Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 120: Jack-Eye: Ruined

JACK-EYE

Lyre’s fingertips touch my jaw. Cold as winter but intent like summer heat. Her other hand presses against my chest, not pushing hard but with enough pressure to make me straighten.

She stands, one fluid motion that has me backing up instinctively. One step forward from her, one step back from me. A dance I’m suddenly not leading. My spine hits the wall before I realize she’s maneuvered me across the entire room.

"Rules," she says, voice low and matter-of-fact. "You can’t touch me. Can’t move. No begging." Her cat-like eyes hold mine, unblinking. "No calling my name. No calling for the Goddess. No prayers."

I snort. Is she serious? I’ve had my share of wild nights, but she’s acting like this kiss might break me.

"Can you follow those rules, Aaron?"

"I think I can handle a kiss without calling for divine intervention." My words sound confident. My dick? Not quite as sure.

It’s already painfully hard.

The corner of her mouth quirks up, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Just a flash of pink against her smirking mouth. My cock throbs in response, sudden and painful.

Fuck.

I swallow hard.

She leans in, and her mouth touches mine. It’s gentle. Controlled. Intentional. Nothing like the desperate crash of our lips from moments ago.

That’s it? I almost laugh. This is what she—

Heat.

It doesn’t start at my lips. It’s everywhere at once, sinking beneath my skin like liquid fire, wrapping around every blood vessel, every muscle, every tendon. My entire body tingles like she’s somehow touching all of me at once.

Then comes the ice—tiny flickers of cold dancing between the waves of heat. Like she’s playing my nerves, strumming me like an instrument.

Her fingertips are still on my chest. Her mouth is still barely touching mine. It’s the only physical contact between us, but my body feels like it’s being caressed everywhere.

My spine arches slightly against the wall, a puppet pulled by pleasure’s strings.

My wolf stirs, aroused beyond reason. His deep growls echo what I’m already thinking.

Claim her.

Mark her.

Keep her.

my sides, desperate to pull her against me. The moment they

pleasure stops so abruptly I

Almost.

pride,

not be very apparent, but it’s there, somewhere behind my straining, aching,

she says, eyes heavy-lidded as she

one

closing in tight fists, trying to ground myself before

lips, a slow, deliberate tease. Her hand slides up my

of my neck

My cock follows suit, eager for

chest, into my bones. It’s not enough. I need more of it, more of her, and her goddamned soft, breathy touches

wants to dominate, she should do it. Not... whatever this

the seam of

move. Her rules. I force my hands to stay at my sides, my entire body trembling with the effort not to say fuck it all and just take what I

breathing in perfect rhythm with her.

friction. She breaks the contact

Nothing touches.

And nothing’s satisfied.

hips into complacency. No thrusting against her like a rutting beast. Got it.

softly, directly into my mouth. I suck it in

me before I can stop it. Pathetic.

don’t moan like that. We’re strong and capable and don’t

But I did.

me, hardly kissed me, and I’m already

His need for

sharp and musky, probably filling the room. I can barely smell her beneath the dominance rolling

but I’m already at

entire existence. Bind

beg and prostrate myself for even a whisper of a kiss.

again, straining painfully against my

getting his first taste of a woman. My thighs are tight, stomach

Lyre did this.

yet she’s done almost

for her next breath, her next taste. I’ve become a vessel for whatever

mouth and holy shit—I

sweeps through my mouth in long, languid movements, teasing and retreating. Her taste is stronger than

break. My hands lift slightly before I force them back, fingers clawing at empty air. My cock throbs so hard it hurts, skin too tight, body too