Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 121: Lyre: Every Girl Needs a Toy

LYRE

Aaron tastes so much better than I thought he would.

Enough for a tiny little pulse of heat to thud between my legs.

Maybe a smidgen more than tiny.

Okay, yes, I’m wet. But I’m not going to tell him that. Men don’t need their egos stroked; they grow without water or care. I’m here to prune it. Shape it into what I need.

Every girl needs a toy, and this man seems exceptionally willing. Always a plus.

Generally, I have a rule against mixing with wolves, but... well.

I saunter out of the room, humming under my breath. There’s something satisfyingly twisted about the Eurythmics in this moment. I’m pretty sure I’ve left Jack-Eye—sorry, Aaron—ready to claw through walls. I’d apologize if I felt even remotely bad about it.

I don’t, though.

He started it.

I’m just... ending it.

Or maybe beginning something new.

The wizard and the others are several doors down. A mild annoyance, as it means I can’t monitor the wizard’s arcana levels very well, but since I have a new plan... it won’t matter very much.

He’ll be topped off after the transference. Granted, he’ll need at least six hours to recover from the sudden influx. Arcane fever tends to hit these new generations of witches hard, since they’re not used to pure arcana. The type of energy they pull is muddy and inefficient.

If you see arcana as water in the air, I pull out ninety-nine percent of what’s there.

Thom? Pulls about five percent, and it’s dirty. It isn’t that he’s exceptionally bad. It’s standard for the new generation.

I knock on the boys’ room with three sharp raps. Entertainment awaits.

The door opens, and oh—well, hello there. Owen stands shirtless, his chest broad and well-defined, as expected for an angelic descendant. Water droplets cling to his collarbone. Must have just gotten out of the shower.

His silver-gray eyes flare wide when he catches my scent. He physically recoils, stepping back with genuine fear in his expression.

Delicious. He’s gotten used to having me around. Spend a little time away, and now he’s scared again.

he asks,

Not here for

to be truly asleep. I can

wall rather than risk touching me. My current high makes his reaction even more amusing. Nothing like a little fear and

to knock, I push open the bathroom door. Steam billows out.

curtain, wet hair plastered to his forehead. Without his glasses, he’s squinting. He holds the curtain

"Uh—Lyre? Is that you?"

shit. Who else would

when you’re done," I tell him.

flickers between

least he’ll be clean. Shame about

door, turning back to find Owen

if you tried having a good time once a century," I tell him, waggling my fingers as I pass. He doesn’t flinch this time.

toad. Just for a few seconds. Just to refresh his delicious fear response. But it would be cruel, even

Huh. Weird.

left him, back against the wall. His chest rises and falls in sharp movements. Fists clenched. Eyes wild. Erection visible

feigned innocence. Of course it was. He’s never

the best aphrodisiac. All-natural,

and he speaks through them with slow, painful words.

I frown.

Did I really...?

and into the arcane. Sure enough, tendrils of my magic still wrap around him like hungry little sex fingers. Several threads coil around his cock,

Oops.

One I certainly shouldn’t be making at my age

times more potent than physical stimulation. Having it stroke you endlessly without release would be torture. Yet here he is, still holding on, jaw clenched, enduring it. Most men would have collapsed in a puddle within

yet. That’s

He grunts.

along the waistband of his jeans, coming close to—but never quite touching—where he wants

have to be in

The word explodes from his

are on me—grabbing my waist,

he’s drowning and I’m air—desperate, sloppy, hard. There’s no artifice

is a

who’s thrown it

It’s very different.