much; she was living in the coolest building in St. Paul, probably the entire Midwest. She was okay being the odd girl out on the top floor; it was a role with which she was intimately familiar.

  * * * * *

  The last rays of the sun sank beneath the horizon, the winter
sky darkening from purplish-pink to black. As the leonine gargoyle lowered his arms, they became flesh and blood; his wings receded and finally disappeared altogether. His elongated fangs shrank into straight, white teeth; his cat-like features melted and his human face emerged. The curl of his body straightened into that of a sleekly muscled man, no longer a hulking, stone beast.

  He flexed his muscles and looked at his brothers, whose own human forms were stretching as well, comfortable in their nudity. The three of them shared similar facial structures, tall statures, and physically powerful builds. Broad shoulders, narrow waists, carved faces, carved bodies; after all, the three brothers were the stuff of myths and legends: gargoyles that protected the humans and the supernatural, keeping the two worlds separate even as they straddled the boundaries of both.

  Rhys was laughing, his dark brown eyes sparkling, his light reddish-brown hair unbound and flowing to the small of his back. Black-haired Armand wore an ominous expression as his green eyes narrowed on golden-haired Vaughn. Vaughn clenched his jaw as his nostrils flared. “What?”

  “The girl is a problem,” Armand said in his softest, deadliest voice; the tone that signified his fury. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he ground out, “She resisted the compulsion to leave and had she stayed another moment longer she would have seen us change. That is not acceptable, Vaughn.”

  “I don’t know where she came from,” Vaughn shook his head in bemusement, still feeling her slender hands caressing his body; the pleasure she gave him. Reaching down, he stroked his cock, the hardened flesh still vibrating with the release she brought his stone body. It had been indescribable, nearly unbearable; he hadn’t known his stone body could feel so much pleasure.