Page 38 of A Wolf of War
“Planning to help me get some more beauty restbefore breakfast, sweetheart?” he murmured, amusement and hunger braided thick in his tone. “That’s one way to keep a man interested.”
For a breathless moment, time stilled.
They hovered there, suspended in dangerous electricity, her chest rising and falling against his. Willow’s breath came in shallow pulls, her thighs clenching as desire seemed to war with obstinacy. Her eyes were barely open, dark lashes fluttering, and a flush crawled its way up the column of her exposed neck like a secret she couldn’t hide.
Metal clattered to the floor.
The pan slipped from her fingers.
He released her wrist, only to slide his hand up the back of her neck. His fingers wove into the hair at her nape, grounding her, guiding her.
When their lips met, it was a ghost of a kiss—soft, searching, careful.
But that caution couldn’t survive the spark between them roaring into something all-consuming. The moment she melted into him, Milo devoured her. The kiss turned hungry, greedy, punishing. He deepened it, his tongue brushing past her lips to dance with hers in a slow, claiming rhythm. A quiet growl of satisfaction rumbled inhis chest—she was still fighting for control, even now. It made him want her more.
The hand that cradled her neck stayed gentle, but his other one slid down, resting at the curve of her thigh. Willow’s breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping as she shifted closer, her body pressing into his like she couldn’t help it.
He knew what she was asking for without words. Still, he wasn’t one to give in so easily.
But she was being good. For once.
His palm slid gently over her heat, holding her there, and he murmured against her lips, voice husky and low, “This what you’re after?”
Willow’s reply was breathless, her voice trembling with need. “Yes…”
He smiled again, dark and knowing, and he kissed her again.
“Too fucking bad.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed and breathless, stunned by the sudden loss of contact. As Milo withdrew his hand, her jaw tightened, disbelief curdling into fury. Her expression twisted into ferocity—eyes blazing, lips curled, a snarl spreading on a face far too delicate for suchanger.
The fire in her eyes only sharpened his hunger. It thrilled him, the idea of dragging her to the floor, of earning her surrender the only way his wolf understood—through dominance, through possession, through force she’d come to crave. He could already picture it.
But it wasn’t time. Not yet.
“I hate you.”
Milo’s grin was all teeth. He couldn’t hold back a laugh as she spun on her heel and stormed toward the dining room, the scent of her dripping pussy trailing in her wake like perfume. But she didn’t leave. Despite her rage, the promise of her favorite foods had been enough to keep her close.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else that made her stay.
Milo turned back to the stove, laser-focused, resuming his quiet mission of feeding his mate. Not just because she needed strength, but because he wanted her whole—body, mind, and spirit. Today would require all three.
The last pancake landed on the top of a stack when he heard the sharp clip of her footsteps. She stomped to the fridge like a woman on a warpath,grabbing a bounty—maple syrup, butter, whipped cream—and stormed back to the dining room.
Even when she was spoiling for a fight, she still took initiative. Still made herself useful.
She was infuriated, no doubt.
But she was also, at heart, endlessly good in a way that he was endlessly not.
19
WILLOW
He had to be joking.
One minute, he was touching her with abandon—palming her heat, dragging her toward the brink.
