The Villains Must Win-Chapter 184: Lyander Wolhart 34

The wolf let out a low, delighted chuff, clearly pleased with himself. He nudged Liora with his snout and curled slightly around her side in an almost protective gesture, resting his heavy head on her hip.

Liora looked down at him, the laughter in her eyes softening into something deeper—curiosity, affection, something like awe. Slowly, she ran her fingers between his ears.

"You really are beautiful," she whispered.

The wolf gave a low, rumbling sigh and closed his eyes. He’d gotten what he wanted—not just her touch, but her acceptance.

But it wasn’t enough . . .

He licked her face once again.

As expected, she cried out, "Ew! Stop that!" and scrubbed her cheek with her sleeve, trying to erase his slobber.

Instead of feeling rejected, Lyander’s wolf found her reaction adorable—irresistibly so. So, naturally, he did it again, tongue swiping out with wicked intent.

But the little vixen was sharper than she looked. She twisted at the last second, leaving him to lick the air. The audacity. Then she had the nerve to lean in and whisper mischievously near his ear, "Missed me."

Lyander’s smirk stretched wide, his wolf practically grinning. Leave it to her to tame the beast without even trying. But he wasn’t letting her win that easily. With a low huff, he gave her a firm nudge to the chest with his head, enough to send her stumbling.

"Hey!" she yelped in surprise, arms flailing. He was ready to catch her—would never let her fall for real—but she didn’t need his help. Liora caught herself and planted her hands on her hips.

"You need to be more careful," she scolded with an exaggerated pout. "I’m fragile, you know. I’m only human."

She still hadn’t figured out the rules of his game.

That was fine. She would soon.

With a sweep of his paw, he knocked her feet right out from under her.

"Oh—!"

She tumbled to the side with a gasp, but Lyander was already moving. He spun under her, catching her mid-fall so she landed sprawled across his thick-furred belly. Her limbs tangled with his, her soft weight pressing against him.

She blinked down at him, startled.

The look of surprise on her face made his wolf rumble with satisfaction. That was the expression he’d been after. She could challenge him all she wanted—he welcomed it—but in the end, he’d always win.

Her gorgeous ashen eyes narrowed. "I’m watching you now, you big beast."

He huffed a laugh, his wolf snorting beneath her. She tried to push off his chest, trying to get up, but he wasn’t done. He waited until she was almost upright, then caught the hem of her shirt in his teeth and tugged hard enough to pull her right back down again.

She squealed, laughter bursting from her lips. Her giggles filled the room—light and bright and unguarded—and it did something to him. That sound wrapped around his chest like a ribbon, warm and pulling, pulling, pulling . . .

She rolled to straddle him, her knees on either side of his massive chest, eyes gleaming with a challenge. She pointed a tiny finger at his snout.

"You think you’re stronger than me, don’t you? Well, let me tell you—"

He didn’t let her finish.

With a sharp twist, he rolled again, sending her grasping for his fur, squealing as she held on. Her curse rang out in breathless delight.

"Ah! Shit!"

He rolled them back to the center, where he lay still, panting from the motion. Her chest rose and fell, eyes wild, laughter softening into something more controlled. Something sharper. Her gaze locked onto his, and her playfulness quieted, replaced by something else entirely.

A spark of cunning.

What are you planning now, little fox? Lyander thought.

Then she moved—slow and purposeful. Her legs tightened around him, gripping his torso as she slid higher, until her hips rested just below his ribs. Her hands slid into his fur, and she leaned down, curling her body against his, melting into him like she belonged there.

And maybe she did.

She gave her hips the slightest wiggle, just enough to make his thoughts splinter.

Shit. Both Lyander and his wolf cursed.

If she didn’t stop that, this game wouldn’t stay innocent much longer.

He tried to rein his wolf in, but control was slipping, slipping—

He had warned her. He had told her to resist him. He hadn’t expected to need to warn her not to tempt him.

But she had her own ideas. Her fingers tugged gently at his fur, and she pressed her face into the thick ruff of his neck, voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"You’re so beautiful."

Everything in him went still.

Those words. That voice.

His wolf froze, every sense heightened, his world narrowing to just her. He forgot the game. Forgot his dominance. Forgot the edge he’d been clinging to.

Liora moved again, slowly slipping off his body with a grace that made his breath catch. Her gaze held his with a quiet fire. Her hand stroked through his fur, fingers trailing reverently. Then, her lips brushed close to his ear.

"Would you stand for me?"

He didn’t even think—he obeyed.

Without a conscious thought, his massive form rose to his feet, towering over her. And still, her gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened.

She was small, delicate, but never once had she looked at him with fear. Only awe. Amazement. Affection.

He couldn’t help it. His heart—beast and man alike—ached for her.

And fuck, she was good.

Too good.

Her pupils dilated as she stared up at him, drinking in every inch of his form.

Something shifted in the air—something primal.

The emotions radiating off her were different now: not just affection, but possessiveness . . . reverence . . . and a deep, unmistakable satisfaction.

It stole the breath from his lungs.

His wolf held perfectly still as Liora moved to his side, her fingers gliding slowly through his fur—from his broad shoulder, down the length of his flank, until they hovered near the curve of his rump.

Her voice dropped to a low, husky murmur, laced with teasing sweetness.

"You already know every inch of me," she said, eyes burning into his. "It’s only fair I get to know every inch of you."

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