Page 33 of Feeding Beauty (The Lost Girls #5)

Tasting the Dream

AURORA

T alon’s wrapped around me, armor and shield in one. His blood is still drying on his skin, and his power hums low beneath the surface. More importantly, for the first time since I was cursed, I’m full .

Not just sated.

Full.

Every part of me swells with it. Not the desperate hunger that claws at my edges, or the quiet itch that is always present.

This wasn’t the shallow fix of a regular feed. I’ve always been a cracked cup, leaking no matter how much I take in—and Talon just gave me an ocean.

I want more. Not out of hunger, but out of want . Out of love. I want him in me again, not just physically, but from a place that says mine. Forever.

I blink up at him from where I’m still sprawled on the desk. Our bodies are slick, tangled, flushed with sweat and heat. His wings retract slightly, until they are loosely holding my thighs.

He watches me with that look. That Talon look, memorizing the shape of my soul, not just my body. I've no doubt he’d fight the fae lords themselves if they ever tried to take me away again.

My fingers drift across his jaw. “I’ve never come that hard,” I whisper.

His hand curves gently over my hip, thumb sweeping in slow circles. “You’ve never fed with that kind of abandon.” It’s not a question.

I shake my head as my throat tightens. “You completely filled me. You made me feel like I wasn’t...alone . ”

His eyes darken. His hand slides higher, curling around my ribs. “You’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.”

“Just...separate,” I amend.

A grunt of begrudging agreement comes out of him.

“I’ve always told myself it didn’t matter. That our... friendship ,” I use that word instead of calling it the pining, heart-wrenching close-but-not-close-enough relationship, “is enough. That I don’t need more to be happy. That I can be independent, alone. A Dragon. You didn’t need anyone.”

Talon’s fingers softly trace down the side of my face, pushing sweaty strands of hair aside.

“Before I met you, I was...it was...” his brows scrunch as he tries to think through whatever he is trying to get out, “fine. Sufficient. But then I met you and my whole universe opened and there was so much more. I knew I needed you before I even met you. Does that make sense?” Intensity bears down from his face as he tries to make sense of his own feelings.

I nod. Even when I was young, maybe too young to think about such things, I yearned for the deep kind of connection we share. We can communicate with a glance. We have so many shared experiences, both good and bad. We have little inside jokes.

I kiss him again, softly at first, then deeper, slower. Everything in me reaches for him, not just the part that needs to feed, but the part that wants to belong. Me to him and him to me.

When I ease away, I murmur, “I love you, Talon.”

Fuck, it feels good to say.

Talon seems to struggle with breathing for a few beats.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” he growls.

Then he pulls out of me, slow and careful, but his eyes stay locked on mine, molten and reverent.

I gasp at the loss, at the way my body clutches around nothing. But before I can say a word, he’s dropped to his knees between my thighs.

“Talon—” I start, but he cuts me off with a look.

“Lie back,” he says, voice all gravel and heat. “I need to taste what’s mine.”

Fae lords help me.

The moment my back hits the desk again, his hands grip my thighs and spread me wide. His mouth is on me in a breath, tongue dragging through my slick folds, starving for more.

“Fuck, princess. You taste even better than I dreamed. We taste good together.” A rumble escapes his throat, a sound so deep it rattles my core. He groans, eyes flashing up at me dark with need. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

I shatter in minutes.

My legs jerk, fists clenching the edge of the desk as I scream his name.

But Talon doesn’t stop. He groans, devouring me, his hunger fixed solely on my pleasure.

His tongue circles, dips, devours, until I’m bucking under him and coming again, harder this time, tears slipping down my temples from the sheer, brutal release.

But still, he doesn’t stop.

His fingers slide into me, curling expertly as his mouth returns to my clit, sucking with just enough pressure to make me beg.

“I’ve always wanted you this way,” he mutters. “Legs spread, soaking my mouth, begging for more."

I moan helplessly, already teetering again.

His tongue works me with brutal worship.

