Chapter 26 #2
He doesn’t move. He’s waiting, watching emotions play out on my face, I have no doubt.
I’m so slick between my legs, arousal pulsing, the anticipation of Lark rutting me, and the glory of his magnificent wolf, whom I have only today met.
I’m aware of his cock, dripping pre-cum over Darrion’s silk jacket.
And I discover I have a wicked side, for I very much like that.
To have his jacket brought here was presumptuous of him. In truth, I wanted it here. And now it is here, I like the feel of it beneath me, the soft, cool texture, and his scent.
But Fenix is right there. Waiting. Looking at me like I am vital nourishment. I do not understand the how, only that it is true.
I decide he is worthy and let go of hesitation…
let go of the bookworm scholar—although I know she is still there and part of me, and a large part at that.
But I also have a rich inner side. The omega that I have smothered for so long, when I should have celebrated her and cherished the instincts that she holds.
This male calls to my instincts, and so I lift my hand, holding it out to him.
His wings snap a little straighter. They are so broad that they cast a shadow over the nest. He steps forward slowly. One step. Two steps. Until he takes my hand and drops to his knees.
“You make my mouth water,” he says. His eyes skim down from mine, over my body, lingering on my breasts, before traveling over my stomach until they stop at the apex of my thighs. “Can I have a taste?”
My heart is hammering in my throat. I feel drugged by how much I need his touch. I sense Lark looking between us, wary and curious, and if his scent is any indication, likewise thoroughly aroused. “You may.”
Fenix wets his lips again. “I want only to pleasure you.”
And I believe him. There is a kind of fever gripping him, one that leaks into me. His movements are slow and unhurried as he kneels between my thighs. He is still clothed. I am naked, my clothing stripped from me in a frenzy when I first arrived.
His head lowers toward mine. I don’t realize I’m gripping Lark’s hand until he returns a gentle squeeze and offers the low warning rumble in his chest.
Fenix pauses, his lips an inch away from mine. I can hear my heart thudding in my ears, feel it pulsing in my throat. I’m alive, almost dizzy with pleasure. He hasn’t even touched me yet.
“Please,” I whisper.
His eyes are on mine. I don’t think I blink as his lips lower, and then we touch. He groans against my mouth. My eyes turn half-mast, but I cannot bring them to close. He stares back at me. As his tongue sweeps inside between my parted lips, he groans once again.
The kiss is extraordinarily gentle. It is not what I expected at all. The hunger that seems to burn within him almost dictates brutality, yet he is breathtakingly careful.
One hand cups the side of my face. My eyes grow heavy and close. His mouth moves over mine in a light caress. I hold back the urge to chase it, sinking more deeply into the nest and the silk jacket that belongs to Darrion. I am hot and heavy, yet light as a feather.
Where he kisses me, I tingle. It is like a flock of butterflies dancing over my skin.
His lips trail over my jaw, little kisses against my throat, over my collarbone, and then a path down to my breasts.
His tongue circles the distended peak of one nipple, and then he sucks it lightly into the hot warmth of his mouth.
I fight the urge to arch up into it, letting him pleasure me as he will. His hands slide to my waist, spanning it, and then they move up to cup my breasts. It is like a slow, roughened tide of warmth as he pauses to fondle me lightly. Then he moves to cup my face and kisses my lips once again.
I exist in a state of surrender. Aware of the connection to Lark, of him next to me watching what we do, of the faint tremble in his hand.
And then Fenix is moving down again—his lips between my breasts, over the soft swell of my belly. One thigh is pushed up and out, and his lips find the sensitive inner skin where he lightly sucks.
A moan rolls up from my belly and out of my mouth. I can feel how wet I am. His tongue darts out. His moan has a low, rumbly quality, and I know that he is tasting me. He mumbles something against my flesh, and I cannot quite hear.
I release Lark’s hand and reach blindly—he chokes back a growl as my fingers wrap around his hard male flesh. Hot. Sticky. Gods, I am desperate for a taste.
“Lark,” I beg.
