Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 131: Lyre: Wash it Out

LYRE

Aaron’s fumbling a little, hesitating before he jerks my head back, his voice trembling just a little when he tries to sound cold.

It’s cute.

Like he wants to treasure me, not take me like a common whore.

But I don’t want to be something precious. I want dirty. Filthy. And to see exactly how much dominance lies under his skin.

I know he’s thinking about it. About how easily I took the wizard in my mouth. How I didn’t even flinch. It’s the kind of thing to bruise a man’s ego.

Good.

Let it bruise.

Let him fuck me like he’s got something to prove. I want his claws out, his teeth at my throat—not worship. I want him to use me. Break the illusion that I’m untouchable. Leave marks where everyone will see them. I’ll heal, but he needs to know what it feels like to fuck something divine—and realize she liked it.

Being powerful is like a drug. The highest of highs, but it comes with its own side effects—like knowing no one can put their hand to your throat and expect to live through it.

I’m tired of being the strongest in the room. Of being worshipped. Sex is little more than an itch to be scratched every few years, usually with some random slop of a human. And they’re always so reverent, so awed, unable to handle the power oozing even from my breath.

But not Aaron.

He’s hesitant, but he isn’t weak.

even when he has no

I’d tear out his fucking

my hair back again and I can feel his hard, heavy cock pressed against my ass, my heart thumps hard. He’s willing to play along, and I

pussy’s throbbing from his aura whispering against it, and for the first time in far too long, I’m aching

he stops, I might actually

purr, shoving back against

drops to a rough whisper, and I swear the sound alone drags across my clit.

delicious shiver

immortality punctuated by brief moments of violence or necessity. This? This

think he’s in control. Let him think this is about him. The

pushing slowly over my lips until it breaches my mouth. My breath catches in my chest.

you in trouble." His voice strokes along my nerves, low and deliberate, sending a slick pulse of

sultry—the sound scraping against his

my wrist and

Fuck.

Yeah.

knows what he’s

he’s come to, it’s exactly

sound like you want me to,"

mine without ever quite touching. My breath

arousal, thick and wolfish, bitter with jealousy and something darker. Every inch of me reacts to it. It’s humiliating. And fucking delicious. My thighs are already slick, my spine arched like I’m begging for it.

desire.

line of my throat. My eyes find his from below, half-lidded and taunting. I’ve faced death and walked away intact—I’ll surrender, but