My body convulses again, and I’m crying, shaking, and clutching at his shoulders.

I try to catch my breath, but he keeps going.

Lapping me up. Marking me with his mouth.

His words and his tongue push me right over again.

It borders on torture, but still, he doesn’t stop.

Not until he’s wrung every drop of pleasure from my body. Not until I’m trembling, incoherent, clutching at him. He’s the only thing anchoring me to this world.

And even then…his tongue lingers. Worshipping.

Because I’m his to do whatever he wants with. Forever. Nothing can break us now that we’ve found our way to each other.

We leave the warehouse in a haze of exhaustion and want. His wings carry us to our apartment and I press into his chest as dawn cracks like an orange yolk over the gray ocean waters. Neither of us says much, but the silence between us isn’t heavy. Everything feels lighter.

As soon as we close the beat-up door of the apartment, we resume devouring each other. I have to force both of us to stop before all our clothes come off again.

“We have to clean you up,” I insist, referring to his wound. Blood has seeped through the gauze. My bandages came off sometime between the first and fifth orgasm, but my wounds had miraculously closed. Not that I’m surprised.

Feedings always helped heal little cuts or scrapes I’d gotten almost instantly.

Talon continues to attack my neck, hands roaming over my breasts, and over my arms before tangling his fingers in my hair. “Later.”

“No,” I say firmly. “Now, mister.”

I force him off me and toward the bathroom. He leans against the counter as I remove his dressings. As soon as I reveal the exposed meaty parts of him, all the organs in my body clench up, recoiling from the wet exposure of muscle.

“Aura?” he asks.

“Mmm,” I say, trying to remain standing though I sway a bit, my head suddenly light and fuzzy.

“You’re white as a sheet,” he says.

“I’m fine.” I struggle to fight down my gag reflex. It’s hard to breathe.

Talon gently eases me aside with a firm hand, and I let him, hating myself.

Standing with my back to him as he goes about cleaning his wound, I blink up at the water spot on the ceiling. “Ugh, I hate this.”

“Hate what?” he asks absentmindedly, as the faucet runs.

“That I can’t take care of you,” I cross my arms over my chest, hearing the petulance in my own voice. “You take care of me all the time, and I should be able to do it for you.”

“It’s my job, Aura,” he says. His words are tight as if he’s in pain.

“So?” I turn my head to the side, catching him disinfecting his ribs out of my periphery. The healing liquid drips into the sink with intermittent spatters. “You deserve to be taken care of too.”

He rips open a gauze packet. I insisted on bringing the comprehensive first aid kit from the warehouse.

There’s a low chuckle of amusement that equally pleases and annoys me. He’s never laughed much so I enjoy the sound, but I don’t appreciate being laughed at. “Baby, you’ve taken care of me just fine.”

The sensual lilt in his tone lets me know exactly how I’ve taken care of him. When I turn around, he finishes taping up the new bandage.

I drop to my knees in front of him, wasting zero time releasing him from his pants.

“Aura?” he asks, a new kind of strain in his voice that has nothing to do with pain.

“Shush,” I say, immediately setting to stroking his gorgeous, scaled dick which quickly hardens under my touch. “If this is the only way I can take care of you, I plan to make sure you are very well cared for.” With that, I take him in my mouth completely.

Talon groans and grips the counter behind him. “Oh fuck, Aura.”

I can’t help my lips curving up as I continue to suck at him until he’s quickly and fully hard. I reach down and cup his balls, giving them experimental squeezes until he makes a choking sound that I want to spend the rest of my life replicating.

Talon threads his fingers through my hair, not guiding me, not forcing, just holding on. His knuckles brush my scalp as I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint, smoky undertone that’s uniquely him.

Satisfaction curls inside me. Though I’m on my knees, it’s he who’s at my mercy.

The bathroom fills with the wet sounds of my mouth, the rasp of his breath, the soft squeak of his grip tightening on the counter. I glance up through my lashes and catch his expression—jaw tight, eyes molten, fighting the end even as his hips betray him with a subtle thrust.

