Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 131

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.

Demanding things of me, even when he has no place to do so.

If Caeriel tried it, I’d tear out his fucking spine.

But when Aaron yanks 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 like it.

The air smells of wolf and alpha heat, my pussy’s throbbing from his aura whispering against it, and for the first time in far too long, I’m aching for more.

If he stops, I might actually kill him.

“My mouth?” I purr, shoving back against his cock. “How dirty is it?”

Aaron’s voice drops to a rough whisper, and I swear the sound alone drags across my clit. “That mouth is a fucking sin. Makes promises your body can’t cash.”

A delicious shiver ripples through me.

The usual rhythm of existence is tedious immortality punctuated by brief moments of violence or necessity. This? This feeling of yielding control to another’s hand? It’s rarer than an honest politician.

Let him think he’s in control. Let him think this is about him. The truth is, I’m the one who gave him the leash—and that makes it mine.

His thumb presses against my cheek, pushing slowly over my lips until it breaches my 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 and wolf.

“This mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.” His voice strokes 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 shut the fuck up.”

I can smell his 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. I’m not. But I will let him think so. Let him believe he’s in charge, just long enough for both of us to enjoy the lie.

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