Page 120 of Griffin Food

Fenix edges in closer, spreading me open gently, and then probing me with the blunt head of his cock. He eases in. Slow, incremental, letting me get used to the fullness. His breathing turns sharp.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Fenix rumbles. “Tight. Clenchy. So fucking slick and hot. Do you like that, my Queen? Are you ready to be fucked?”

“Yes.” The word is torn from me. I might break apart if they do not love me how I need.

They move. First, Darrion slides out, and as he slides back in, Fenix slowly withdraws.

Sublime pleasure ripples through my core. Darkly erotic, sensual bliss.

I am sucked into a maelstrom. I am floating out of time. The pace builds, carrying me with it, lifting me toward culmination one dizzying piece at a time. And I welcome it. The eyrie could crumble around us, and I would not care.

“More,” I beg.

“Our pleasure, mate,” Darrion says, lips against my temple.

And now they change it up, taking me together, harder, faster. The sharp slap of meeting flesh. Shooting pleasure. Harsh guttural sounds leave lips that are not entirely human.

My climax, so slow to build, suddenly sideswipes me. I’m spinning. Breaking and reforming. I am outside of space and time. I am the storm. My body rocks and convulses through spasmodic bliss as they push deep, hold, and their hot seed fills me.

Chapter Forty

Atlas

“… a

nd this passage here is particularly interesting,” Master Pugstone says, sliding his finger across the thick ink lettering of the book.

It’s the early hours of the morning. We’ve been thrashing through this all night. I dismissed the rest of the War Council not long ago. It’s just Rafe, Pugstone, and me.

Only something is off beyond the creeping troops on our lands… an awareness, a drifting tendril of something inexplicable that floats at the back of my mind, under my skin, latching onto my nerves.

I rake my hand through my hair. My cock surges with arousal, hardening. My wings suddenly spring.

What the fuck?

Rafe cuts me a glance. A thin sheen of sweat dots his forehead. He lifts trembling fingers to wipe it away, rubbing it between them as though confused.

“I feel… unsteady,” he says.

A feral growl leaves me as I surge up from the seat. I temper it before I speak. “Master Pugstone, if you would take the books to my quarters, we shall meet you there presently.”

“Oh, of course,” Master Pugstone says, sliding a marker into place and closing the book.

“Rafe, come with me.”

As we stride out of the council room, I sense Rafe studying, not where he is walking, but me.

“You’re glowing,” Rafe says bluntly.

I glance down at my hands. Then curve one wing round so that I can better inspect it. “Fuck!”

“And so am I,” he adds, an edge of incredulity to his tone before he suddenly chuckles. “Lark is her guardian. But he is also her servant. If she wished to go somewhere, say to the cells, it would not cross his mind to stop her.”

“Yes. So I’m getting the idea. The damn mutt is an enabler,” I mutter under my breath. What have I unleashed? It was so much simpler when he was merely a man.

Vander and another guard are standing at the end of the corridor that leads to the cells. They have both sprung their wings and are likewise shimmering.

I do a double take as the pair of them send me shifty looks and snap to attention. “We did not presume to interfere,” Vanders states brusquely.