Page 52 of To Carve A Wolf

“Go on,”Andros said, and though his lips barely moved, his voice thundered down the bond, curling low in my belly, violent and possessive. “Show me what you showed me before. Exactly the way you imagined it. Every moan. Every stroke. Every lie you built to drive me mad. But this time… you’ll mean it.”

I wanted to scream. To snarl and claw and throw something at his face. But my body—my traitorous, starving body—moved.

Hands sliding between my knees, I parted them slowly, my thighs burning under his gaze, my breath coming faster as I laid myself out exactly how I’d made him see me.

“Good,” he said, voice tight. “You remember.”

The bond pulsed—his satisfaction rolling over me like heat—and gods, it made my skin ache. My fingers hovered at my stomach. I hesitated.

“Now.”

The command dropped into me like a brand. I gasped, one hand sliding lower, the other fisting the sheets beside me.

“Fuck you,” I whispered, shame thick in my throat, but the bond pulled again and I moved, slow and shaking.

Andros stepped closer, his voice curling dark and low across the thread between us. “You started this. You sent me every filthy image, every tremble of need. And now you’ll feel what it’s like to be watched. Really watched.”

My breath hitched as my fingers found slick heat between my thighs. The bond lit up like a storm, his hunger crashing into me, his fury, his claim.But worse than all of that, his need.He needed to see this. Needed to own it.

“You want control?” I gasped. “Is that it? You want todominate every inch of me until I forget I ever belonged to myself?”

He stepped in then, slowly, deliberately, kneeling on the edge of the bed like a beast closing in on prey.

“No,” Andros said. “I want you to understand what you tied yourself to. What you tried to play with. The bond isn’t a toy, Lexa. And I’m not your fucking puppet.”

He leaned over me, hand wrapping around my wrist guiding me. Slower. Deeper.

I should have stopped. Should have ripped the bond apart with whatever strength I had left, clawed through it with sheer rage, with fear, with hate.But I didn’t.I let him guide me.

Wrist wrapped in his palm, his voice like smoke wrapping around my throat, I moved under his command, under his watch. My fingers worked slowly, achingly—his rhythm, not mine. Every breath felt like submission. And still—he didn’t touch me.Not really.

Andros knelt at the foot of the bed like a shadow carved from stone, his hand firm over my wrist, forcing me to feel exactly what I had shown him. The image I had sent to rattle him—now made real.

I gasped as the first ripple of pleasure tore through me, shame curling hot in my chest. I wasn’t pretending now. I felt it.

He leaned closer, his mouth at my ear, breath scalding as his other hand slid behind my head, fisting in my hair, holding me there—exposed, raw, breaking.

“You don’t get to play the whore in my thoughts and the saint in my bed,” he growled, lips brushing my skin but not kissing. “You want to make me lose control? Then fucking feel what it’s like when I take it.”

The bond surged, and my body reacted—traitor, betrayer, wolf—my wolf who now whimpered in quiet agony beneath my skin, awakened and bound, no longer silenced by runes or fear.

Shewantedhim.Desperately.

And gods, she wanted me to want him too.

I tried to twist away, to suppress the moan building at the base of my throat, but his hand found its place—fingers wrapped around my neck, firm but not cruel. Just enough. A silent command:stay. There was no magic to shield me this time, no runes humming beneath my skin, no shadows to hide behind. Just the bond. Just him.

“I hate you,” I gasped, barely more than a breath.

His mouth ghosted along my jaw, his voice a low, wrecked growl. “Say it louder. Say it while you finger yourself for me. Say it while you fucking come.”

The bond pulsed—hot, alive, watching—and my body moved without permission, without thought. My hand slipped lower, fingers sliding through slick heat as I arched against the overwhelming pressure between us. I hated him—I did—but the need, the ache, was louder than the hate now.

“Andros—” His name tore from my mouth in a broken moan as my fingers circled again, deeper, harder.

He didn’t stop me. He watched. Every sound I made, every twitch of my hips, every ragged breath—Ifelthim through the bond, drinking it in.

“Good girl,” he whispered, and that was all it took.

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