Page 25 of Feeding Beauty (The Lost Girls #5)

The Second Knuckle and a Little Faster

TALON

A couple nights later, Aurora is as right as rain again. I don’t know what was said during her girls’ nights, but I know Snow and Ariel were more than supportive after discovering Aurora’s true identity. Though I confirmed she didn’t reveal the Succubus part.

Thankfully, I don't have to convince Aurora why that would be a bad idea. I know she trusts her friends, but how they would react to a Succubus in their midst is an entirely different beast.

More people rolled in for Goldie and Ted’s wedding through the week.

The engaged couple even rented out the bar for their rehearsal dinner, and Aurora and I worked the event.

I made sure Kai stayed far away from Aurora, though I didn’t need to worry.

Apparently, everyone else shared the same mission, and the most he did was shoot daggers at her from across the room.

The Vampire King’s focus on her waned after a couple martinis, and he lost all interest when the dancing began.

Aurora doesn’t speak as we walk home after our shift. We were invited to stay, but neither of us felt like it.

Though tomorrow is Friday, Poison Apple will be closed for the wedding, and we’ve been given the night off. The city is quieter than usual, and so is Aura. Despite her silence, I feel her.

I’ve been watching her hunger grow in intensity over the last few days, and tonight the spectral shimmer pulses.

It rises from her like heat off blacktop, distorting the air in waves I’ve come to recognize. A warning sign.

Her skin has gone pale. The vibrant flush that usually follows a feed is long gone, and in its place is a drawn, sallow exhaustion that no amount of sleep will cure.

She’s starving.

In the apartment, Aurora moves through the space like a ghost—too quiet, too careful. I watch her from the kitchen as she sheds her boots, her bracelets, the outer layer of her armor.

I stay in the kitchen, nursing a drink I don't want, flipping through every possible solution in my head.

It’s even less safe to go out seeking a meal for her with Mal’s vampire lackeys crawling through alleyways, trying to sniff her out. Aurora's too visible now. Too vulnerable.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop her from killing this time. Without full feedings to satiate her, it’s likely she’ll gorge faster on instinct. And dealing with bodies and disappearances in Boston is going to be a lot tougher than in the Realm of Roses.

She needs someone disposable.

And I don’t know a single damn person in Boston who checks that box.

The brief fantasy of having her feed on the Vampire King Charming comes to mind. But considering he’s like family at Poison Apple, and he’s royalty, he’d be missed.

So I lie awake while the city sleeps, Aurora's needs clinging to my throat, the inside of my skull. The air in the apartment warps around it, too heavy, too saturated with my own worry.

Eventually, I grab my phone from the side table. I still don’t like the damn thing, it’s too slick, too bright, and too loud when I don’t want it to be. But tonight, it’s the only way I can chase a lead.

I open an app, careful with my thumbs as I’m still not used to typing such little characters. I pull up an option I considered a few nights back. It’s an out of the box idea, but Aurora’s been stomping on the box since we got here. Maybe it’s time I do the same.

I haven’t decided if my idea is a necessary risk or just...a risk.

Either way, I don’t like it, but I might not have a choice.

Eventually, I pass out on the couch, no closer to an answer.

My sleep is shattered with a guttural moan, strained and sharp enough to twist my gut. My eyes snap open, body lurching off the couch before my mind can catch up.

“Aura?” I call in a panic as I cross the threshold to her room. Mid-morning light filters through the windows.

The memory of finding her in that shower on the brink of death turns my fire ice-cold.

But then, I see her.

Aurora lies on her back, knees drawn up, one hand gripping the sheets. The other is beneath the blanket, buried between her thighs, moving in slow, trembling strokes.

Her eyes are shut, her lips parted. Her brow is furrowed like she’s fighting her own body.

She’s glowing. Literally. That shimmer in the air around her is thicker than I’ve ever seen.

Her hips roll in slow, desperate circles. A moan slips out before she can stop it.

Fuck .

Maybe I should leave?

No. I’ve never left before, and I won’t start now.

I step closer. “Aura?”

Her eyes snap open. She startles out a gasp but doesn’t stop.

“It hurts. Talon,” she pants.

My gut tightens. I move to stand at the foot of the bed.

My heart twists at seeing her in pain, while my cock jerks against my boxer briefs, already thickening at the sight of her.

Heat coils low in my spine like my own magic wants to spark.

