The Villains Must Win
Chapter 189: (18+) Lyander Wolfhart 39

Chapter 189: (18+) Lyander Wolfhart 39

[WARNING! MATURE Content ahead!]

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Liora froze.

Lyander’s wolf hadn’t even entered her yet—just pressed against her opening—but the stretch alone sent a jolt through her system. A sharp sting of pain whipped through her, stealing her breath.

She gasped, body stiffening, but his low rumble answered her instantly. The vibration from his chest intensified, reaching through her like a calming pulse, soothing the panic before it could fully bloom. Still, adrenaline surged in her veins.

"Shh . . . I’ll be gentle," his voice whispered through the bond—gruff, comforting, and full of restraint.

He rocked gently against her, never forcing, applying only the barest pressure each time. Though he hadn’t entered her, every push at her entrance left her gasping, the sting fading little by little with each pass. He was patient, coaxing her body to accept him.

Liora trembled. He would be inside her soon. Was that when the real pain would begin? He had warned her—told her her body wasn’t ready. But she hadn’t listened. She had made her choice, and now, there was no turning back.

She would give herself to him—completely. To Lyander, and to his wolf.

A small push—not even a full inch—broke through her entrance. The sharp sting made her cry out, her lungs laboring to keep pace with her racing heart. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Then something shifted above her.

Fur turned to skin.

"Lyander?!" she gasped.

His heavy, human body blanketed her back, still poised just at her opening. His breathing was ragged, hot against her neck, his muscles trembling with restraint.

How could he have shifted back in such a state? She tried to turn her head, but his voice stopped her cold.

"Don’t move," he growled, Alpha authority dripping from every word.

She froze.

Sweat beaded on his skin, falling onto her back as he fought with himself—desire clashing violently with his instinct to protect her. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, growling over and over, each sound a battle cry from within.

He was furious.

And it was all because of her.

Liora braced herself, her spine straightening with tension. But without warning, he pulled away.

The sudden absence of heat left her dizzy. Then—

Two of his fingers thrust deep inside her, hard. One hand gripped her hip, anchoring her.

"Ah!" Liora cried, the pleasure immediate and intense. Her back arched instinctively, lifting her hips higher, offering herself to him without thought.

"Is this what you wanted?" he snarled against her ear, voice rough and dangerous.

His fingers drove into her in a relentless rhythm, hitting something deep within her that shattered her thoughts. She couldn’t answer—only whimpers and breathless moans tumbled from her lips.

But silence wasn’t what he wanted.

A sharp slap landed on her rear, the sting blooming across her skin. Liora yelped, her inner walls clenching hard around his fingers.

He groaned, a sound that vibrated with anger and frustration. "I asked you a question. Answer me. Did you want this so badly you disobeyed me?"

She whimpered again, stunned by the edge in his voice. He spanked her again, and again, her body jerking with each strike, her core tightening involuntarily around him.

It was clear he expected an answer, but Liora could barely form a coherent thought. His fingers kept thrusting into her—deep and deliberate—curling just right to brush against that sensitive spot inside her. Every stroke sent sparks flashing behind her eyes.

He rubbed her stinging backside, soothing the ache. But then—smack—his palm struck again, firm and sharp.

"I—I did," she finally managed to choke out. "I wanted you. I still do."

Lyander growled low in approval. His fingers didn’t let up, gliding through her slick heat, coaxing her body further into surrender. Wetness coated his hand, dripping down her thighs in glistening trails.

Another slap. Her hips jolted.

His large palm grasped one of her cheeks, squeezing almost painfully. She yelped again, but his grip softened as his hand moved to rub between her legs. His voice, thick and gravelly with arousal, rumbled against her skin.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Liora whimpered, barely able to breathe.

Then suddenly—his fingers disappeared.

She gasped at the loss, but before she could even process it, he grasped the base of his thick cock and pressed it against her slick pussy. With a low growl, he thrust his hips forward, grinding himself along her folds, his shaft slipping through the wetness, dragging over her swollen clit.

Her mind went blank.

She thought his fingers had felt good, but this? The heat, the weight, the pressure—his cock sliding and gliding against her most sensitive spot—was pure fire.

"Lyander! Oh, yes!" she cried, bucking back against him involuntarily.

He didn’t stop. His movements grew more focused, more precise, his thick shaft stroking against her nub again and again, drawing sharp gasps and shuddering moans from her throat. His breathing turned rough, his voice strained.

"So fucking wet for me."

Her thoughts were melting, reduced to nothing but raw sensation. She writhed, rocking her hips back to meet him, grinding down harder, seeking more.

He caught a fistful of her hair, wrapping it around his hand and pulling her head back until her spine arched and her back pressed to his chest. His mouth hovered at her neck, voice a low growl.

"That’s it, Liora. Ride my cock. I know you’re close—I can feel it. You’re going to come all over me."

The words hit her like lightning.

Her body clenched, hips rolling desperately. A few more strokes—just a few more—

And then pleasure detonated inside her.

It came in a rush, stealing her breath, arching her body as she screamed out, "Ah! Yes! Lyander! Argh!"

She shattered in his arms, the world dissolving into white-hot bliss.

Lyander kept grinding against her, even as her body trembled from the aftershocks. Her clit, now painfully sensitive, throbbed beneath the relentless pressure of his cock. She whimpered, trying to squirm away, but he held her firmly in place.

"L-Lyander . . ." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

But he didn’t stop.

And then—his whole body went rigid.

With a deep, guttural growl, he thrust forward one last time. A pulse ran through him as he spilled himself—hot, thick release splashing across her belly and breasts.

He pressed against her, breath ragged, chest heaving, his weight heavy and grounding.

The heat of him clung to her skin, and for a moment, the only sound between them was their breathing—wild, desperate, and slowly calming.

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