<h4>Chapter 134: Lyre: Her Game (III)</h4>


    <strong>LYRE</strong>


    His dominance pushes deeper inside me—an invisible, maddening pressure. it fills without filling. My hips buck against it, desperate for friction that isn’t there. Just this ethereal presence stretching me open while I clench around nothing but air and alpha energy.


    "Fuck," I gasp, grinding down harder. It’s maddening—too much and not enough. Both filled and empty. Every thrust of his aura just reminds me I’ve got nothing solid inside me.


    My magic sparks wildly under my skin, crackling along nerve endings that haven’t fired in way too long. I’mpletely lit up with want so intense it borders on pain.


    Aaron slides his cock against my entrance, and I jerk forward, positioning myself just right, ready to take him in one perfect thrust—


    But the bastard sees iting.


    He pulls back with a smug <i>fuck-you</i> smirk, dodging me just as I line him up.


    "Goddamn it," I growl, my thighs trembling with the need to m myself down on him anyway. Arcana surges, wild and hungry,shing out to drag him in—greedy and reckless, just like me.


    But he’s learned faster than expected, using his dominance to hold firm against my need. His aura expands inside me, pressing deeper, wider, filling me with everything but what I want.


    I’m furious. I’m aching. If he wanted to fuck my mouth, I’d open for him. If he wanted to fold me in half and pound me through this shitty motel mattress, I’d wrap my legs around him and beg for more. But this? This slow, torturous denial? I might actually lose what’s left of my mind.


    I snarl. "You’re going to regret this."


    The alphahole in him must be smug as fuck, because he chuckles. <i>Chuckles</i>. "Maybe. But right now?" His eyes drift down to where I’m spread open for him, clenching around invisible pressure. "Right now I’m enjoying every twitch, every pulse, every drop of you. You’re so fucking wet I can see it."


    His words push me higher, tightening the coil of need. I’ve always been the one setting the pace, dictating the terms. Now I’m writhing beneath an alpha wolf who’s figured out how to use his dominance, making my ancient blood sing.


    "Look at you," he murmurs, voice dropping to a panty-melting register. Fuck. "Every time I push a little deeper—" He demonstrates, his dominance surging inside me, thrusting deep enough to have my back arching off the bed. "—your body just pours for me. So wet you’re soaking the sheets."


    My hips roll forward against my will, seeking him, begging without words because I refuse—absolutely refuse—to plead. But my body betrays me, tilting upward, trying to capture the head of his cock as he teases it along my entrance.


    "Then do something about it already," I snap, frustration making my voice crack.


    I’m braced for some smart-ass remark, but instead his mouth finds my breast. No warning, no softness—pain. I hiss, back arching as he draws my nipple through his teeth. Then he soothes with his tongue,zy and deliberate, like he’s iming the spot he just marked.


    His cock slides along my folds, hot and slick with my arousal, but he still doesn’t fuck me—just keeps thrusting against me like a goddamn tease, every wet drag of him making me twitch with need. His dominance pulses inside me in time with each thrust, a maddening rhythm of almost-but-not-quite.


    Arcana ripples under my skin, desperate to capture him, to pull him inside. But he’s learned to counter it, his energy sliding against mine, teasing but never surrendering.


    "Aaron," I grit out. A plea disguised as a warning.


    He answers by shifting me onto my side, rough hands arranging me like I’m a doll. One of my legs lifts over his thigh, exposing mepletely. His cock slides between my thighs, gliding along my entrance, gathering wetness.


    <i>Finally,</i> I think, relief surging through me as he positions himself. But then he presses my leg down, sandwiching his cock between my thighs instead of pushing inside. The pressure against my clit makes me jerk, a strangled sound escaping my throat.


    I tilt my hips at the perfect angle, ready to capture him on his next thrust, calcting the exact moment—


    And the fucker pulls back just enough to dodge me, knowing exactly what I’m trying to do. Again.


    The groan escaping my lips is animalistic, primal—the sound of a creature pushed beyond patience. I could kill him. I could set this whole motel on fire. I could unleash power to leave nothing but a smoking crater from here to the state line.


    Instead, I grind against him, desperate for friction, for release, for anything to ease this unbearable tension.


    He keeps thrusting between my thighs, cock sliding along my folds but never entering. His dominance continues its invisible iming, pulsing inside me with each roll of his hips. The dual sensation—his aura filling me while his cock teases my entrance—is maddening, overwhelming.


    My body twitches with each pass of his cock against my clit. Every nerve ending is raw, hypersensitive. My magic crackles along my skin, sparking between us where we touch, little jolts of energy that make him hiss but never break his rhythm.


    He’s stronger than he looks. In more ways than one.


    "That’s it," he murmurs against my neck, his teeth scraping behind my ear. "Let me feel it. I want to feel you falling apart."


    A st of dominance ms into my core, and he twists my nipple with zero hesitation. The pain lights a fuse; arousal races straight between my legs, and I can’t stop the sound I’m making—a wrecked, needy noise I’ve never made before.


    His hand wraps around my throat, firm but not choking. Just holding. Owning. His cock keeps sliding between my thighs, slick and steady, hitting my clit with every pass while his aura fucks me open from the inside.


    "Come for me," he growls, his voice deep and rumbling behind my ear. "Now."


    And I do.


    My body locks up, hips jerking as I fall into it. My magic res, sparking across the room—literally. The bedsidemp explodes in a crack of static, and all I can do is cling to him while the orgasm rips through me.


    But it’s not enough.


    Even after, I’m still clenching, still empty, still desperate for something real. That release? A false high. Like scratching a phantom itch that never stops burning.