33. Willow
WILLOW
W illow surfaced slowly from sleep, the warmth of the kittens curled against her legs anchoring her in the cocoon of blankets. She stretched, blinking against the sleep still thick in her eyes—then froze.
Milo was there.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, eyes fixed on her. Watching. Eyes glowing.
Her breath caught. She pushed herself up on her elbows, the sheet sliding down her chest. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Definitely not long enough to be weird.”
Willow almost laughed. Her heart thudded. She searched his face, trying to read the expression there, but it was too much all at once—concern, exhaustion, that unreadable intensity that always seemed to sharpen when his gaze was on her.
And then, there was the state of his eyes.
“Do your eyes just do that, or are you doing it on purpose?” she asked, brows scrunched.
He raised an eyebrow. “I can make them not do it, but it’s a subconscious reaction.” His hand flexed against his thigh, restless. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She sat up fully, tugging the blanket into her lap. “So you just decided to watch me sleep instead?”
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile. “I like seeing you peaceful. You fight me too hard when you’re awake.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. She dropped her eyes to the kittens, who were blinking sleepily up at her as though they, too, were curious about the tension between their humans.
“You make that sound like I’m a constant battle.”
“You are.” His tone softened, but it still held weight. “And I wouldn’t trade it. But seeing you like this…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It makes me think there’s a chance.”
Willow’s throat went dry. She wanted to argue, to remind him that she hadn’t chosen this, that she was still here against her will. But the words tangled with what she felt in the pit of her stomach every time his voice dipped like that.
So instead, she asked, “Did the mission go well?”
His jaw worked. “Not as well as I wanted.” Then his eyes found hers again, steady, unflinching. “But I came home. To you. In my bed.”
Her chest tightened, breath catching. She had come in here to get the kittens, and fallen asleep while playing with them. She hadn’t done it purposefully. Probably.
Her thoughts were running circles until she almost felt dizzy. He was her captor. He was supposed to be the enemy. The reason her entire world had been torn apart.
And yet, he had come home to her. He had sat there, silent and steady, just to watch her at peace for a little while.
Willow swallowed hard, fingers clutching the blanket in her lap as she sat up, fighting herself.
She should push him away, keep that wall between them, remind herself that none of this was safe.
But when she looked at him—at the exhaustion in his eyes, at the way he seemed to be holding himself together just by sheer willpower—her resistance fractured.
Before she could second-guess it, she leaned forward.
Her lips brushed his. Soft, tentative. A question.
Milo went still for a heartbeat, and then he answered, his mouth pressing back with quiet certainty. The kiss deepened slowly, like he was afraid she’d spook if he moved too fast. But she didn’t pull away. She leaned into it, heat blooming low in her belly.
When one of the kittens gave a disgruntled little mewl, they broke off just long enough for Milo to scoop the pair of them gently from the bed and set them on the floor.
And then his mouth was on hers again, no hesitation this time.
The kiss was hungrier now, her hands fisting in his shirt as he pulled her closer, closer, until she felt like she was being melded into him.
Willow gasped into his mouth, her heart hammering as his hand slid along her jaw, tilting her head to take more of him.
She knew she should stop. She knew this was spiraling quickly.
But the truth was, she didn’t want to stop.
Not when every nerve in her body was alight, not when the bond between them glowed so brilliantly, it felt like her body had become luminous under his hands.
Milo’s mouth claimed hers again after a short break to breathe—deeper this time, his hand anchoring her jaw as though he could keep her from slipping away.
She yielded, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer again until their chests brushed, until the air between them was filled with their heat.
He shifted, the mattress dipping as he braced a hand beside her head. With careful, deliberate movement, he guided her back against the pillows. The world seemed to narrow to the heat of his body pressing over hers, his weight caging her in without crushing.
Willow’s pulse stuttered. She should have felt trapped. Pinned. And she did…
But she liked it. Every inch of her ached with a longing she didn’t know how to fight.
Milo hovered just above her, their lips still brushing, their breath mingling. His eyes searched hers—dark, burning , yet holding that thread of restraint, as though he was daring her to tell him no.
She didn’t.
Instead, she arched up so she could grind into him, closing the distance, her mouth finding his again with a hunger that startled even her.
He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through her as his hand slid from her jaw to cradle the side of her throat, his thumb stroking once across her skin.
Slow. Controlled. Every movement a battle between what they both wanted and the fragile line they teetered on. Her pussy was pounding with desire at his nearness. She didn’t care anymore. She needed him.
