Chapter 21 Devoured
Chapter Twenty One
Devoured
— Xavier —
Grayson’s voice cuts through the room, smooth and commanding. “Excellent idea. Remove all your clothing, then lay back on the bed. I have something in mind.”
Sunday hesitates, her fingers curling around the hem of her sweater. She glances at Ben, then at me, and finally back to Grayson, her cheeks flushed. “Okay, but… shouldn’t we wait for Tomas to get back?”
I sigh, my patience thinning. “He’ll be gone for hours yet, ?verdad? Waiting won’t do anything but make him feel guiltier when he gets back.” My jaguar rumbles in agreement, eager to move things along.
What surprises me is Ben. He’s usually the peacekeeper, the one who smooths out wrinkles. But now, he’s the first to speak. “Tommy made a choice to leave. He wouldn’t want us waiting around for him. And I’m not just saying that because I’m a horny bastard. That’s just how he is.”
Sunday fidgets. “Fine. Someone shut the windows then. It’s gettin’ chilly.”
I cross the room, rolling my eyes as I go. So demanding. Open them, close them…
The heavy old panes resist me, their pegs stubborn, but I wrestle them shut with a satisfying click. I leave the fourth one cracked just slightly—enough for a whisper of fresh air to slip in.
When I turn back, she’s already undressing. Her sweater and camisole are gone, and she’s working the clasp of her bra. She kicks off her wedge heels, then slides her jeans and panties down her legs. One hand rests on Ben’s shoulder to steady herself as he kneels, drawing the fabric off her legs, his hands skimming her bare thighs—reverent, almost worshipful.
The way he kneels for her—the rightness of it—always does something to me. But I keep my face calm, my jaguar pacing behind my eyes.
Grayson’s eyes lock with mine, unblinking. He gives a single nod, the barest acknowledgment, but still, something warm settles in my chest. Fuck all this approval-craving nonsense.
Falling for Sunday and Ben? That was easy. Natural, like gravity pulling me home. But this—this fixation on a vamp who probably had a pet dinosaur? That’s a lot harder to untangle.
How he slipped past my defenses and earned my jaguar’s trust, I’ll never fully understand. Yet here I am—the part of me that prowled alone through betrayal and pain now trusts him. Craves him, if I’m being honest. And I try to be… at least with myself.
He makes me want things I swore off by the time I was sixteen. Makes me need him in ways that terrify me, ways that have nothing to do with venom or even sex. Goddess help me, because what more could he ever want from someone like me?
Before I realize it, I’ve moved, the distance between us evaporating. It’s not deliberate, yet here I am, standing in front of him, caught in the pull of his stare. Heat rises to my face, embarrassment prickling at the edges.
Before I can retreat, he tilts his head.
The sharp curve of his jaw catches the light—the kind of angles sculptors dream of but only nature can create. His cool hand brushes mine—just barely, like an afterthought. That fleeting contact settles something jagged inside me, and it’s maddening that he knew instinctively how much I needed it.
When I glance back, Sunday stands there, her eyes flicking between us, hesitant, charged with unspoken questions. She finally breaks the silence. 'So, where do you want me?' Grayson doesn’t answer right away. He watches her, gaze half-lidded, the corner of his mouth curving into a lazy, knowing smile. He commands the room without a word, as if born to it. It’s maddening.
Finally, he speaks. “I’ve been thinking about watching our Little Cat feast on that glorious cunt. How does that sound?”
Sunday’s voice turns thin and breathy. “Umm, really good.”
“But there have to be rules.” His smirk is a weapon sheathed in charm.
“Like…?”
“Like you’ll keep your hands above your head. And while I usually love hearing every sweet sound you make, tonight, I think your mouth should stay full.”
Her lips part, and she breathes a single name. “Ben.”
The effect is immediate. I feel Ben’s bond fizz with pure, unfiltered joy. All he wants is to be wherever she needs him. For him, it really is that simple. He’s just that good. Maybe that’s why she loves him so much— and why I do, too.
Sunday hesitates again, her gaze dancing between us, piecing together the dynamic. She perches on the edge of the bed in front of Grayson. “And, umm, what will you be doing?”
Grayson chuckles. “Directing, of course, assuring myself that my bonded gets everything she needs from her mates.”
The fingers of his free hand trace idle patterns over Sunday’s ankle. The light catches his eyes again—like night and day colliding. He turns and retreats, his steps deliberate, while Sunday shifts her attention to me.
