Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 121: Lyre: Every Girl Needs a Toy

LYRE

Aaron tastes so much better than I thought he would.

Enough for a tiny little pulse of heat to thud between my legs.

Maybe a smidgen more than tiny.

Okay, yes, I’m wet. But I’m not going to tell him that. Men don’t need their egos stroked; they grow without water or care. I’m here to prune it. Shape it into what I need.

Every girl needs a toy, and this man seems exceptionally willing. Always a plus.

Generally, I have a rule against mixing with wolves, but... well.

I saunter out of the room, humming under my breath. There’s something satisfyingly twisted about the Eurythmics in this moment. I’m pretty sure I’ve left Jack-Eye—sorry, Aaron—ready to claw through walls. I’d apologize if I felt even remotely bad about it.

I don’t, though.

He started it.

I’m just... ending it.

Or maybe beginning something new.

The wizard and the others are several doors down. A mild annoyance, as it means I can’t monitor the wizard’s arcana levels very well, but since I have a new plan... it won’t matter very much.

He’ll be topped off after the transference. Granted, he’ll need at least six hours to recover from the sudden influx. Arcane fever tends to hit these new generations of witches hard, since they’re not used to pure arcana. The type of energy they pull is muddy and inefficient.

If you see arcana as water in the air, I pull out ninety-nine percent of what’s there.

Thom? Pulls about five percent, and it’s dirty. It isn’t that he’s exceptionally bad. It’s standard for the new generation.

I knock on the boys’ room with three sharp raps. Entertainment awaits.

The door opens, and oh—well, hello there. Owen stands shirtless, his chest broad and well-defined, as expected for an angelic descendant. Water droplets cling to his collarbone. Must have just gotten out of the shower.

His silver-gray eyes flare wide when he catches my scent. He physically recoils, stepping back with genuine fear in his expression.

Delicious. He’s gotten used to having me around. Spend a little time away, and now he’s scared again.

"What do you want?" he asks, not making eye contact.

"Relax, angel boy. Not here for you."

The room behind him is dim. The werewolf kid is stretched out on one of the beds, face turned to the wall, body too rigid to be truly asleep. I can hear the shower running in the bathroom. Process of elimination tells me it’s where our jumpy little wizard must be.

I slip past Owen, who flattens himself against the wall rather than risk touching me. My current high makes his reaction even more amusing. Nothing like a little fear and lust cocktail to make a girl feel powerful.

Without bothering to knock, I push open the bathroom door. Steam billows out. "Hey, wizard. You decent?"

Thom’s head pops out from behind the shower curtain, wet hair plastered to his forehead. Without his glasses, he’s squinting. He holds the curtain against his chest like a pearl-clutching Victorian maiden.

"Uh—Lyre? Is that you?"

No shit. Who else would it be?

"Finish up and come to my room when you’re done," I tell him. "Be quick. I’m not waiting forever."

His expression flickers between confusion and hope.

At least he’ll be clean. Shame about the rest of him.

I close the door, turning back to find Owen glaring at me, arms crossed over his chest.

"You know, that protective stick up your ass might loosen if you tried having a good time once a century," I tell him, waggling my fingers as I pass. He doesn’t flinch this time. Mildly disappointing.

I briefly consider turning him into a toad. Just for a few seconds. Just to refresh his delicious fear response. But it would be cruel, even for me. Besides, I’m feeling uncharacteristically good-natured tonight.

Huh. Weird.

When I re-enter my room, Aaron’s still exactly where I left him, back against the wall. His chest rises and falls in sharp movements. Fists clenched. Eyes wild. Erection visible through his jeans.

"Was it really that earth-shattering?" I ask with feigned innocence. Of course it was. He’s never had an arcana-infused kiss before.

It’s the best aphrodisiac. All-natural, too.

His teeth clench so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack, and he speaks through them with slow, painful words. "Whatever you did hasn’t left. It still feels like you’re blowing me."

I frown.

Did I really...?

I look closer, past the physical and into the arcane. Sure enough, tendrils of my magic still wrap around him like hungry little sex fingers. Several threads coil around his cock, pulsing with my particular resonance.

Oops.

Rookie mistake. One I certainly shouldn’t be making at my age and level of mastery. Must have been distracted.

Actually—wait. I’m impressed. The touch of arcana is hundreds of times more potent than physical stimulation. Having it stroke you endlessly without release would be torture. Yet here he is, still holding on, jaw clenched, enduring it. Most men would have collapsed in a puddle within a minute.

"Hmm. You haven’t come yet. That’s promising," I murmur, stepping closer.

He grunts.

I trail my fingers across his hip, dancing along the waistband of his jeans, coming close to—but never quite touching—where he wants me most.

"Do you still have to be in the room when I—" I ask sweetly.

"Yes." The word explodes from his gritted teeth.

His hips jerk forward, and suddenly his hands are on me—grabbing my waist, spinning me around, slamming my back against the wall. Control snapped. Patience gone.

He kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m air—desperate, sloppy, hard. There’s no artifice here, no calculation. Just raw, unfiltered need.

I like this. This is a man whose restraint has fractured.

Not one who’s thrown it away.

It’s very different.

I kiss him back, tangling my fingers in his hair. He’s rutting against me like a wild wolf, and it’s more pleasant than I thought it would be.

Especially when he slides his hands down to my ass and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he rocks and shoves against me, his denim-clad cock a sweet tease of pressure against my clit.

My nails rake his scalp, and I jerk his head back, baring his throat. I sink my teeth into the tanned skin where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Stop," I whisper against his skin, even as I bite again. "Thom will be here soon."

Aaron groans, his breath hot against my ear. "Do you have to bring him up right now?"

"Yes," I murmur. His skin is salty, but I like it. "Because Thom’s not the one who’s supposed to be watching. Remember?"

A knock on the door interrupts us. Aaron groans again, his fingers spasming against my ass as he stops thrusting his hips against me.

Sliding my legs down until my feet meet the floor. He squeezes one more time before flattening both hands against the wall, breathing hard.

I straighten my clothes, feeling his gaze track my every movement as I smooth down my shirt and fix my hair. There’s something darkly amusing about how thoroughly I’ve disarmed him.

"There’s another dick you can wrap your mouth around," he grits out.

I smirk. "Careful, or I’ll leave you knotted like a balloon."

He sighs, and I duck away from his body heat, stepping toward the door. My hand hovers on the doorknob as I glance over my shoulder.

He’s staring at me, nostrils flaring.

"Can you smell it?" I ask, with a slow smile.

He gives me one tight little nod.

Of course he can. Wolves have such good noses. And I’m not even attempting to hide the signs of my arousal.

"Be a good boy and wait and watch. If you don’t come by the time I send the wizard away—"

Another knock at the door cuts me off.

I smooth my expression into a pleasant smile and pull the door open. Thom blinks up at me like a lost puppy, towel clutched in his hand, glasses still foggy.

Aaron stands with his back to the wall again, his eyes dark as midnight as he stares.

"Come in," I tell the wizard, with a bright smile.