I was stillsore from Barron.
Every step through the apartment reminded me of what it meant to be wanted by a man who had been holding himself back too long. My thighs ached. My hips throbbed. The bruises were fresh, worshipped, earned. And still—I knew what Wolfe needed from me now had nothing to do with comfort.
It had to do with control.
He stood at the far end of the room, sleeves rolled, shirt black, eyes darker. The others were gone. Royal, Loyal, Barron—they’d left hours ago. After the plan was drafted. After the war was agreed on. After Wolfe had poured one last drink and handed it to Barron like a truce.
And now? Now he watched me. No words. No movement. Just that stare.
I dropped to my knees.
The floor was cold.
Perfect.
My hands folded behind my back. My knees spread. My eyes on the floor. My breath quickening.
He didn’t tell me to do it. He didn’t have to.
Wolfe moved slowly. The sound of his steps deliberate. Each one heavier than breath.
He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell the leather of his belt. Close enough that my pulse jumped. And still he said nothing.
Silence stretched between us like a leash. I breathed through it. I knew the rules. This wasn't foreplay. This was obedience. And I was already wet.
His hand moved. Fingers brushing my chin. Not lifting it. Just resting there. Testing.
I held still.
He stepped to the side. Walked around me in a slow circle. Inspection. One hand behind his back. One at his side.
My heart beat harder the longer he stayed quiet.
Finally—
His voice.
Low.
Final.
“Open your mouth.”
I obeyed. No hesitation. No sound. Just surrender. And Wolfe stepped in front of me again. Unbuckled his belt. Undid the button. Zipper slow. Deliberate.
His cock was already hard. Thick. Dark. Heavy with what he hadn’t said. He gripped the base. Ran the tip over my lower lip. Not to tease. To mark.
Then—
He slid inside.
He didn’t move fast.
He moved like time answered to him.
His cock filled my mouth inch by inch, stretching my jaw until my throat fluttered around the weight of him. My lips stretched wide. My eyes watered. Still, I didn't pull back. Pain in worship wasn't weakness. It was proof.
His fingers tangled in my hair. Not yanking. Just holding. Anchoring.
