Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1986

Chapter 1986: Be a Good Girl
Villain Ch 1986. Be a Good Girl

His hand slid between her thighs, just resting, not moving. Her breath hitched.

“You keep saying you want to behave,” he murmured, “but then you look at me like that. Say things like that. Make me want to ruin you all over again.”

She trembled beneath him. “I‑I said I’d be a good girl…”

“You said that,” he agreed, tracing lazy circles against the inside of her thigh. “And then you blushed and said something that made me imagine how you’d sound if I made you cry from too much pleasure.”

Mila whimpered.

Allen smiled, slow and dark. “You’re not helping my restraint here.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did. You always mean to. Somewhere in that wicked little mind, you like how I react when you say the wrong thing.”

“I just… like how you look at me,” she admitted softly. “Like I belong to you.”

That made something in his expression crack.

He didn’t smirk.

Didn’t tease.

He just… stared at her.

And then moved.

He bent over her again, one hand still between her thighs, the other gripping the belt above her head. His face hovered over hers, his mouth a breath away.

“You do,” he whispered. “You belong to me. Completely.”

She swallowed. “Even if I’m… annoying?”

“Especially then.”

He dipped lower. Brushed his lips along her jaw. “Every sound you make? Mine.”

His thumb moved slightly, just barely, brushing where she was sensitive.

Her whole body jerked.

“Every breath,” he said softly. “Every little shiver. Every dumb flustered word that makes me want to devour you…”

Mila gasped.

“…mine.”

His mouth crashed into hers, not polite, not gentle. Possessive. Intoxicating. Her body reacted before her brain caught up, hips twitching, legs parting on instinct.

When he pulled back, she was shaking again.

“Still think we’re cuddling?” he whispered.

“…No.”

He smiled.

But before she could process the freedom, he flipped her gently onto her stomach, pulling her close again, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist like he didn’t want her going anywhere.

His lips brushed her ear, low and final.

“Now we start over.”

And she knew… round two was going to be worse.

And so much better.

Next morning.

Allen woke up to the low hum of the city outside the window and the faint golden sheen of morning light bleeding in through the hotel curtains. The air in the room was warm and thick with the scent of sweat, skin, and spent energy.

His body ached in the best way.

And so did hers.

Mila lay sprawled beside him like a painting smudged by pleasure, tangled in the sheets, her breathing slow and even. Her hair was a total mess. Her lips swollen. Her back faintly marked from where he held her down. A perfect, exhausted wreck.

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. His own chest was dotted in nail lines, his lower back sore from how long she clung to him, how many times he lost control, lost rhythm, lost logic entirely.

He checked the clock.

7:02 AM.

Still early. He had plenty of time to clean up, eat, and head out, straight to the Cyber building. His schedule was tight, but not unforgiving. He already planned to drop Mila home after breakfast. Thankfully, she didn’t live with her family anymore.

No James.

Or Noah.

He pushed himself out of bed carefully, not waking her, and padded across the cold marble floor to where the hotel robe hung neatly on a hook near the closet. He slipped it on with a sigh, tied it loosely around his waist, and tapped the call button on the room’s sleek touchscreen display.

Receptionist answered instantly. Polite voice. Way too chipper for 7 AM.

“Good morning, Mr. Goldborne. May I assist you?”

“We’ll be having breakfast in the room,” Allen said, his voice lower than usual from sleep and overuse. “Send it up in twenty.”

“Yes, sir. Room service will be there shortly.”

He clicked off the screen. Then made his way into the bathroom.

The mirror greeted him with the full consequence of last night.

Hair messed. Neck red. Collarbone kissed raw. A few faint scratches across his ribs. Even his thighs had marks from Mila’s grip.

He smirked to himself.

She might’ve called him dramatic… but that girl was lethal with her mouth.

Allen showered quick. Muscle memory took over as hot water sluiced down his back and foam slid across his skin. No long soak. No distractions. Just rinse, scrub, done. Back to routine. Even after a night like that, his body was wired to move with efficiency.

Ten minutes later, towel over his damp hair, robe back on, he stepped out, only to find the breakfast trolley already waiting at the door.

Right on time.

He wheeled it inside and set it beside the bed. Two covered silver trays. Steam rising. The scent of eggs, buttered toast, and strong black coffee filled the room. His stomach growled slightly.

But Allen didn’t touch it yet.

He just sat on the edge of the bed, towel now hanging around his neck, robe loose against his chest, and stared.

Mila was still asleep.

Mostly.

Her face was buried in the pillow, but one eye peeked open. Groggy. Soft. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze adjusted to the morning light. She blinked a few times. Then saw him.

And smiled.

“Hey,” she mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.

He smiled back. “Morning.”

Her arm reached out of the blanket like a sea creature breaking the surface. She stretched, yawned, and then winced as her legs shifted under the sheets.

“Ow,” she croaked. “Why do my hips feel like I fought a war?”

“You did,” he said casually. “You lost.”

“Rude.”

Allen chuckled and grabbed the coffee mug from the tray, handing it to her. “Drink. You’ll live.”

She took it with both hands, blanket still clutched around her like armor. “I think I forgot how to walk.”

“You weren’t walking last night either.”

“Allen—!”

He just grinned and reached for his own coffee.

Mila pulled the sheet tighter, her face flaming. “How are you functioning already?”

“Shower,” he said. “Fast one. Military style.”