The Gargoyle from General Management (Claws & Cubicles, #3)

by Kate Prior

Fortune 666 companies

“Sugar? Milk? Organic orphan tears?”

It might be better if he did pass me his business card, so that I can remember I’m supposed to be networking or whatever, and not crawling into his lap so I can get two fingers of something else in me.

Had to reread this one twice

“I don't know if you fully grasp how primal the need for a shiny, little sticker runs.”

Sure, I could get it the traditional way, by seducing people and rawdogging their sexual chemistry like my ancestors did, before letting them get impaled on some rocks.

Like, I get that people have to worry about getting pregnant and STIs and I want to appreciate that, but on the other hand, maybe a girl just wants to be fucked raw and whine, “Cum in me, Daddy,” without explaining herself every damn time.

I've never salivated over a granite carved jawline before, or wondered exactly how prehensile a tail was, and all the things we could do with just that.

I’m just hanging out in an empty hotel conference room, masturbating, pondering my life choices, as you do.

If he's going to keep talking about sustainability, I might climax in my seat.

Then his pants come undone, pushed down just far enough, and my eyes widen. Forget wings and tails, I want to know how his tailor works the fabric of time and space to make that monster hide. I have girlbossed too close to the sun.

I have girlbossed too close to the sun

Fuck it, I’ll die by getting dicked down. It’ll be good. That’s probably how I was meant to go anyway.

Fuck it, show him your tits.