I trace the ridges of his cock, learning all its eccentricities with my tongue. My fingers drift up his thighs until they meet his balls and stroke them along the delicate folds of his tucked away wings.

“Aura—fuck—baby, I’m gonna…” he pants, voice cracking like he hates how fast he’s losing it. He tries to pull back, heroic to the bitter end.

But I growl, low and possessive, sucking harder as I grip his hips to anchor him in place, still stroking that folded wing with the other. I want everything.

I break the seal with a pop. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m going to swallow every fucking drop.”

Orange ember flashes in his eyes, and a moment of fear goes through me. Is he going to heat up? The fear melts away as his eyes turn dark again. His knees buckle, but he grabs the counter in time. I return to my task, sucking and bobbing hard and fast.

His balls draw tight under my palm, and I hum low in my throat, sending the vibration up his shaft. One wing unfolds slightly so I rub the thin membrane between my fingers.

“Fuck—Aura—” he chokes, and then he’s gone.

He comes with a roar, hips jolting, one hand gripping my hair. I swallow greedily, every hot pulse of him, moaning around his length while his body trembles.

When I finally let him go, he’s panting, his skin flushed and gleaming with sweat.

“Feel taken care of now?” I ask, wiping my mouth with my wrist and flashing him a smug grin.

He stares down at me like he might drop to his knees and propose on the fucking bathroom tiles.

Instead, he hauls me to my feet and crashes his mouth against mine.

He lifts me easily and sets me on the edge of the sink, then turns on the shower, until steam curls around us.

He helps me remove my mostly destroyed dress. When I’m down to the glint of the jeweled chains still hanging in the hollows of my body, he plays with them at my hips.

“If I can touch you and you can feed from me, maybe...”

Then he rips the chains from my body, breaking them away. Jewels hit the tile floor with a rain-like tinkle.

I shiver from more than the chill.

Suddenly I feel free. The freedom I came here to chase. It’s here, it’s mine, and it’s almost too big to keep in my body.

We step under the spray together.

The water scalds at first, plastering my hair to my scalp, tracing rivulets over my curves. Talon soaps his hands and starts at my shoulders, working slow, firm circles down my spine, trying to learn my body with touch alone.

He reaches around to cup my breasts, running his palms over them, then drops to his knees as if praying, licking the water from my navel before scrubbing gently down my thighs.

His worship is frantic and hungry, yes, but threaded with a kind of awe. He’s not just cleaning me.

He’s claiming me.

I return the favor. Soap slicks his chest, his arms, the muscles of his abdomen. We’re careful to keep his bandage out of the water. I run my tongue over his lower abs just to taste the salt of his skin. He hisses and jerks, already half-hard again.

We don’t last long.

He fucks me against the tile, hot water pounding down as my palms slap the wall and my legs shake from the sheer intensity.

Later, we stumble to the bedroom, wrapped in half a towel and even less restraint.

He enters me again before we’re even fully dry, pushing me into the mattress with slow, deliberate thrusts. I'm sore, but I wouldn’t stop even if a vampire burst into the apartment.

I ride him backward, water still dripping from my hair onto his chest. He grips my waist, biting at my shoulder and groaning filth into my ear—how tight I am, how I was made for him, how no one will ever touch me this way except for him.

Thank fucking fae lords, because I don’t want anyone else. Never ever again.

At one point, he lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, going deeper than I thought possible, dragging another orgasm out of me. He says he’s collecting them.

He eats lobster rolls and greasy fries from the Salty Bastard, while I eat takeout Chinese (I don’t have a stomach made of steel) naked on the couch. He feeds me with his fingers. I lick them clean. He watches every movement as though he’s seeing me for the first time.

We nap in each other’s arms then I wake to his tongue between my thighs again—his version of breakfast. I come against his mouth with a cry that leaves me breathless and boneless.

We laugh. We fuck. We make love. We touch .

It's the perfect day. The kind I want to last forever.