Page 58 of Griffin Food

He taps my inner thigh. “Spread your legs, little red.”

My mind is full of white noise. I do as he asks, parting my thighs slowly.

“Good girl.” His thumb pauses close to my core. Here, he carefully pulls me open, exposing my most intimate place to his gaze.

I can smell my arousal, feel the throbbing there, and I’m sure he must see the evidence for himself.

Then, abruptly, his fingers are gone, leaving me waiting, unsure what comes next. The faint sound of paper shifting tells me he has returned his attention to a scroll.

This is even worse than kneeling on the cushion, where I must stare at the bulge of his cock, and where every moment is a test of will. The tension inside me builds until it’s almost unbearable.

A knock sounds on the door. A jolt runs through my core, and I start to rise.

“Stay,” he says, his voice a low, commanding growl.

I freeze, my instincts warring between obedience and fear of whoever is outside seeing me like this, so shamefully exposed.

“Enter,” he barks.

The door creaks open immediately. Footsteps. The air changes as a new presence fills the room.

The footsteps falter as the newcomer takes in the scene, though I don’t dare lift my head to check.

And then, a familiar scent tickles my nose.

Darrion. The regal male with ash-blond hair. The one with a smile that is more of a smirk. I do not like him. And yet my inner hussy likes his scent, responds to his presence, to the power in his body… and his wings.

The air crackles, and I sense his wings unfurl, feel the faint waft in the air.

I keep my eyes tightly shut. The silence is long and loud. Are the two men staring at each other or at me?

“She looks lovely,” Darrion finally says, his aristocratic voice making my stupid girl parts flutter.

“She does,” Atlas agrees.

Slick tickles down my inner thigh.

I gasp at a light, brief touch, then hear a low sound that might be a sigh or a groan.

Did he just taste me?

“Do you want to take a seat?” Atlas asks.

No answer, only footsteps, the scrape of a heavy wooden chair, and another scrape as it dropped down behind me. It creaks as Darrion sits in it.

Don’t think about where he is looking.

Atlas adjusts my dress. The skirts had slipped a little, and he now ensures they are well out of the way. Satisfied, his hand returns to caress my ass. The silence stretches on, thick and heavy. The air feels too warm, and every sense is heightened. The desk is hard beneath me, my body tense and waiting. But I don’t move. Yet more of my arousal seeps out, trickling down my thighs… dripping to the floor.

“Gods,” Darrion mutters, his voice rough.

“What did you want?” Atlas asks quietly, still toying lightly, never once moving closer to where I need.

“There has been a sighting,” Darrion replies. “Fenix took out a patrol.”

“Earlier than typical,” Atlas says. “Keep me posted.”

Without another word, Darrion rises, carries the chair back to its original place, and leaves the room.