Page 167 of Griffin Food

Atlas

She is coming back to us. The scent of her arousal hangs heavy in the air. It pulls at me, making demands of me, when I want to hold back and take this slow, for her.

“Hardly slow,” Aldric informs me with a mocking clack of his beak.

I concede to his point.

Aware that Darrion will be on his way and arriving soon, I take this brief interlude to enjoy Violet nestled upon my lap. Her cheeks are flushed, as are her tits. Almost like she senses my lustful scrutiny, her thighs squeeze together, and the fresh scent of arousal blooms.

She does not like waiting, but waiting is a reward in itself.

Only I could swear something has broken in my brain, for I find myself unusually reckless. That my wavering control doesn’t worry me ought to be a big red flag, yet still I do not heed caution, my hand sliding over her thigh and pressing against her hot core through layers of silk.

“Are you making a little mess, pet? Are you ruining this fine gown that Darrion had made especially for you?”

She whimpers, and her thighs squeeze together again, trapping my hand.

“Answer me.” My tone is one that brooks no refusal.

“Yes,” she breathes.

Darrion is closing in, having just returned from an early morning patrol.

“Lift your skirts. Show me.”

Her eyes flash to mine like she is checking she heard right. Whatever she sees in my face galvanizes her into action. With a small, cute squeak, she snatches her dress up and parts her thighs, revealing her condition. My hand is large and the knuckles littered with old scars, a legacy of my time before I bonded to Aldric. They look rough and obscene against her soft, pale skin. And still, I don’t hesitate to put them on her like it is my Gods-given right. Slick smears the tops of her thighs and the glistening lips of her pussy, where my mate is hot and drenched.

I push a single finger in and bite back a curse as her walls welcome me, fluttering and clenching.

She trembles, trying so hard to be still when I know her hips want to lift.

I want a fucking taste.

Just a little one. Just enough to keep the apex predator inside me at bay… for now. One does not simply happen upon the role of pride leader. Iron-clad control is not incidental to it.

But this woman, this soft, giving omega, humbles me.

She also breaks me down. And although I know it’s dangerous and that the control I pride myself on is slipping, I shove the tray and scrolls aside, drop her ass onto my desk, and with a groan of defeat, spread her pussy lips and take a long, savoring lick.

Darrion

The hail from Fenix as I return from a patrol renders me unsteady. Our pride third is not one for being circumspect with information. More often, he is brooding, grumpy, or smugly gloating. He is none of those today. I don’t bother knocking on Atlas’s study door. It is particularly bold of me. And pushy. Neither of which is my norm.

I blame it on Fenix as I nearly pitch over the damn mutt who is sitting right behind the door.

He growls and snaps his teeth—I have just trodden on his tail, so I cut him some slack.

Her scent arrests me. My wings obediently, and completely involuntarily, manifest behind me. The door slips from my nerveless fingers and rattles into the jamb.

She’s over his desk, again. This time, face up, pretty tits flushed where he is mauling them. His head is buried between her thighs, and the sounds she is making take my blood and lust to a boiling point in an instant.

Atlas lifts his head slowly, as if I have not just barged into his private study like a pumped-up bull scenting fertile breeding stock.

Darkan chatters his beak approvingly.

Is she fertile? Is that what ails me… and Atlas by the look of things.

Omegas need to be barbed. Repeatedly, if you are to trigger their readiness to breed. There has not been a lot of that lately—not since the Sundial Chamber—and understandably so.