Page 36 of A Wolf of War
“It could be so good, you know,” he purred, rubbing a thumb against the heated skin of her thigh.
“What are you doing?” she whimpered, pulling desperately against her restraints.
“Giving you a taste of what’s to come.”
***
Willow jolted awake,sheets twisted around her body, damp with sweat and something more shameful. Her hair clung to her neck and shoulders in sticky strands, skin hot to the touch. Between her thighs, there was a throbbing ache that made her stomach flutter.
No. No fucking way.
Had she just had a wet dream?
Disgusted—mostly with herself—she flung the covers off and staggered to the bathroom. She turned the water to ice-cold and stepped straight into the stream. The shock of it slammed into her chest, forcing a gasp from her lips as her whole body clenched.
She deserved it.
It was absurd. Pathetic, even. That she was having filthy, depraved dreams about the man who had stolen her away. Her captor…
With those hands. That mouth. That voice.
Delicious. Decadent.Dirty.
She groaned, low in her throat, as the water heated and steam curled around her trembling body. Willow’s hand moved almost without thought, fingers slipping between tense thighs to find that aching bundle of nerves. One slow circle, then another. A sigh escaped her lips.
But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
She needed more. Harder. Deeper. She needed the kind of touch only he had given her—the kind that destroyed her common sense, the kind she hated herself for craving.
Willow scrubbed her skin raw, like she could slough away the sins of the previous night. Like she could peel away the heat, the ache, the way his mouth had ruined her for anyone else. By the time she stepped out, her body was flushed red beneath the fluorescent light, steam billowing in towering pillars.
Still, the pulse between her thighs hadn’t quieted. It throbbed, steady and maddening.
She didn’t bother drying off. Dripping and flushed, she stalked straight to the bedside drawer, yanking it open with the kind of desperation that made her feel empty.
She groaned aloud. Of course. The man who abducted her, watched her, and obsessed over her hadn’t thought to grab her vibrator when he ransacked her room.
Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted the damn thing to be here. The thought of him touching it—handling it—made her skin prickle. That was hers, a secret part of herself. And yet…
Her breath hitched.
He’d already been there.
Willow flushed, trying to shake the memory loose, trying to reframe it as nothing more than a filthy dream conjured by captivity and stress. But her body told another story, one written in slick heat and trembling thighs.
It wasn’t real, she told herself. Just a nightmare.
But the worst part?
She knew—deep inside her bones, deep where denial couldn’t reach—that it hadn’t been a nightmare at all.
18
MILO
He woke to birdsong.
Not the frantic kind that accompanied early dawn, but something softer and slower. Like the world itself had taken a breath and exhaled just for him. Milo’s eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep, and a rare, lazy smile tugged at his lips.
