Then she pulls him to lay on the bed and straddles him.
He leans against the pillows. She slides up his body like smoke, her back to him, sitting on his abdomen. Wrapping her tits around his cock and letting it glide between them as she fucks him with her chest.
And still, she looks at me.
As if asking, “Do you regret it yet?”
I do.
Faefucking hell, I do.
But what cuts deeper is what I don’t feel.
No pull of her feeding. No tug of magic in the air. She’s not taking anything from him. This is all for me. Every filthy, exquisite second of it is a show put on to torture me.
She wants to punish me.
And worst of all?
It’s working.
Chapter 31
Spanking That Princess Pussy
AURORA
Talon can drag me here, he can set me up with someone at the club, he can even make me hook up with someone else, but he can’t make me feed. And I have no intention of doing so.
But I haveeveryintention of making him suffer. Of torturing him the way I feel tortured.
“I’m heartbroken too,” he yelled outside.
The words, his pain echoes in my ears, but my pain is so much louder. He’s right, I am being a child about it, but it’s the only way I can exert control in this situation. I intend to exert every bit of control over my body I can, and over Talon’s emotions because it gives me a modicum of dignity back.
So as I take my partner so far down my throat I gag, I do it to hurt Talon.
I gag because I want him to see it.
To suffer at least a fraction of how I suffer.
Because I am being exactly what I’m expected to be. He should hate it as much as I do. I hate it. I hate me and what I am.
I swirl my tongue around the head of Sawyer’s cock and hum low, letting the vibration carry. He groans, loud and guttural. I can feel his restraint fray under my hands. But I don’t stop. I double down.
He says something. I don’t hear it.
Because I’m watching Talon.
He’s a statue by the wall, arms crossed over that broad chest, jaw locked tight. But his eyes are on me, always on me. I can feel his heat from here, a potent mix of fury and arousal.
I pull off Sawyer with a pop and slide forward, my thighs already slick and my breath ragged with my own need. My vision has been blurring in and out. Despite the show I’m putting on, I feel weak and unsteady.
But none of it matters.
This isn’t about feeding or pleasure.
This is controlling the only thing I can.