Her hand brushes my arm lightly. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am, Amor. I get to eat the most delicious pussy in existence and watch Ben find his own private Nirvana between your lips… how could I be anything but okay?”
Her cheeks flush, her lips quirking into my second favorite of her smiles—shy and slightly self-satisfied. The cat that got the cream, she’d call it. The bond thrums between us, her joy spilling over like a sunbeam breaking through clouds and warming every corner of me. For a moment, I let myself sink into it—into her—and everything else fades away.
The scrape of wood on floorboards makes my gaze snap to Grayson as he drags a chair from the corner. He moves like the whole damn world exists to serve him—an indolent prince surveying his kingdom.
When he finally settles, arms draped lazily along the chair, he glances to me. His voice, when it comes, is low and just a tad too casual. “Devour her. I want to see her shatter for you.”
The words wrap around me, My jaguar purrs, but there’s a restlessness too, an ache that doesn’t quite fade.
Diosa de la Luna, I want that bond back.
I turn my attention back to the bed, where Sunday lies spread out like a sumptuous feast, her pale skin glowing golden in the warm light. The scatter of freckles across her shoulders and chest reminds me of a painter’s deliberate spatter—bristles pulled back and released, flinging droplets of pigment onto the canvas of her skin.
Ben’s hands trail along her thighs, his touch adoring, almost as if he’s venerating her. Guided by instinct, he leans down and brushes his tongue over my bondmark, his blue eyes flashing metallic as they lock onto mine. He understands why I left my bite there. His fingers graze the faint ladder of silver scars on her thighs, lingering with a tenderness that honors every part of her.
And she deserves that worship—every sensual shadow and curve. Her body is a masterpiece: belly soft and inviting, her breasts full and perfect. She makes my mouth water and my balls ache. She’s like a fertility idol come to life, our own Venus of Willendorf, radiating abundance and warmth. I’d love her no matter what she looked like. But like this? Like this, she might be the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
Ben leans in, whispering something against her lips that sends a ripple of light through her skin—a pulse of pinkish magic, there and gone before we can name it. He lifts her wrists above her head, holding them there, presenting her for the rest of us. She doesn’t resist, her body at ease beneath his touch.
It’s the kind of scene I could lose myself in for hours—if my jaguar would just shut up. But no. His focus tonight isn’t on Sunday. It’s on the grumpy control-freak behind us.
I shift my weight, brushing my fingers over Sunday’s knee, trying to anchor myself to her—the warmth of her skin, the way her hair catches the light like fire as she tilts her head back. But my jaguar huffs, restless, dragging my attention back to Gray.
He lounges in that damn chair like a king waiting for tribute, his eyes flicking to mine every few seconds. He knows exactly what’s happening inside my head.
The jaguar growls, low and possessive and I bite back an irritated sigh. What about her? What about Ben? Can you focus on literally anyone else?
But no. The bond we lost pulls like a phantom limb, its absence clawing at something deep and raw inside me. It’s not fair—to Sunday, to Ben, or to me. But it’s my turn now. My turn to show Sunday exactly what I can do, exactly how much I want this.
I climb onto the bed, closing the distance between us. Her scent hits me—honey and brine. It makes my stomach clench with a different kind of hunger, a need I’ve never been able to put into words. It’s her—grounding and wild, sweet and sharp—and it weaves through every thought, every sensation.
Her eyes widen as I approach, “ ?Lista, Amor? ” I murmur.
Her lips part, then curve into a genuine smile—the one that always takes my breath away. Any doubt or hesitation shatters beneath the weight of it.
Her scent intensifies, intoxicating, a drug I’ll never stop craving, one I have no desire to ever be clean of. My fingers trail along the lush curve of her thighs, deliberate and reverent. Her breath hitches, and the bond between us thrums, electric and alive.
This moment belongs to us. As I lower my mouth to hers, the world shrinks to a pinpoint: Sunday’s gasp, the heat of her skin, the taste of her—sweet and utterly consuming.
This is truly my favorite spot in the world. I’d devour her pussy three times a day if she’d allow it. I’ll never grow tired of feeling her plump and heat beneath my tongue. I swallow down every trace of her slick wetness like the greedy bastard I am.
