Page 37 of Feeding Beauty (The Lost Girls #5)

Force Feeding a Hangry Succubus

TALON

T he fae leather gloves creak as I drag Aurora by the arm, her shoulder tucked tight against mine. She jerks, but I don’t loosen it.

Aurora’s power has been tainted, and it’s turned on her. She won’t admit it, but I can see it plain as day. The energy around her is tinged with black as if she’s been poisoned by whatever happened in the bar.

It could very well be that Mal was there, but I don’t give a flying fuck about the details right now because the only thing that matters is getting Aurora to feed. Or she’ll die.

She may hate me for this, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay.

We round the corner toward the club again, the street wet with earlier rain. Aurora suddenly bolts—twisting hard, teeth bared, eyes flashing.

I catch the leash mid-whip, the chain clinking taut between us. My boots slide on the slick cobblestone as she spins back, clawing at the clasp at her throat like she can rip it off with sheer will. Her fingers scrabble, nails scraping skin, frustration carved across her face.

“Let me go,” she mutters under her breath, lips trembling as the lock refuses to budge.

I grip her arm.

“Aura, stop it,” I snap. “You’re acting like a child.”

Her eyes flare, and she tries to pull away, but I tighten my hold.

“I am not. You’re the one who put gloves on just to drag me along,” she hisses. “You’re treating me like some kind of prisoner. Let me go.”

“You think I want this?” I ask. “You think I’m enjoying dragging the woman I love through the streets like this to force her to sleep with someone else?”

“Then let me go,” she bites out, still fighting my grip. “I’m not going to feed anyway.”

I turn on her. “I’m not letting you go, and yes the hell you will.”

“No, I won't,” she shoots back.

A strangled groan of frustration escapes my throat even as I try to suppress it. “You are being such a brat. If you keep this up, I will bend you over and spank you like you deserve. Might knock some damn sense into you.”

Her mouth drops open, eyes sparking outrage. “How can you say that to me?”

“Because someone needs to.” I step into her space, watching the flare of anger war with the sting I know I just landed.

“You think being stubborn makes you strong? It doesn’t.

It makes you reckless. You latch onto these ideas— I won’t feed, I won’t go home —and even when it’s killing you, you dig in your heels to protect your pride. ”

Her breath catches, but she squares her jaw like she’s holding herself together with sheer spite.

“You’d rather die choking on your pride than change course and go home.”

Her hand flies fast. The slap lands sharp across my face.

For a second, all I feel is the heat of it. Then the ache catches up.

She stares at me, wide-eyed, her fingers pressed to her mouth like she can’t believe she did it.

I roll my jaw slowly, testing the sting. Can’t lie—part of me likes the contact.

“Did you burn yourself?” I ask, low. “Did I hurt you?”

Her shock morphs into exasperation again.

“Are you serious? I slap you, and you are worried about hurting me?” She scrubs her hands over her face, and I surmise her palm is fine.

“Of course you’re serious. That’s all you know how to be.

Protect me. Protect, protect, protect. You’ve made it your whole damn personality. ”

“Aura—” I start, but she barrels over me.

“How about after you’ve been continually forced to fuck and kill people for the majority of your life, then you come back to me and give notes on how I’m handling this.”

My teeth grind. The truth is ugly, but it’s ours and I can’t deny it.

“You think I’m stubborn?” She glares. “You think I’m the one who won’t change?

At least I’m trying to figure out who I am.

What I want. What living looks like. What about you?

Have you even tried to live here? Or have you just been following me around like a shadow, waiting for things to go to shit so you can take me back to the castle where you can control ‘the situation?’” She throws air quotes around the situation .

A way to illuminate how we avoid talking about the ugly heart of what it is she does and what I force her to do.

“If you're not safe, nothing matters,” I grit.

