Page 143 of Griffin Food

“Breathe for me,” I say. “Steady. You can do this.”

“Darrion,” she begs. “I cannot bear it.”

A long thread of drool lands with a splat beside her head, followed by a belated snap of Lark’s jaws as he tries to control himself.

Damn mutt!

“Nice and steady. Feel my fingers where they hold you. Focus on that, and only that.”

Her chest heaves, and then she exhales a slow, shaky breath.

“Good girl. You are doing so well,” I say. “Keep thinking about my hand, how it holds you.”

I line up with her slick channel. Then, like I am subject to primal forces far beyond my control, my hips roll forward of their own volition, and I sink into her with devastating ease.

Gods. So good.

She whines.

“Focus on my hand,” I grit out.

Her lips part, and incoherent words pour out. It could be a curse, a complaint, an entreaty to have mercy on her.

We can mind-speak now, but in the haze of pleasure and her denied release, I do not believe she has the cognizance to consider projecting her thoughts. Not now that I’m inside her, holding still, letting her feel my flesh pulse within hers, our hearts beating a rapid tattoo.

“You’re doing so well, Violet. I’m so proud of you. We all are.”

A faint moan comes from the side of us.

Rafe.

His consciousness is fighting its way to the surface.

I slide out and plunge back in. It is not the measured strokes of Atlas, nor the violent penetration of Fenix, but somewhere in between.

I push the pleasure outward, beyond me, beyond her, into the ether.

“Ah, fuck,” Fenix mutters.

The griffin’s humming has risen to a heavy drone that reverberates around the Sundial Chamber, vibrating up through the stone. It seems to penetrate my very bones as I assuage my lust on the sweet, giving woman who writhes with pleasure.

But the sensation is growing bigger, projecting ever outward as well as in.

A soft moan, a thud comes from the direction of Rafe. Thank the Goddess Violet is too far gone to notice, for I will let no worries enter her mind at this time.

Her soft channel welcomes me, fluttering with every thrust, teasing my burgeoning barbs. Her fingers tightly grip the silk covering of the dais, making small fists. I feel a pulse hammering underneath my fingers at her throat. Her face is flushed, and the red stain spreads all the way down to the upper swell of her breasts, which sway with every penetration in the most arresting way.

So beautiful. So perfect. “You were born for this. Born to be our Queen.”

Her breathing turns choppy, and I slow my thrusts. She moans.

“She is close,” Atlas cautions.

I slow my strokes further, the barbs maddening me as they prepare to penetrate her flesh.

“Darrion,” she begs. “Goddess weep. Please!”

Understanding that I have taken her to the limit, I release my control.