Willow’s hands roamed higher, slipping over his shoulders, feeling the strength coiled beneath the fabric of his shirt. She clung to him, anchoring herself as if letting go would undo her completely .
He broke the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath unsteady. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Willow.”
Her chest rose and fell against his, her lips swollen from his kisses, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Milo, please. Don’t stop.”
His weight hovered over her, lips coaxing hers open, drawing out every soft sound she was willing to give him.
His hand slid down, skimming the side of her body, pausing at her hip, asking for permission.
Willow’s breath hitched, and instead of pulling back, she lifted her arms, fingers tangling in his hair, wordlessly giving him her answer.
He moved slowly, deliberately, as if each motion was sacred. His mouth broke from hers, trailing down. Heat followed everywhere he touched, each kiss branding her until she felt fevered.
The air was cool against her bare skin with his hot breath wafting across it, her chest rising and falling too fast. Milo’s gaze darkened, reverent as it swept over her, but he didn’t rush.
He leaned down, flicking his tongue against the pebbled peak of her breast, pleasure spreading warm and solid across her chest, anchoring her against the maelstrom inside.
Willow arched into him, a small, desperate sound catching in her throat.
His mouth continued its assault, and she shivered at the tenderness in his licking, sucking, nibbling.
There was no cruelty here, no dominance wielded like a weapon.
Just him, stripped down to the bone, showing her what it meant to be claimed without force.
Her hands clung to him, nails dragging over his back, urging him closer. The bond was undeniable now, pulling her under, telling her this was where she belonged.
With him.
Under him.
Always.
When his hand finally slid lower, settling over the heat between her tensing thighs, she gasped, anticipation knitting tight in her belly. He kissed her again, slow and consuming, as though he could steady her with his mouth alone.
And Willow let herself fall into it, into him—into the dangerous, undeniable truth that she wanted him, too.
He broke from her mouth only to trail kisses lower, down her throat, over the hollow of her collarbone, each one setting her nerves alight. By the time he pulled the last of her clothes away, Willow was trembling beneath him, her body bare and flushed, her breath coming too fast.
For a moment, he just looked at her. His expression was dark, awestruck, like she was something of impossible value he wasn’t sure he deserved. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, the words rasping low as his mouth descended again.
She gasped as he trailed kisses along her belly, pressing them to her thighs, settling between her legs with a hunger in his eyes that terrified as much as it thrilled. Hot air ghosted across her wet slit, his hands steady on her hips.
“Tell me you want this.”
His words struck her. Hard. Fast. She realized she was panting; short, quick bursts of breath that made her head spin. Willow swallowed, letting her head fall back, her words coming loose like a prayer.
“Milo, please, I need you .”
Willow’s fingers tangled in his hair, her back arching, every nerve in her body straining toward him. The bond cut through her like a current—every touch amplified, every brush of his mouth sparking low and deep.
His hand slid lower, between her thighs, spreading heat and pressure where she already ached for him. Willow moaned softly, thighs clenching tighter, her whole body alive with sensation. She could hardly think—only feel, only want.
“Milo…” Her voice broke on his name, half-plea, half-surrender.
When he finally slipped two fingers inside of her, curling them slowly. He dragged in and out, and Willow nearly lost her mind. Her moan was louder now, full of something akin to pain.
He lifted his head to watch her face, bringing his closer to hers, his fingers still working her with a slow, steady rhythm that unraveled her. “That’s it,” he growled against her neck. “Tell me how badly you need to be fucked, Willow. I want to hear it from that beautiful mouth.”
She melted under him, giving herself over entirely—to his hands, to his mouth, to his heat pressing her down into the bed until she was certain she would break apart in his arms.
“You feel so—oh!—fucking good ,” Willow groaned, her hips rocking in perfect rhythm with his hand. The room lay cloaked in shadows, but the fire building inside her blazed brighter than any sun, flooding her senses and driving her closer—ever closer—to the edge .
Milo pressed a kiss to her cheek, whispering, “I’m going to make you come until you pass out.”
It sounded like a vow, but it landed like a warning. The sheer power he held over her body, over her, was staggering. With nothing more than his hands, he could open her completely.
The thought of his mouth tracing that same devastation made her tremble.
She knew already, of course. Their dreams had given her glimpses, muted shades of this hunger. But this? This was something else entirely. This was reality stripped raw. What he did to her now bent reason, mocked the very idea of control, and thrived in the exquisite chaos of her undoing.
Her head fell back.
She came undone .