Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 129: Lyre: His Dominance

LYRE

My mouth tastes like shit and disappointment.

Not literal shit—though after what just happened, I’d need to think about it. Arcana transfer through sexual contact always leaves a distinct flavor of shame, regret, and something unpleasant. Like... licking a subway pole after a rush hour commute.

Never a fun time.

Who the hell set the metaphysical laws of arcana transfer to porn logic, anyway? Probably Chaos. It’s always Chaos. Some bored cosmic entity sitting on their multidimensional ass, thinking: "You know what would make power exchange more interesting? If they had to suck dick for it."

I resist the urge to spit again as Aaron’s forehead presses against mine, his breath hot on my face. His bare chest radiates heat, and his hands still grip my shoulders from slamming me against the door. The wood presses into my back.

I’m still buzzing from the transfer—power crackling beneath my skin, ready to snap and burn everything it touches. It would be so easy to push him back, to remind him who’s really in control here.

But I’m curious.

"Well?" I ask, keeping my voice cool and casual. "You watched me suck someone else’s dick. Are you gonna do something about it, or what?"

His shoulders shake with laughter, though there’s nothing amused in the sound. It’s rough, gritty, like it’s being dragged out of him against his will.

"So this is your idea of being submissive?" He looks down at me, pupils blown wide, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

I shrug, stretching my neck and arching my back slightly—a deliberate, catlike movement, brushing my breasts against his chest. "It’s harder than it looks, alright? Take it or leave it."

His eyes track the movement, lingering on the exposed line of my throat. Good. Let him think about sinking his teeth there. Let him imagine what I’d do to him if he tried.

"Hurry up and slam me down, big bad alpha." I curve my lips into a taunting smile. "Show me what a real wolf can do."

He groans. "I’m just a beta, remember? Wouldn’t want you too disappointed."

The man’s got jokes. We both know he’s an alpha-strength Lycan, but he’s desperately clinging to his humor to keep himself under control.

Time to make it snap.

"So you disappoint a lot

spikes with something sharp and

out and palm the hard length of him through his jeans. His cock jumps beneath my hand, hot even through the denim. Even if his technique sucks—and I’m sure it doesn’t—it’ll feel

across my teeth as I glance up at him through my

I’m not great at

giving him a light squeeze. "My

breath catches. A snarl rips from his throat, vibrating through his chest and

still suck at being submissive," he

meeting his gaze directly. "Then make

His grip on my shoulders tightens for a fraction of

toward the bed. For once, I allow myself to be moved. I could stop this—could drop him with a thought, with a whispered word, with just the

But I don’t.

carefully, gauging his every reaction. The way his pupils dilate. The flush creeping up his neck. The careful control in his grip—firm enough to

low and dangerous. Normally, alpha posturing doesn’t do much for me. His? Sends an unexpected

my wrists only to

creaking beneath my weight. The landing isn’t hard—he’s measured his strength, thrown me

from my chest,

myself up on my elbows. "That’s

buckle hitting the floor sends a twisted thrill through me. It’s the language of intention—metal against cheap carpet, the scrape of a

foot of the bed, fingers hooked in his belt loops, jeans hanging low on his hips. His expression has

"Strip."

word. No embellishment. He’s

shirt, pulling it up inch by agonizing inch. His gaze tracks every movement, hungry but controlled. He wants to rush me—I can

Good boy.

the side. His nostrils

cock springs free, hard and thick, flushed at the tip. He kneels at the end of the

My turn.

remove my underwear. Every movement a silent challenge, a test of his restraint. I’m not playing submissive—I’m making him earn

bleeding through as he strokes himself.