Page 163 of Griffin Food

She glances up at me, and a pretty blush stains her cheeks before she quickly lowers her eyes.

My wings snap into being, wafting gently and bringing more of her scent my way.

“You can shut the door on the way in,” Atlas says, reminding me that I’m standing here like a fucking idiot, with the door still in my hand.

I shut it.

Lark flops back down in front of the door with a low rumble and puts his head on his paws.

And now I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. I’ve only been in here once when he’s handled her like this, and there were other people in the room at the time. I know Darrion came in here once on his own and pulled up a fucking chair. Should I pull up a chair?

“I’ve got some reports I’d like to go over with you,” Atlas says, indicating the scroll in his hand.

Well, fine. I blow out a breath, and my eyes immediately snap back to Violet. All pretty and submissive on her knees. I can smell her arousal, and it’s driving me nuts.

This does something powerful to her when he touches her like this. She’s been in her head too much lately. I know she feels guilt for her sister being part of the attack, despite her having no reason to.

We still snuggle and hold her in the nest, but there is no intimacy. Atlas said we needed to give her time, and I got it, I really did, after all, I’ve had some demons of my own, and I wasn’t ready either, if I’m honest.

But today, and now, I understand that I am, that she is too, that Atlas senses what needs to be done, like he always does, which is why he’s the leader, not only of the Pride, but of our mate bond.

I’ve missed the deeper connection, absent these past few weeks. Missed being inside her. And now I’m staring at her plump lips, just waiting for a male’s cock to slip between them.

I snap out of my daze, and, lest I get another snarky comment from Atlas, I go and collect one of the chairs and set it opposite his desk.

I mean, I position it slightly to the side so I can see both Atlas and Violet. His lips curve the tiniest amount as he acknowledges what I do.

I raise both brows.

Galeor is making his sweet crooning sound, doubtless projecting it so that she can hear.

My tail suddenly manifests, and I bolt out of the chair, scowling at the lashing appendage that is not compatible with furniture.

Atlas quirks one brow.

Violet’s head has popped up.

“What the fuck,” I mutter under my breath as my tail continues to sway and occasionally twitch.

Atlas is smirking again now. Bastard.

I sit back down, finding a better position that allows my tail to snake around the side of me. It does not sit still. It moves about—sometimes resting over my thigh, sometimes wiggling enticingly, like it is imagining little stripes forming across her ass.

Atlas’s hand returns to the back of her neck, caressing her lightly, encouraging her to tuck her head back against his thigh. Her face is very pink now. She gently lowers her head, although her gaze is fixed firmly upon my tail that has a mind of its fucking own.

Which is a true statement when I think that it is Galeor, who is firmly in control of it, and not me.

Fine. He may have his fucking tail. My dick is all mine. And I’m not leaving this room until it’s gone between her pretty lips and into her hot, wet mouth.

I’ve got a bad feeling that Atlas really is going to make me listen to some report. He will make me wait for the good stuff. He might even dismiss me before my dick gets anywhere near her because he’s the king of edging.

Double bastard.

Who knows? I’m not very good at this personal restraint. I’m kind of a just-go-for-it sort of male. So I drag my gaze away from her, and I turn my attention to Atlas and his godsdamned scroll.

He launches into a report about reconstruction work at a local village that was particularly badly ravaged. It is dry and fucking boring. I could tolerate it better if my Queen were not kneeling a few paces away. Somehow, I manage to offer my opinion at appropriate times. But for a large part of his dry monologue, my mind is elsewhere.

Galeor is still crooning. My wings gently waft, and my tail drifts to its own beat, sometimes resting over my thigh, sometimes curling the tufted tip in memory of caressing her soft skin.