He seems to know what I want, for he shifts position. His fingers slide through my hair, and over my chin before his fingertips skim my lips.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands.
“Please let me taste you.”
Fenix growls approvingly, low, and his lips move to my pussy. His tongue slides through the wetness and flicks against my clit just as Lark’s hot cock slides between my parted lips.
I groan, suckling his warm male flesh, tasting the sticky goodness. My fingers wrap around the base and the swell of his knot. My other hand finds Fenix’s hair, soft and springy, as he wraps his arms around my thighs to hold me open, buries his face between, and utterly devours me.
I try so hard to be still and good, yet my hips buck. One arm is pressed across my lower belly, pinning me still. Fenix rumbles approvingly as he deepens the intimate kiss, licking and sucking at me everywhere.
I breathe through my nose, try to suck more of Lark’s cock in my mouth, to stuff as much of it in as I can. He rumbles a purr, letting me take him as I will. His taste is divine.
Fenix’s skilled caresses turn my breathing sharp and erratic.
Little quaking sensations are already consuming my pussy, and my belly is clenching.
The nest is a solid, comforting presence beneath me: silk and softness.
The males whose scent surrounds me are hard.
They give without reservation. They offer me whatever I need.
This is no fierce demand. This is pleasure and a gift. And I treat it as such.
“Gods, lass,” Lark says weakly. “You need to stop if you don’t want me to come.”
Stop? Never. I’m greedy for him. I am greedy for the delicious sensations that consume my most intimate place where Fenix’s skilled tongue sparks every little nerve to life.
It feels as though my entire core is fluttering on the brink of detonation.
And the taste filling my mouth, the delectable flesh that I pump erratically for more, offers the perfect counterbalance.
My chest begins stuttering. My pussy is fluttering, quaking, drawing ever closer to that point of no return. I press into the swelling of Lark’s knot. Goddess, I want that inside me so badly. But I could not stop Fenix if my life depended upon it, not even for that.
The summit is fast approaching. I am carried toward it lovingly, with skilled ministrations. Lark’s palm against my cheek, warm, a little callused. His taste and scent inside me. His choked groans.
Fenix growls, his tongue against my clit, and then his lips enclose the little bud of pleasure and suckle with sublime gentleness.
My cry is muffled around Lark’s cock. I squeeze tightly upon the swelling and feel him jerk in my mouth. My body convulses into spasmodic bliss, a hot flood gushing between my thighs, stirring a groan from Fenix, even as Lark floods my mouth and throat.
I swallow his cum greedily.
Animalistic sounds of pleasure fill the room—mine, theirs—so much pleasure. Sweet, gripping waves engulf my core over and over until they finally peter out, and I am limp and wrung out.
Lark pulls from my mouth. He brushes his thumb over my lips, and then he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me.
Fenix pushes my thighs wider and stuffs his tongue deep inside my core, just as he pinches my slippery clit between his fingers and thumb.
I convulse all over again, moaning into Lark’s mouth as my body pitches into another climax.
Finally, the two men lift their heads. I blink my eyes open slowly to see first Lark’s face and then lower, where my other lover lingers between my spread thighs.
My fingers are buried in Fenix’s hair. He glances up at me, the glisten of my cum all over his face and chin. His smirk is broad. His eyes glimmer with an almost otherworldly quality. His hair is shimmering. His wings shimmering—huge, resplendent. The entire surface of his skin is almost golden.
I blink.
“Fuck,” Lark says gruffly. “What the fuck is that?”
Fenix rocks back on his heels. He glances down at his hands and then curves one wing around. His grin grows impossibly broad before he turns his devastating smile back to me. His body—it looks somehow bigger, broader, the material of his shirt straining to fit the muscles within.
“What. The. Hell,” Lark mutters.
“I have heard the legends,” Fenix says. He flexes one arm, closes his fingers into a fist, and then relaxes them again.
“What has happened?” I ask. “What does it mean?”
“It means,” Fenix says, still grinning, “that you are indeed griffin food.”