Page 44 of Griffin Food

“Goddess,” she cries.

I rock my hand the tiniest amount, in and out, and that’s all it takes.

Her walls clench over me in deep contractions, gripping my fist. I am inside her, all the way to my wrist. It should horrify me. It does not. My balls tighten of their own accord as her climax splinters into a high keening wail of pleasure.

I come all over the nest, helpless to the call.

Violet

I am lost in a hazy underworld, aware of nothing but the two men with me.

Rafe, holding me. Lark is inside me. I cannot snatch my eyes away from the sight before me. It melds with other visions of the same. This is what they have done every time. Always Rafe holding me, always Lark with his hand inside me, his whole hand, the little in-and-out motions that generate cataclysmic pleasure.

The feeling of fullness and connection is overwhelming. It is both terrifying and compelling.

I feel cherished.

Ruined.

Safe.

My body tingles all over. Even the follicles of my hair seem to spark with pleasure. Sweat bathes the surface of my skin, and my tremors turn into a sharper climax that swallows the whole of me.

I scream.

Too much pleasure. It frazzles the last of my control, and my body cuts out into a twitching, gibbering mess.

Only he is still inside me, and my pussy, bent upon snatching every drop of ecstasy, clenches over him again.

“Take a nice deep breath,” Rafe coaches.

I thrash and shake my head.

“Good girl. You can do it. Deep breath in and let it out.”

My breathing is erratic. The stimulation is too much to bear.

“That’s our precious girl. You can do this for us. Just try.”

I manage to suck in a deep breath. And then I let it out.

Lark’s fist slips from inside me, and I shudder through another weaker climax, utterly spent.

“Gods, she’s so open,” Lark says weakly. “Fuck, fuck!”

He sinks inside me, and it feels strange—too little and too much all at once.

Then he begins to move and I forget everything and feel.

Chapter Thirteen

Rafe

Ihave no recollection of the bastards leaving. I only know that when I rouse, the room is quiet and empty around us.

Violet is asleep, her breath whispering against Lark’s chest in a soft snore that puts a smile on my face.

I stretch, wincing as spent muscles protest. The laceration to my arm is sore but scabbed over—I barely felt it during her heat. My dick is red, raw, and out for the count. Even her scent and the swell of her ass against my hip are not enough to rouse it.