Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 133

Chapter 133: Jack-Eye: Her Game (II)

JACK-EYE

She pushes back against my hand, trying to force my fingers inside. I pull back again, denying her. Her growl of frustration sends a shiver down my spine.

“I thought you were going to wash out my mouth.” She’s trying to provoke me, challenge me. “Or are you all talk, wolf?”

In response, I let my dominance pour out of me like smoke—thick, suffocating, filling the air between us. It rolls over her skin, a ripple of goosebumps rising in its wake as it presses against her like an invisible hand.

I’ve never seen a non-wolf react to alpha energy like this. This is a trick that works on betas, omegas—pack members who recognize the hierarchy. Humans might fall beneath it, might struggle to breathe and be crushed by its pressure, but they don’t feel it like we do. Like more than just a wave of heavy, crushing weight.

But Lyre’s back arches under it, her breath coming faster.

I lean forward and grab a handful of her breast, squeezing with slow, deliberate pressure. My thumb circles her nipple before giving it a firm twist, just enough to leave a phantom ache behind.

She doesn’t moan, doesn’t flinch—but her breath hitches, barely perceptible, and her skin tightens beneath my palm. I switch hands, repeating the pattern with quiet focus. No rush. No mercy. I want her keyed up and off balance before I even truly begin.

Then something strange happens. Her magic pushes back against mine. Not resisting, exactly—more like… teasing. Playing. Her energy slides against mine, coy and challenging, like fingers dancing along the edges of my power.

The feeling is electric. My skin prickles with it—this sensation of her magic taunting mine, coaxing it, then slipping away when it gets too close. My wolf snarls, frustrated by this game she’s playing, even as my body burns with arousal at the strange intimacy of it all.

I push harder, concentrating all my dominance into a focused wave of alpha energy. It crashes over her, breaking through the teasing resistance with an outpouring of primal power. Her magic buckles under it—not surrendering, but yielding space, acknowledging the force behind my will.

She laughs breathlessly, the sound of it half-moan.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, like I’m the one being trained. “I was beginning to think I’d have to spell out what I wanted in small words.”

That condescension, that edge of control even when she’s spread out beneath me—it makes my wolf bare its teeth, makes my heart pound. She’s not fighting me for dominance; she’s still trying to control how I dominate her.

Her thighs fall wider, an invitation. Her scent curls around me, thick and decadent. Not just arousal—hers. Sweet, sharp, and soaked into the sheets.

My wolf howls for it, for a taste. I want to bury my face between her thighs and drink until I drown.

I draw my hands back, not touching her at all now. Instead, I concentrate my aura there, between her legs. I’ve never tried this before—using my dominance as a physical force, focused so precisely. But something about her magic makes me want to try new things, push boundaries I didn’t know existed.

My teeth grit. Holding this much power in one place feels like keeping a damn earthquake on a leash.

She groans, throwing her arm over her eyes as it overwhelms her. “Where’d you learn that?”

I lean over, mouth near her ear, my chest brushing against her straining breasts. I keep my aura firmly pressed inside her, unrelenting as I whisper, “From you. When you left me with your magic fingers all over my cock to grab another man to blow.”

Her whole body jerks at that.

I don’t know if it’s the reminder of what she did to me or the way I’ve turned it back on her, but something about my words breaks through that last bit of composure she’s been clinging to.

She trembles around the pressure, trying to grind back into it, but there’s nothing to grab onto. No friction. Just me—my will—pushing inside. Her whole body sings with it, and my name would probably be on her lips if her pride would let it.

But she’s Lyre. She’d rather bite through her tongue than give me the satisfaction.