Page 165 of Griffin Food

“The fuck I’m leaving,” Fenix growls, already fumbling with his buckle.

My breathing turns erratic. My nostrils flare as the buckle comes undone. Fenix snaps the buttons open one by one and thrusts his pants to his knees. He pulls his white shirt away, exposing himself fully.

Lark sits up, claws scraping over wood, his ears pricked with interest. He doesn’t move from his position by the door, but he’s watching nonetheless.

A bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip of Fenix’s cock. The thick corkscrew ridges are already prominent. The scent of his arousal reaches me, and my belly takes a slow tumble, one that slides all the way down to my womb and leaves a pulse of arousal throbbing in my core.

I’ve been wet since I entered the room and Atlas first nodded at the cushion. But now I feel it trickling from me. Gushing, in a way it hasn’t done in many days.

Arousal. So fast and a little dizzying, how powerfully it affects me.

“Would you like to suck him off, pet?” Atlas asks. “Wrap your sweet lips around him? Take his seed into your mouth and deep into your belly?”

“Yes.” The word comes breathless and without hesitation.

“Good girl,” Atlas says.

And how his praise softens me.

Fenix’s eyes are stark and locked on me. I love his depth, his beauty, his unashamed carnality… the dark edge to his passion.

Atlas is restraint.

Fenix is not.

His tail sways from side to side. I think about how it felt against my body in the Sundial Chamber. The faint sting of it whipping me as he fucked me hard and fast.

“Go ahead, then, and take your cushion,” Atlas says. His thumb sweeps up the side of my throat before he takes his hand away.

I stumble inelegantly as I rise, taking the cushion with me. Atlas gathers my empty hand, rises beside me, and walks me over to Fenix. Fenix, whose eyes seem to be everywhere: on the sway of my naked breasts, on my throat, on my face, and finally, on the cushion in my hand.

“Go ahead,” Atlas says. “Place your cushion where you wish it. Kneel upon it, if that is what you choose to do. But know that while you may kneel for him—” His fingers stroke down the side of my cheek and across my chin. “—it is always us who serve you. Wholly, completely. Body, mind, and soul.”

His hand withdraws, but he doesn’t move back. He’s waiting. Waiting for me to choose.

My eyes are locked upon Fenix’s, and his upon mine. His fingers curl around the arms of the chair, and his cock flexes, pre-cum trickling down the shaft and pooling at his balls.

The cushion is on the floor. My knees hit it a moment later. His tail bounces lightly against my thigh, my forearm, then my shoulder before it slides down the side of my neck, over my clavicle, and brushes the underside of one breast with the furry tip.

My back arches.

His knuckles turn white around the arms of the chair. His tail brushes over my nipple, light and teasing, and then it falls away, lashing almost impatiently against Fenix’s thigh.

I’m aware of myself—of being the center of the room. Of Fenix restraining himself and how it costs him when he is the least restrained man I know.

Lark watches from one side of the room.

Atlas’s absolute attention on the other.

My right hand curls around the base of Fenix’s cock. Leaning forward, I press my cheek to the sticky shaft and breathe him in. Then I stick out my tongue and lick him from root to tip.

A contented sigh escapes me that deepens into a hum as I take the head and a good half of the length into my mouth.

“Fuck,” Fenix says gruffly—the chair creaks. “Fuck, that feels good.”

I swirl my tongue around the head and then suck him as deeply as I can.

His hips jerk forward. His tail lightly taps the side of my breast.