I clench my jaw and breathe through it, locking my hands at my sides to keep them from shaking.

“You should’ve woken me.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this. I’ve never...not before...”

Her voice breaks as she looks away. And then her hips lift with another desperate grind. Her hunger is boiling over.

My fingers flex and then curl into fists. I can feel her need licking at my skin, making it hard to hold still. Every muscle in my body strains not to cross the line I'm sorely tempted to.

While all my sexual encounters have been limited to my own hand, this is the first time Aurora's ever touched herself. It’s always been about feeding from someone else.

Even under the covers, I can tell her motions are jerky, rushed, and uncoordinated.

“Take off the sheet,” I say.

Her motions slow as her eyes widen. “What?”

I lick my lips and swallow down the lump in my throat, already knowing how I can help. “Take it off. Let me see you. Show me that pretty little pussy, Aura.”

Her mouth parts then shuts. She draws the sheet away slowly, baring herself to me, her thighs trembling and fingers slick and shaking where they rest between her legs. My breath catches like I’ve been punched in the chest.

Fae fucking witchtits .

My dick’s hard now, full, aching, pinned against the line of my waistband. Every part of me screams to touch her, to crawl on top of her and finish what she started.

Her glowing, sun-kissed skin stretches over the curves I’ve mapped a hundred times with my eyes but never my hands.

Her sweat glistens in the light like flecks of gold dust, like magic seeping from her pores.

Her full, round breasts rise and fall with every sharp, uneven breath, nipples dark and tight from the strain of holding herself back.

Her gorgeous thighs tremble. I’ve watched them sway behind the bar, straddle a barstool, wrap around strangers, but now, they’re parted, giving me a view that damn near brings me to my knees.

I shift my stance, trying to ease the pressure in my underwear. It’s useless. I’m a goddamn furnace, barely contained. My pulse hammers in my ears as my eyes devour every inch of her.

No matter how many times I’ve seen her naked, no matter that she walks through this apartment with little to no clothes on, I’m always struck stupid by her. Awed.

“Touch yourself for me,” I command. My throat is dry. My voice breaks at the edges. I feel wild with barely contained restraint.

Her breath catches.

“Go on,” I murmur from the end of the bed. “Let me see how good you can make yourself feel.”

She hesitates for just a moment, but then her fingers start to move again. Slow. Shaky.

“Don’t think,” I coach. “Just feel.”

It’s still awkward and rushed. She’s too in her head.

“Circle your fingers near your clit, but don’t touch it,” I instruct, voice low and even. “Start slow, like this is foreplay. Like I’m kissing down your stomach, spreading your thighs, teasing you with my tongue just out of reach.”

She gasps and obeys, her touch softer now. Her eyes flutter shut, jaw slack.

My cock throbs in time with every movement she makes. I shift my stance, grinding down the need to pull myself out and relieve the pressure building behind the fabric of my underwear. This isn’t about me. This is for her.

“Now dip your finger in that tight, dripping cunt,” I say in a silky tone, the words flowing out of me without thought. “Just one and only to the first knuckle, Aura. I want you to think of me teasing you with just the tip of my cock, just enough to feel that perfect heat.”

Her lips part as she gasps.

She’s wet. Silken. Glowing.

The scent of her, ripe and addictive, coats my throat. My pulse pounds in places I can’t reach. I dig my nails into my palms and anchor my feet to the floor. One wrong move and I’ll tear the bed apart just to get to her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I rasp, voice sandpaper and heat.

Where most people stop at her body, at the pull of her curves, the arousal she inspires, I see more.

I’ve guarded this girl with the resolve of a soldier, but I’ve also memorized every inch of her.

I’ve memorized and categorized her glances, her moans, every stolen smile.

I’ve watched her fight. Break. Rebuild herself from nothing but hope and stubbornness.

I’ve watched her flirt and tease and feed.

She’s far more than the sum of her parts, her hunger. She’s everything .

In every sexual encounter, there’s always been someone else. Some stranger at her lips. Her throat. Her thighs. Feeding her. Touching her. Taking something I wanted to give.

But now?

There is just the two of us in this room. No sharing. No buffering presence.

And it sinks into something primal. Something ancient. My Dragon wants to hoard her. Wants to lock the door, throw away the key, and never let her out of this room. Out of this moment. Out of my reach.

The greedy, fire-blooded part that doesn’t understand reason or restraint wants to burn the whole world down just to keep this part of her all to myself.