38. Milo
MILO
M ilo could hardly believe his eyes. This gorgeous, complicated, maddeningly perfect woman was his. After all the time he’d spent watching from a distance, calculating his every move, biding his time with the patience of a hunter waiting for the right moment, Willow was finally here.
In his arms. In his life.
His .
Steam wafted around them in hazy ribbons, water streaming down their bodies as their mouths moved together in a kiss that felt like home.
Milo held her face gently in his palms, thumbs brushing across her wet cheeks as though she might break if he pressed too firmly.
He wanted her with a ferocity that made his chest ache, but he didn’t let it rule him.
Not now. Not when she was in such a raw, delicate state.
She leaned into him, her body softening as if she belonged there, and he fought the urge to deepen the kiss, to take everything he craved.
His wolf snarled at the restraint, but Milo forced himself to stay grounded, to hold back.
She needed tenderness, not hunger. She needed the man right now, not the beast.
Still, his heart thundered with disbelief. Willow. His Willow. After everything—the endless hours of waiting, the dark plans, the blood and violence that had paved the road to this moment—she was kissing him like he was worth trusting.
Milo let out a slow breath, resting his forehead against hers between kisses, steadying himself against the weight of it all.
He didn’t deserve her, not really. But he would spend every last breath proving that she was safe in his arms, that he could be more than the monster he had been trained to be.
And as her lips brushed his again, featherlight and sweet, he thought he might die from the sheer wonder of it.
The steam wrapped tighter around them, clinging to their skin, making every bead of water shimmer like little stars under the bathroom light.
Milo braced a hand against the tile, trying to steady himself, because Willow was shifting in front of him, lowering slowly, deliberately, until her knees met the slick shower floor.
For a heartbeat, he thought he’d imagined it. His chest tightened, his breath caught. But then she looked up at him with those wide, doe-like eyes, lips parted just enough to undo him.
“Willow…” His voice was roughened by restraint, the single word catching in his throat. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” she whispered, water dripping from her hair, trailing down her cheeks like the diamonds he wanted to shower her in.
Her hands slid over his thighs, teasing, feather-light, nails grazing just enough to make his muscles twitch.
She was all shy determination and quiet bravery, and it nearly broke him entirely.
She didn’t know, couldn’t know, how close he was to grabbing that beautiful face and fucking her throat until she was choking around his cock.
The sight of her like that—on her knees, hair plastered to her shoulders, mouth hovering near his rock-hard length with such devastating intent—waged war on his control.
The wolf in him wanted to make his claim, to fist her hair and guide her exactly where he needed her.
But Milo forced his hands to remain at his sides, fists clenched, every instinct screaming as he gave her the space to lead.
She toyed with him first, fingertips gliding down the length, brushing against the head, testing the edges of his composure. Her smirk—soft but wicked—nearly made him lose his balance.
“ Willow …” He choked out her name like a plea, tilting his head back against the tile with a groan. He was undone already, and she had barely even started.
He dared a glance downward, meeting her gaze again. The look she gave him—half tender, half sinful—made his pulse erratic. She had no idea what she was doing to him. Or maybe she knew exactly.
Either way, he hoped she never stopped.
Milo did his best to stay still. This wasn’t about taking. This was about letting her—his mate—explore, taste, claim him in her own way. She needed the freedom to familiarize with him.
The first brush of her lips against his shaft made him groan, deep and raw, echoing in the small space.
His hand slid into her wet hair, not pulling, just anchoring himself against the storm she stirred in him.
She kissed her way up toward the head in maddening little patterns, and every nerve in his body lit up like fire.
“God, Willow…” he rasped, the sound of his own voice startling him. He hadn’t known he could sound so broken. His hips quivered with the effort of holding back.
She looked up at him then, eyes bright with mischief and devotion, and it nearly dropped him to his knees beside her.
Willow parted her lips and finally took his cock between them, her tongue warm and teasing as she worked him deeper down her throat.
She choked and gagged, eyes filling with tears, and the beast inside him roared.
Milo’s hand tightened in her wet hair, every muscle in his body trembling with restraint .
Water streamed over her shoulders, glinting in the light as she set her rhythm, slow at first, deliberate. He let out a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, the noise bouncing off the tile.
“Easy, sweetheart…” His words came rough, even though she clearly wasn’t listening.