But I’ve learned not to rush—not to go straight for her clit, though the Goddess knows I want to. No, this has to be more of a seduction. I map her with my tongue, visiting every soft, sensitive part first. Every time it’s different. The way she shifts beneath me, her thighs trembling, the way her breath catches in sharp, needy gasps—it’s all fuel for me, all proof that she’s mine in this moment.
The bed shifts, and I glance up. Goddess, this view—over her pubic mound where a few copper curls catch the light, past her soft belly and the full breasts that fall to each side, and then to her face. Her mouth is open in a soft O, her eyebrows drawn together in consternation as Ben holds her wrists with one hand and struggles to get his zipper down.
It’s instinct more than decision—I feel my shadows ripple out, slipping over the bed to brush against Sunday’s skin. They linger on her nipples for a moment, teasing, and she shifts, letting out a little mewl that sends heat racing through me. Ben loses her wrists, and my shadows take over, lifting her hands and holding them in place against the bed frame.
From behind me, I hear Grayson chuckle.
“That’s not fair,” Sunday grumbles, her voice half-exasperated. Ben shoots me an impressed look before shucking his jeans entirely. I let my eyes linger on him for a moment, admiring the powerful lines of his body, before diving back into my meal.
Sunday squirms beneath me, gasping as I run my tongue in slow, deliberate strokes. Her scent is heady now—sunshine and salt. My jaguar purrs, fully satisfied for the first time tonight, though his focus still occasionally strays to the vampire watching from behind us.
I let my hands trace the lush curve of her thighs as I devour her, savoring every taste, every quiver of her body. Above me, Ben threads his fingers through Sunday’s hair, guiding her as she takes him in. Her lips are stretched around his cock, and every now and then, I catch the muffled moan she can’t quite contain. It’s a sound I feel, layered with her pleasure and Ben’s quiet satisfaction.
Through the bond, I feel Sunday’s warmth—a golden thread of light connecting us, vibrating with her growing ecstasy. It pulls me in deeper, drowning me in the feel of her, the taste of her. I catch glimpses of Ben through half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. My gaze lingers as Sunday pulls back for air, the slick sound of her lips against his cock making my stomach clench with want.
Behind us, I hear the shuffle of fabric, the faint rasp of a zipper. Grayson. My jaguar growls softly, curiosity burning beneath the surface. I can feel him watching, and the idea of it—the weight of his gaze—only makes me needier. Is he stroking himself? The thought flickers through me, sharp and hot, making my movements falter for a second before I force myself to refocus.
Sunday’s close—so close I can feel her thighs quivering beneath my hands. She’s grinding into me, desperate for more, and yet trying to pull away all at once. I growl low in my throat, the sound resonating with my jaguar, and press my forearm across her stomach, holding her in place. Her breath catches, a broken gasp, as I finally descend on her clit.
I coax it out with deliberate care, teasing the sensitive nub before sucking it between my teeth. My tongue feels rougher than usual, raspier, as my body shifts subtly, instinctively, to give our mate what she needs. She cries out, her hips jerking against me, but I don’t relent—my jaguar wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to.
“Too much,” Sunday gasps, her body writhing as her hands tug against the shadows holding her wrists. “Baby, it’s too much.”
I ease back immediately, releasing her wrists from their smoky bonds and kissing my way up her thighs, lingering on the soft skin at the crease of her hips. Her taste lingers on my lips, sweet and sumptuous. I don’t bother to hide my grin as I press a kiss to the curve of her lower belly, feeling her shiver beneath me.
Beside her, Ben shifts, his massive frame curling protectively around her. He reaches for me, his strong hand pulling me up between them with an ease that makes me feel weightless.
His lips crash into mine. Goddess, he tastes good. Ginger and cardamom, warm and earthy, layered with her tangy honey and olive. It’s a flavor I could drown in.
Sunday’s hands find my cock as Ben keeps kissing me, her soft, teasing touch dragging a hiss from my throat. “Amor,” I murmur against Ben’s lips, but she doesn’t stop. Instead, she shifts, her movements confident and deliberate, climbing over me. Her knees press into the bed on either side of Ben, and with one smooth motion, she sinks down onto him.
Our bond flares to life, a bright, electric pulse that seems to ripple through Sunday, linking us in ways I can’t fully grasp. It stops mattering whose hands are on whom, whose mouth is where. Every gasp, every moan, every spark of pleasure feeds into the next, flowing through her as the conduit, a shared current that loops endlessly between us. Sunday cries out as Ben thrusts into her, and I feel the echo of her pleasure surge through the bond, potent and dizzying. Ben groans, his head falling back, and the sound sends a wave of pleasure through me, as if his reaction were my own.
