Page 35 of A Wolf of War
She broke.
“Oh, God. Fuck, fine,” she whimpered, voice thick and needy. “Milo, please. Just fucking do it.”
She watched the predation in his eyes shift, softening into something far more dangerous. Desire gaveway to hunger, to desperation, like a condemned woman about to savor her final meal before meeting the finality of a blade. For a split second, Willow almost regretted the words she’d whispered—until his tongue dragged up her slick seam, and her head snapped back, mouth falling open in a soundless cry.
With gentle fingers, he spread her open, and she felt his tongue flicking along her entrance. A low groan escaped his mouth, and she felt a shudder make its way down her back. He wasmoaning into her pussy.
Milo slid his hands along her thighs with commanding precision, holding her in place like he was claiming territory. Willow’s breathing hitched, her body taut with the tension of fear and want colliding inside her.
His gaze flicked to hers—unyielding, waiting.
“Willow,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “you have to tell me that you want this.”
Her pride clawed its way to the surface, threatening to choke off the words rising in her throat. But so did the frustration, her desperate, throbbing body pushed too close to the edge. She twisted against his grip, but he didn’t budge. Not even a little. The restraint in his hold was infuriating.And thrilling.
“Beg me for it,” he growled. “This time, I want you to mean it.”
Willow’s lip trembled. Not from fear, but from the suffocating vulnerability of knowing he had her. He knew it. She knew it. She could lie to herself, but her silence was already starting to scream.
When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, ragged, almost broken.
“Don’t you dare leave me like this.”
His lips quirked at the corner, and she hated how much it turned her on. “That’s not begging.”
She snapped. “You’re such an ass.”
His hand slid up her stomach, anchoring her with his weight. “Say it, and I’ll give you everything you want and more.”
She hesitated for one more moment, then whispered the words like a curse slipping past her clenched teeth:
“Please, Milo. I want it. I want you to eat my pussy. I need it.”
The atmosphere cracked like lightning, splitting open a quiet sky. He leaned in, slowly, a predator savoring the moment before the kill, and whisperedagainst her skin:
“Good girl.”
And then he leaned back in and claimed her.
Milo’s mouth moved over her as though he were tasting something sacred. Every pass of his tongue was calculated, slow, like he was committing the shape of her to memory. Willow’s body bowed off the bed, her hands jerking against the restraints as his lips closed around her aching center.
He sucked—hard. Deliberate. Dominant.
She screamed.
A string of broken moans spilled from her lips, each one more ragged than the last. His fingers curled inside her with military precision, stroking that one devastating spot over and over until she was writhing beneath him, her breath hitching, her voice gone hoarse.
“Milo, I can’t,” she gasped. Then again, louder. “Milo, it’s too much.”
He didn’t stop.
She didn’t want him to.
Her body chased the edge, trembling, unraveling—all under the command of his expert hands and mouth.
But then, he stopped.
Milopulled away from her, face shining with her wetness, and stared intensely into her eyes. Willow gaped back at him, fully flushed and wild-eyed.