She pushed herself further, daring to take more of his cock.
When she gagged softly, a wet, choked sound, he nearly lost his grip on his control.
The sight of her, water dripping down her cheeks, determination in her eyes, undid him more than anything.
She moaned around him, and the vibration shot straight through his body like lightning. Milo swore, head slamming gently back against the wall, vision blurring at the edges. The sound of her pleasure did something inexplicable to him.
And then, she did something that almost made him lose his grip.
Willow lifted her other hand, wrapping both of them around the thick swell at his base. Her fingers trembled slightly, but the squeeze was intentional, deliberate. The pressure made his vision spark white.
Milo’s head snapped back, shoulders crashing into the slick tile as he let out an unrestrained howl that tore from deep in his chest. The sound cracked midway, unraveling into a guttural groan that echoed hard against the walls, reverberating back at him like proof of his own undoing.
Every nerve lit up at once, his body jerking under her touch, hips twitching despite his desperate attempt to stay grounded.
The water pouring over him only heightened it, sluicing down his chest in hot rivulets as his pulse thundered in his ears.
He had never felt so close to breaking—so entirely at her mercy.
Willow’s eyes flicked up to him, wide and luminous, watching the way he came apart for her. The sight alone nearly undid him a second time, his chest heaving as he forced air into his lungs, clutching the back of her head as if she were the only thing tethering him to the ground.
“Fuck, Willow, I’m going to—I’m—” His hoarse voice faltered, cracking beneath the weight of everything she was pulling out of him. The warning tangled on his tongue, too broken to finish, because she was relentless, merciless in her devotion.
His body lurched forward, hand braced hard against the slick tile as his hips bucked helplessly.
He couldn’t hold it back, couldn’t bite down the guttural sounds spilling from his throat as she dragged him past the point of no return.
The effort to restrain himself was obliterated in a heartbeat, replaced by the firestorm of release tearing through his chest and down his spine.
His head fell back, jaw slack as he lost himself completely in the wet heat of her mouth.
A growl escaped him, half-snarl and half-moan.
He tried to look down, tried to focus on her, but his vision fractured at the edges, his world narrowed to the sight of her lips stretched around him, her throat working to take every bit of him she could manage.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t filled her in on one important aspect of werewolves and knots.
His pleasure came hot and fast, filling her mouth and then spilling out over her swollen lips. Willow pulled back in surprise as his cock continued to spray a seemingly endless supply of cum, covering her cheeks, nose, and chin in thick jets.
Milo was still trembling, chest heaving, every muscle twitching as he tried to keep himself upright.
His hand stayed braced hard against the shower wall, forehead pressed to his bicep while he dragged in ragged, uneven breaths.
The world around him was blurred at the edges, nothing but steam and the lingering aftershocks firing through his veins.
When he finally dared to look down, the sight rooted him to the spot.
Willow was still on her knees, motionless, eyes wide as if she wasn’t sure what to do next.
The evidence of his pleasure was smeared across her lips and chin, clinging in places she hadn’t had the chance to wipe away, startled and horrified.
Milo’s throat tightened as a laugh tried to claw its way out. He slapped a hand over his mouth to keep it in, shoulders shaking—not because it was funny in the traditional sense, but because the image was seared into him. Forever.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, still catching his breath, water running down his face as he tried not to so much as smile. “I should’ve warned you.”
Willow’s daze cracked, her eyes snapping up at him as she barked, “Warned me? What the fuck do you mean, warned me?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “About… the other thing knots do.”
Her glower intensified. “Which is?”
“It, uh… stores semen.”
For a moment, she just stared at him, lips parted, still covered in his cum, as if the words themselves refused to register. Then the full weight of it hit her, leaving her looking half shell-shocked, half betrayed.
“Milo,” she said slowly, her voice trembling with deadly seriousness. “I thought I was gonna die.”
That did it. His composure shattered. A laugh exploded out of him, raw and uncontrollable as he braced himself against the wall. He shook his head, water spraying from his hair, shoulders heaving with amusement. Not at her discomfort, never that, but at the absurdity of it all.
“It’s not funny,” Willow whined, starting to get up. Milo reached down and helped her, pulling her close. He ran a thumb through the sticky, white glob on her cheek.
“Oh, sweetheart, you made such a mess of yourself,” he murmured, mesmerized by this woman who had made such a mess of him, as well.