I can’t tell where my sensations end and theirs begin—Sunday’s soft, breathy whimpers reverberate in my chest, Ben’s deep growls resonate low in my stomach, and my jaguar rumbles his approval. My fingers slide over Sunday’s skin, tracing the line of her back as she moves, her body arching and trembling. Every touch, every kiss, every shared sensation amplifies, looping back through her, binding us together in this endless cycle.
It’s dizzying and overwhelming in the best possible way, like falling into a sea of heat and want. My breath mingles with Ben’s as I lean forward, catching the curve of Sunday’s neck with my lips, tasting the salt of her skin. Her laughter bubbles up, sweet and breathless, before dissolving into another gasp, and it’s everything. It’s all of us, together, lost in the shared rhythm of this connection that’s bigger than any of us alone.
And then, just as I start to lose myself entirely, I feel it—a weight. An observer. A voyeur. My jaguar growls softly, a thread of awareness cutting through the haze, and I lift my head just enough to glance back.
Grayson.
He’s there, looming at the edge of this tangle of bodies and bonds, and I can feel his hunger curling through the air, dark and all consuming. My jaguar shifts restlessly beneath my skin, and I swallow hard, caught somewhere between desire and the sharp edge of knowing he’s waiting for his moment.
He’s watching us, his eyes burning like embers, his hand stroking his cock slowly as if he has all the time in the world. The sight sends heat rushing through me and my movements falter for a split second before I steady myself.
When his eyes lock with mine, he points to the floor in front of him, a simple, silent command that has me scrambling in a way that makes my cheeks burn.
“Undress me,” he says, his voice low and smooth, threaded with amusement. And the thing is that I could say no. I mean I don’t, but I could.
I drop to my knees, carefully slipping off his Ferragamo loafers, followed by his silk socks. The fabric is impossibly soft, luxurious in a way that feels utterly Grayson. He stands then, towering over me. I take my time, pulling them down, and then his silk boxers, baring him completely.
Such a pretty cock . It’s almost unfair—does he dust it in powdered gold? How is it so sparkly? I’m going to start calling him Edward.
I mean I know he conquered the world with armies and shit, but part of me could almost believe he fucked his way through it. Just whipping this out at every negotiation.
The thought makes my lips twitch, and I bite down hard on the corner of my cheek to keep from laughing. My jaguar growls softly, both disapproving and intrigued, and I shove the ridiculous thought away before Grayson notices.
I glance up, heat blooming in my chest as I admire him. He’s perfect in that infuriating way that only his kind can be. Grayson’s fingers brush through my hair, the gesture so light it’s almost dismissive. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, velvet thread. “Now, Little Cat, let’s see how well you can follow directions.”
He pauses, shifting his attention. “Lover…” His tone turns smooth and commanding, directed at Sunday. “When you’re finished there, we could use your help.”
I glance at her, but I’m not sure she even hears him. She’s so obviously teetering on the edge, her body trembling as her movements grow more frantic. Her voice shifts, climbing into those high, sweet cries that I know so well, before plunging into a richer, deeper timbre—closer to a snarl. It’s the sound she only makes when she’s about to fall apart completely.
Ben’s hands grip her hips tighter, guiding her rhythm as she rides him, her head tilting back, a cascade of crimson curls spilling over her shoulders. She gasps his name, a broken, breathless plea that sends a ripple through the bond, tugging me in deeper. My jaguar growls softly, satisfaction and yearning twining together as I watch her climb higher.
“Lover,” Grayson repeats, his voice a velvet thread in the air, this time catching Sunday’s attention as she peaks. She cries out, her body trembling in release, and the sound echoes through the room, a raw and unfiltered surrender.
She collapses forward against Ben’s chest, gasping for air, her hair spilling all around them like a veil. Strands of it catch on his shoulders, his neck, almost as if they’re reaching for him.
Her hair has always liked Ben, wrapping itself around him in his sleep, leaving him presents, claiming him in its own subtle way. Now, it spills over him, tangling in the sweat-slicked lines of his chest, as though it refuses to let go, even after the intensity of her release.