“And you think that’s enough? You think that’s living?” She shakes her head, disgust flashing through her exhaustion. “You’re so careful, so controlled. You’ve never even asked what you’re supposed to do when you’re not protecting me. You don’t even know how to want anything beyond that.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I raise my voice to be heard.

“You think I haven’t noticed I don’t have a life beyond you?

It’s my job. Your parents hunted me down because I’m the only one who can help you.

I bound my fealty to your safety. Maybe if you could go two damn minutes without needing me to swoop in and save the day, I would have some time to figure out what the hell else I should do. ”

Her breath catches, and I see it, that look. The one that says I’ve been too sharp, too harsh.

“That’s it?” Her arms fold tight across her chest, like she’s holding herself together by force alone. “I'm just a job to you?”

I rake my hands through my hair. “Aura, you know that’s not what I mean.” She’s twisting my words around me so quickly, I’m chasing my own wings.

“Well, congratulations,” she says, lifting her chin. “Consider yourself dismissed. Go on a vacation, learn how to knit, find something else to do, Talon, because I’m. Not. Feeding.”

The logic part of her brain has completely switched off.

She’s drowning in grief, in anger, in hunger, and whatever black energy I continually watch stab and sink into her, turning her weaker and paler with every moment that passes. I shake my head. “You have to.”

She shoves me with both hands on my coat. I fall back a step, but it’s not the strength that matters—it’s the rage. “You can force me through the doors. Hell, you can fucking tie me to the bed. But I won’t feed. Not from anyone else. Not ever again.”

“I’m heartbroken too.” That gets her attention. “You think this doesn’t wreck me too?” I drop my voice to a low timbre.

Her head jerks back toward me.

“You think it doesn’t kill me to walk you into that club and serve you up like a dish to everyone there? To pretend it’s fine? To pretend some stranger touching you doesn’t slice through my fucking insides?”

Her mouth parts, eyes wide. She hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t either.

Of all the things I’ve let spill out, I’ve never, not once let jealousy get the best of me. But it’s always been there. Always simmering, bubbling beneath the surface, turning my stomach.

I never wanted to pile that on top of her burdens.

I grab her by the shoulders. “I love you, Aura. I love you so much, I’ll drag you into that place with these gloves on and let someone else fill you up because I’d rather die of heartbreak and jealousy than watch you waste away.

” The words crack out of the deepest part of me, and for a moment, I feel I’ll split in two.

Her face crumples. Not into tears, not into softness, but into something worse.

She looks at me like I’ve ripped her open without lifting a finger.

We stand in silence, our breaths steaming between us in the cold. The leash hangs slack.

When I finally start walking again, pulling her along by the arm, she doesn’t fight me as I lead us to the club.

With another quick drop of blood on the enchanted rune, we are inside.

For the second time, I lead Aurora past the main area to the back where I’ve already reserved a private room.

Once she’s inside, I stand at the door looking out for interested parties as much as I’m keeping her inside.

“I’m not doing it,” she says behind me, her voice stiff with defiance.

I don’t answer.

Instead, I keep my focus trained on the crowd outside the private room—scanning for someone with steady energy, someone who won’t scare her or overstimulate her.

Someone I can stomach watching touch her. The list is fucking short.

“This is useless,” she mutters.

I turn just in time to block the exit with my body.

She nearly crashes into my chest but pulls back at the last moment. “Move,” she orders without meeting my gaze.

The dark, sickly energy seems to have doubled around her from the last time I looked.

“No.”

She tries to push past me, clearly not caring anymore if I burn her. I catch her arm in a gloved hand, gently but firmly. Snow was right. Why the hell didn’t I get these things earlier?

Aurora's breath hitches, caught somewhere between fury and exhaustion. “You’re torturing me.”

She might as well have shoved a knife into my chest and twisted. “I’m saving you.” I say the words through the guilt and pain.

Then her eyes flick over my shoulder, and I feel the shift before she says a word. Her posture stiffens. Her head tilts, lips curling into a challenge I’ve seen before and never liked.

