The Villains Must Win
Chapter 188: (18+) Lyander Wolfhart 38

Chapter 188: (18+) Lyander Wolfhart 38

[WARNING! Mature Content ahead!]

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Lyander’s wolf didn’t disappoint.

His tongue moved with an exquisite rhythm, slow and deliberate, tracing over Liora’s most sensitive places with reverence and intent.

Liora gasped, hips jolting at the sudden jolt of pleasure that rolled through her. Every pass of his tongue sent shivers through her spine, building heat in waves, cresting and crashing in her core.

His claws extended, but only just — a gentle reminder of his primal nature. He applied subtle pressure against her thighs, firm enough to hold her steady, but never enough to break skin.

There was a strange comfort in his strength — raw, restrained, and entirely focused on her.

A shock of sensation rippled through her hips and stole the breath from her lungs. Her eyes snapped open, a sharp cry escaping her lips.

"Oh—" she gasped, stunned by how overwhelmingly good it felt. She had never experienced anything like this — not just the physical pleasure, but the depth of it, the emotion tangled in every motion.

She panted, riding out wave after wave of delicious aftershocks. And when her breath finally returned to her, Lyander eased back and curled around her side, his massive form protective, grounding. She turned toward him, burying herself into the warmth of his fur, heart still thundering.

For a long, still moment, they simply breathed together.

Then she looked up — and his eyes met hers. They still glowed faintly, filled with arousal and something else: restraint. Devotion. Desire. Her belly tightened with anticipation, heat sparking all over again.

There was no turning back. They had gone too far for hesitation.

Her fingers began their slow descent down his side, stroking along the line of his muscled torso until she reached his cock. He tensed slightly beneath her touch — not from resistance, but from anticipation.

Encouraged, she explored him further. Her fingers trailed along his prepuce, tracing along the edge of his sheath, feeling the heat and weight of his balls. Her breath caught. Shit. He was big.

She curled her fingers around his cock tightly, massaging. He gave a low, rumbling growl — one that vibrated against her skin — as her fingers gently stroked and explored his cock. His prepuce retracted and his erection emerged.

She could feel his control wavering, his instincts stirring stronger now, spurred by her touch.

But then, without warning, he shifted.

One moment, he was beside her — the next, he was above her, powerful limbs moving with practiced ease.

A large paw pressed against her hip, gently but insistently guiding her forward until she lay on her belly. Then the command came — not in words, but in thought, low and commanding.

"Hands and knees. Now."

The power in that thought made her tremble. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, lifting herself into position. Her hands pressed to the earth, her back arched instinctively, her breathing quick and shallow.

Her heart pounded. Not just from desire, but from uncertainty.

She remembered Lyander’s warning — that she might not be ready. That if he ever pushed too far, she needed to stop him.

But she hadn’t stopped him.

Instead, she had pulled him closer, offered herself up willingly, stirred his hunger with her hands, her voice, her every gasp and plea.

Now, as he loomed behind her, she bit her lip, mind racing. What exactly did "not ready" mean? Would it hurt? Would she regret this?

And yet . . . she trusted him.

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself, pushing past the nerves that clawed at the edge of her anticipation. She knew Lyander’s wolf could be wild — but he was still Lyander. And his every move, every touch, had been full of care, even in his most primal moments.

If she truly wanted Lyander, she had to accept all of him — man and wolf, instinct and soul. This was part of who he was, and she could handle it. She would handle it.

After all, she’d played more than enough mature-rated werewolf romance games to know how this usually went.

He might be in his wolf form now, but he was still Lyander.

And Lyander would never hurt her.

At least . . . she hoped not.

Lyander’s wolf positioned himself behind her once more, his movements slow. His tongue returned to her pussy with focused intent, delving deep, curling and pressing. This time, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was preparation.

Liora gasped at the difference. Each movement of his tongue wasn’t just to tease her—it was to open her, stretch her, ready her. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming. Her body trembled beneath him, not just from what he was doing, but from the knowledge of what was coming next.

She had seen his size. Felt it, even. Her human body seemed impossibly small in comparison. But she trusted him—his strength, his restraint, and most of all, the bond between them. Still, nerves coiled in her stomach like a tightened spring.

Minutes passed, his ministrations never faltering. When he finally withdrew, her breath hitched.

With a low growl, he lifted onto his haunches, his massive frame curling over her. One powerful forepaw slid beneath her hips, lifting her until her rear was high and open.

She felt him move forward, positioning himself carefully beneath her, the heat of his arousal pressing against her skin.

Liora gasped as her body responded, hips instinctively spreading, her core pulsing with need and trepidation. Her breath came fast, heart racing, caught in the thrilling balance between fear and desire.

He didn’t move. He only held her like that, close, surrounded. She could feel the heat of his cock pressed between her butt cheeks, the tremble in his muscles as he restrained himself.

A low rumble started deep in his chest. It vibrated through her back, oddly soothing, as if something unseen passed between them—a quiet promise. It filled her with calm, chasing away the fear.

There was more to this than the physical. There was a bond growing, a spiritual thread that wrapped around them, binding them together.

And in that moment, her body softened.

She was ready.

A powerful thought echoed in her mind, fierce and primal, as if it burned straight from his soul: Mine.

"Yours," she whispered back, her voice shaking but full of certainty.

He moved, just slightly—guiding himself with care, running the length of his heat along her sex. The friction made her whimper softly, pleasure blooming once again. Then, he aligned with her entrance, pausing at the edge, pressure building.

She held her breath.

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