Page 105 of Grace of a Wolf 2
Before I can ask what the hell is happening, Lyre grabs Thom by the collar of his shirt and pulls him into a kiss. Not just any kiss—deep, deliberate, intense. The kind that ruins men, with her gorgeous pink tongue flicking out and shoving its way into his mouth.
A shock of magic erupts from the point where their lips meet, crackling through the air like static electricity. It's not just visible, but both acrid and sweet to my nose.
White butterflies—actual fucking butterflies—materialize out of nowhere, swirling around them in a luminous spiral before zooming off into different directions, phasing through the walls of this place like they don't even exist.
My nostrils flare involuntarily. The arousal scent is unmistakable—his, not hers. Something ancient, from simpler times, roars to life in my chest, clawing its way up my throat.
I have no claim on Lyre. I hardly know her.
And yet…
Fuck, does her tongue move like that when she—
I cut the thought short before I go down a path I'm not ready for. I'm equal parts enraged and turned on, and I hate both reactions. Punching Thom in the face for experiencing what I've been stupidly fantasizing about? It sounds like an amazing idea right now, even though it isn't.
And I also kind of want to watch her do it again.
This is so fucked up.
When she breaks away, the lucky motherfucker drops to his knees, boneless and dazed. He's blinking up at her like he's seen the face of the Moon Goddess, lips parted, breathing ragged.
Opposite his intense reaction, Lyre isn't even looking at him. Her face is raised, eyes squinted as she… does something. Who knows what the fuck she's doing. She walks a few feet away, lifting her hand to the air, and Owen watches her like she's about to catch on fire or something.
The bewitching woman turns slowly, her hair glowing faintly in the filtered light coming through the shed's dirty windows. She looks more like an angel than the reticent Owen.
Probably won't look so angelic with my dick in her mouth, though. Which… is definitely going to have to happen. I'm not sure how. Or when. But it's the only way to get this shitty memory out of my head.
And then I'll know if her tongue reallydoesmove like that…
Damn. I told myself I wasn't going down that road, and here I am, parked right on it like I don't ever want to leave.
With a dead, rotting corpse beside me.
There are probably better times for this.
Thom's still kneeling, staring up at Lyre like she's a devotional painting come to life, even as his dick's rock-hard in his pants. Ilean down close to his ear, desperate to break the spell for both our sakes.
"Put your cock away, Romeo," I murmur.
"I—no, it isn't…"
He jerks out of his daze and covers his crotch with both hands, eyes wide and words frantic. "It's just a reaction… the magic… anyone would have felt it. I didn't…"
"Easy, kid."
The raging jealousy in me fades. Doesn't go away—I still want to grab him by the throat and squeeze until his nerdy little head pops off—but seeing how scared he is does a little to ease my fury.
At least he won't get in my way. Not on purpose, anyway.
"We have another lead," Lyre announces. "It wasn't strong enough, but at least we have a direction."
My eyes narrow. "Does this mean you have to kiss him again?"
Thom's cheeks flush into a deep crimson, even as he stares at Lyre with a mix of devotion and lust. "I—I don't mind."
Of course he fucking doesn't.
"Not yet," she says, oblivious to how I feel. To how he feels. She's looking at Owen, instead, and I'm suddenly furious at the man for having such bulging biceps. Women like biceps, don't they? And he's handsome. Ridiculously handsome. Makes sense, if he comes from angels.