I feel the sharp twist of jealousy bloom in my chest, impossible to ignore. Not because it’s Ben—who’s more worthy than Ben?—but because her hair never does that with me, despite how often I wash and braid it. Maybe her hair knows. Maybe it can sense that I’m not worthy of her, of any of them.
Ben’s hands come up to cup her face, tilting her chin toward him as he kisses her deeply, his lips moving against hers in a way that feels reverent. They share a few whispered words—soft, intimate, their bond humming faintly in the background. Whatever he says makes her smile, a small, blissful curve of her lips that erases the jealousy and replaces it with happiness for them.
Grayson’s smirk deepens. “Come here when you’ve caught your breath. There’s still work to be done.”
She rolls off Ben, her limbs loose and languid, making her way to the end of the bed. She moves in that way she does when she’s drunk on pleasure, her entire vestibular system seemingly revolting, leaving her swaying like she’s navigating a rocking ship. It’s mesmerizing, a mix of gracelessness and confidence that only she can pull off.
I shift my attention back to Grayson as he watches her, his expression unreadable save for the faintest twitch of his lips—a silent acknowledgment of the way she owns the space, owns us all, as if she’s sharpied her name on the soles of our feet.
Then, his eyes narrow—luminous, inhuman, flickering with a hint of scarlet. They cut between Sunday and me with the precision of a predator assessing its prey, as though his inner monster is looking out, calculating, deciding.
His power feels like a weight in the air, pressing down on me and stirring my jaguar into a restless prowl beneath my skin. He doesn’t speak right away, letting the silence stretch taut, filling the room with the heavy thrum of anticipation.
Then, with the smallest gesture—a slight tilt of his head—he commands, “Kneel.”
Sunday moves first, her body still swaying, pleasure-drunk and loose, her knees sinking into the bed at the end. Her hair ripples behind her, catching the light like copper fire, tendrils weaving around her shoulders and brushing her thighs. She looks serene, her bond humming with contentment as she glances over her shoulder at me.
I follow, slower, more deliberate. My jaguar feels uneasy under the weight of Grayson’s gaze. As I settle beside Sunday, the tension between us feels electric—her blissful surrender contrasting sharply with the coil of restraint wound tight in my core.
Grayson’s steps forward, his authority filling the room. He stops just short of us. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “So beautiful and both of you, right where you belong.”
The air shifts subtly, cooling as his vampire nature rises to the surface. Smoke curls faintly from his fingertips, his eyes glowing with a dangerous light. My jaguar tenses, restless and wary, its growl rumbling through my chest as I fight the urge to look away.
Grayson circles us slowly, his footsteps deliberate. When he reaches Sunday, he tilts her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his glowing gaze. “So pretty when you’re like this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “Soft. Sweet . Ready to please.”
Sunday shivers under his touch, our bond thrums with a mix of nerves and anticipation. My jaguar snarls softly, a pang of envy twisting in my gut as I watch her lean into him. His praise is effortless, given without hesitation, and I can’t help but want the same, no matter how much I tell myself I don’t.
He moves to me next, his fingers slipping beneath my chin. He tilts my head up, his glowing eyes locking with mine, and the weight of his power presses against me, suffocating and thrilling all at once. “And you,” he says, his voice dropping to a near growl. “So tense. So afraid to let go.” His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to remind me who’s in control. “Tell me what you want, Little Cat.”
My throat tightens, and the words stick. Sunday’s hand brushes my shoulder, her touch featherlight, and something in me cracks just enough to let the truth slip through.
“I want it back,” I whisper, my voice trembling but clear. “We want it back.”
Grayson’s thumb traces my jawline, a touch so soft it sends a shiver down my spine. “You mean the shifter bond that you bratted into existence?” His words are laced with mockery, but his eyes burn with something else—something sharper, more serious.
“Yes,” I admit, the heat rising in my face. Then I add quickly, “But I can bite you someplace else this time.”
Grayson’s smile widens, his fingers threading through my hair lazily. “I think I should feed from our center first. I think that’s why it was possible last time.” He pauses, his gaze sweeping over me, considering. “But if it doesn’t work, we could still have a blood bond.”
His offer lands with a shockwave, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. A blood bond. With him. The thought sends my jaguar into a frenzy of emotions—desire, fear, and something closer to awe. “That would be okay, too,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.
Grayson hums, his approval unmistakable. His thumb brushes over my lower lip again, his touch both possessive and calculating. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low, wrapping around me like a velvet noose. “Then let’s begin.”