“Him,” she says.

“What?” I follow her gaze.

The broad-shouldered man with nice hands from last time, is lounging across a velvet couch, a glass balanced loosely in one large calloused hand.

“No,” I snap. “No repeats.”

“Then I don’t feed,” she says smoothly.

“Aura—”

She folds her arms. “Your rules, your choice. Him or no one.”

We stare each other down. She’s daring me to say no. Daring me to push her further. And fuck me, I want to. But I also know what will happen if she goes much longer without feeding.

Her cheeks have become even more sunken than they were outside.

I grind out a breath through my teeth. “Fine.”

I step outside, just enough to catch the man's eye and tilt my chin in invitation.

He rises. Smooth. Casual. Controlled. He approaches with measured ease. He’s shirtless like last time…that same deep brown skin gleaming under the low lighting. Muscles tight, cut, unapologetic. There’s plenty for her to grab onto.

Suddenly, I hate him on principle.

“Hello again,” he says smoothly.

I merely jerk my head in a nod. “Not looking for a big party this time. Just an intimate experience.”

I’m not sure what Aurora needs, but I’m not willing to have more energy in here than I can handle.

His lips curve up, making him look impish and sexual at the same time. “I’m amenable to that.”

I step aside and let him in. Aura has already disrobed and lies back on the bed, naked. This time there are no chains to remind her that not only she is a princess, but that she is to restrain herself.

My stomach churns. This is how I had her. Fully naked, unencumbered. I don’t want anyone else to have this.

The collar is still on though, and it will have to be enough to remind her who’s in charge.

Her smile is cruel, her lips pursed in defiance.

Nothing good can come from what’s going on in her head right now.

Her playmate walks in, an easy grin spreading along his face.

“Hello there again, darlin’. You wore me out good last time, and I’d like to test my stamina again if that’s alright with you.

” I didn’t notice the slight Southern twang last time.

But now I seem to notice every little detail about him.

Not for tactical reasons, but because I know watching this is going to hurt.

Aurora smiles and nods from her seductive pose, though there is an imperious air about her now that wasn’t there two minutes ago. “I’d like that,” she purrs. Her eyes flick to me, and I instantly know what I’m in for. My stomach clenches in anticipation, but we have to stay the course.

She gets up on her knees at the edge of the bed. “What’s your name?”

“Sawyer. What’s yours, gorgeous?” He reaches out and takes her hand.

“Aurora,” she announces.

I suppress a groan, as he kisses the back of her hand in official greeting. She should have at least given him a fake name. Now I’m not sure if I want him to survive, knowing what he knows. This is quickly turning into a terrible idea.

Aurora slides her hands over his chest, fingertips tracing every ridge of his abdomen like she’s learning a new language. She moans—loud, exaggerated, and utterly false. She turns her head slightly to make sure I’m watching.

I don’t blink.

When she drags her tongue across his nipple, I feel it in my stomach. Cold. Sharp. A blade grating slowly under my ribs.

Sawyer groans, clearly enjoying the attention. And why wouldn’t he? Aurora’s not just touching him, she’s adoring him. The way she palms his cock when he drops his pants, the way she stares up at him under heavy lashes. She’s playing her part too well.

She drops to her knees.

And then she starts to suck him off.

Not just a blowjob. A performance. Deep throat. Slow pulls. Her tongue flat, her cheeks hollowed just right. Her fingers curl around the base as she bobs, soft moans slipping past her lips as if this is everything she’s ever wanted. As if he is everything.

She doesn’t break eye contact with me.

Not once.

I grip the leash until my fingers ache through the gloves.

Sawyer threads his fingers into her hair. She hums. Pushes deeper. Her throat flexes around him, and she makes a show of choking just a little—then swallowing him down again like it’s a challenge she’s thrilled to win.

She lets go with a pop, lips slick and pink, and plants a kiss on the tip.

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.