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.

things of me, even when he has no place

Caeriel tried it, I’d tear out his fucking

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 like

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

stops, I

mouth?" I purr, shoving back against

whisper, and I swear the sound alone drags across my clit. "That mouth

shiver ripples through

punctuated by brief moments of violence or necessity. This? This feeling of yielding control to another’s hand? It’s rarer than an honest

control. Let him think this is about him. The truth is, I’m the one who gave

mouth. My breath catches in my chest. He’s understanding my assignment so well I could purr. I give his thumb a long, slow lick, tasting salt

along my nerves, low and deliberate, sending a slick pulse of want straight between my legs. "First it’s all over another man’s cock, and now you won’t

scraping against his thumb. "You

face, down my throat, over my shoulder, trailing heat across my skin. In one swift motion, he captures my wrist and twists my arm behind me, forcing my back to arch, my breasts to thrust forward. The sudden shift in power

Fuck.

Yeah.

what

Whatever decision he’s come to, it’s exactly

want me to,"

mine without ever quite touching. My breath hitches, not because

spine arched like I’m begging for it. I’m not. But I will let him think so. Let him believe he’s in

he ignites isn’t just desire. It’s

my head back against his chest, deliberately exposing the vulnerable line of my throat. My eyes find his from below, half-lidded and taunting. I’ve faced death and walked away intact—I’ll