Page 168 of Griffin Food

Atlas pins me with a look and arches one brow, yet something peers from behind his eyes that I have not seen before. Interesting. Somehow, I paste on a neutral expression and straighten out the cuffs on my silk jacket. “Should I get a chair?”

“Don’t bother,” Atlas growls. He leans back and indicates the position between her spread thighs.

I take quick strides until I’m standing over her. She has flung one arm across her eyes, and her chest is rising and falling unsteadily. My lips quirk. “That is quite a vision,” I say admiringly. “Has she been allowed to come?”

“No,” Atlas says. “Not yet.”

Poor little mate.

I don’t know exactly what he intends for me to do, but I’m fully committed to whatever the fuck it is, and I’m not about to argue. She has been wallowing in events of the past, and it would be fair to agree that it has been an unhealthy kind of lingering.

None of what transpired was her fault.

Further, her mere presence here—the insights provided by Lark and Rafe, and that she brought here, along with the pride-wide enhancements we all benefited from during the height of the battle and which were down to her and her alone—undoubtedly played an important part.

If not in the winning, then certainly in expediting it. Her mere presence saved lives, of that I have no doubt. And beyond all this, she has come into her own.

“Mark her,” Atlas says. “Her tits, her pussy, the gown if you so wish.”

My next breath comes out slower than the last as my mind scrambles to assimilate his request. “She needs barbing.”

“Don’t fucking push me,” he growls.

We are both fucking distracted, glaring at one another, when I notice movement out of the corner of my eyes. The damn mutt has snuck over—Lark can be stealthy when he chooses to—and is drooling all over her tit.

Violet squeaks.

I bat the insolent pup away. Alas, his snout has the constitution of a boulder, and it nearly breaks my godsdamned fist.

He whines, shakes his head, and stubbornly plants his ass, giving him a front row view.

I’m too fucking primed to care. Atlas wants my seed on her, for me to mark her. Her eyes are on me, wide and full of heat. The other occupants fade from my mind. There is only my mate, lain out like an offering, ready to be defiled.

In a flash, I manifest my clothing away, and take my aching cock in hand. This will not take fucking long. More likely, embarrassingly brief…

Violet

“Mark her,” Atlas said. “Her tits, her pussy, the gown if you so wish.”

It’s so primitive, both the request and the sure knowledge that Darrion will do exactly as he’s told.

He leans over me like an avenging angel, deadly and beautiful to behold. His glossy brown wings make a fan around him. His face is a picture of savage need, his muscles pumped and glistening with a fine shimmer of sweat as he jacks his cock over me. It makes sticky, urgent noises, and pre-cum drips and splatters over me and the once pretty gown.

“She needs barbing.”

My next moan is wanton. I’m thinking about their barbs, how they felt inside of me. “Please barb me!”

“Ah, gods!” Darrion’s cry accompanies a hot, heavy splat landing against my breasts.

More and more, against my throat, and then falling in a heavy rain against the exposed folds of my pussy and clit.

I’m on fire. Panting. Lost in the image of the huge male bracing over me with his chest heaving and his expression one of deep satisfaction.

He releases his cock slowly, though he remains hard, the barbs raised like ridges along his length. Eyes gleaming and whirling like his griffin peers out at me, he scoops up the cum lying thickly over my pussy and pushes it into me.

I come. Back bowing and neck arching. Sounds leave my lips that I barely recognize.

The stimulation is all-consuming, blinding. It shatters me.