Villain Ch 1977. Strip!

Her hands curled in the blanket beneath her.

His lips traced along her inner thigh, then over the other. His hands stayed firm, one resting on her hip, the other holding her knee apart just enough to keep her open. Just enough to tease.

He looked up at her.

Her hair was messy now. Her dress falling from her shoulders. Her chest rising and falling in rapid little bursts.

And her eyes.

Glass-wet with need.

Allen leaned in again.

This time his teeth grazed her skin.

She gasped, fingers tightening in the sheets.

He didn't stop.

Didn't slow.

His kisses were fire now… deep, open, wet. His breath was hot against her thighs, his hand strong on her waist.

But then…

He stopped.

Pulled back.

Mila whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

Allen stood slowly, towering above her now, his breath steady and calm, but his eyes… weren't. There was something behind them. Something buried. Like a storm you only saw when the lightning cracked.

Her thighs shifted instinctively. Not to run. Just to… prepare.

Because the way he looked at her right now? Like she was a porcelain secret and he didn't trust his own hands.

She blinked up at him, lips swollen, dress halfway fallen. Her voice came out shakier than she wanted it to.

"Why… did you stop?"

Allen didn't answer right away.

He inhaled slow. Controlled. His jaw tightened.

Then quietly, almost like he hated saying it, he muttered,

"I'm afraid to break you."

That caught her off guard.

He closed his eyes, ran a hand down his face, and looked away, not like a tease. Not like some flirty stall tactic. No. This was real. Raw hesitation carved into the way his shoulders tensed. He wasn't just holding back.

He was fighting himself.

And that…

That meant more than any compliment.

Among all the people that threw themselves at him, she was different. Because she was here without knowing what the others knew. The blood. The mask behind the mask.

Allen wasn't just some charming guy in a suit with a wicked tongue.

He was the Devil Emperor.

And she didn't know what that really meant.

Not yet.

But he did.

He knew exactly what lived inside him.

And still… she didn't run.

She sat up slowly, breath shaky, dress sliding off her shoulder as she moved. Her hand reached for his wrist. She didn't grip it tight. Just touched it. Grounded him.

"No," she said. "I want this."

He looked down at her.

"I'm not afraid," she added. "I don't mind if it's… rough."

His brows furrowed. "Mila…"

"I mean it," she said. "If you're trying to protect me, fine. But not from you. Not like this."

His eyes dropped to her hand, still on his. Then lifted to her face again. That sharp stare that usually made others stammer?

She didn't flinch.

"Really?" he asked finally. "You say that now. But there's a part of me that isn't just dominant. It's darker than that. When it shows up, it doesn't ask. It devours. You're sure?"

She nodded, slow and deliberate.

He tilted his head.

His voice dropped a notch.

"You say that like you've seen it."

"I have," Mila said. "When you fought in the haunted mansion."

That stopped him.

Her fingers brushed his sleeve.

"I watched the recording," she said softly. "I saw the whole thing."

His silence was thick now. Heavy. His lips parted slightly like he wanted to interrupt. But she kept going.

"Yeah… you looked like a psychopath," she said. "That smile. The way you moved. Like you weren't just fighting. You were playing."

He frowned.

"And still," she whispered, "you were you."

He swallowed.

"Mila…"

"You don't scare me."

He stared at her. Something in his face flickered. Doubt. Hope. That weird in-between when a man so used to wearing armor starts wondering if it's okay to take it off.

"You don't know how bad I get when I'm in that trance," he said quietly.

"I saw enough," she replied.

"Still not afraid?" he asked.

She smiled.

Shook her head.

That was all it took.

Something in Allen broke.

Or maybe it was something he let break.

The shift was subtle at first. A twitch in his jaw. A glint behind his eyes. Then his shoulders dropped slightly, not in defeat, but like he finally stopped pretending to hold back.

"You wanna experience it?" he asked.

His voice was different now.

Lower.

Rougher.

The air between them changed. Thicker. More electric. Like the room itself held its breath.

Mila didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

Her own voice shocked her. She didn't even pause to think. No second guess. No inner doubt.

Just yes.

Naïve?

Maybe.

But honest?

Completely.

Allen stared at her.

And that was it.

That was permission.

His smirk spread like oil catching fire.

Slow. Dangerous.

And then the glint in his eyes shifted.

Predator.

She felt her heartbeat skip.

Then pick up pace.

Because suddenly, it wasn't Allen standing in front of her.

It was something else.

Still him. But not the playful, teasing version.

This was the part he kept behind steel doors.

The one that made grown men flinch on the battlefield.

The one who didn't blink when someone begged.

The one who knew exactly where to touch and how long to linger to make someone unravel.

He didn't rush her.

He traced her.

Eyes first. Like he was mapping out where he was going to devour.

His voice came next.

Deep. Smooth. But this time, it curled around her name like a promise and a warning.

"Mila."

She didn't speak. Couldn't. Her breath had gone somewhere far away.

He stepped closer, and with every inch he closed, her pulse got louder in her ears.

"Strip," he said softly.

Her breath caught.

Not from fear.

From how calmly he said it.

From how her body reacted.

She hesitated only because her hands shook. But the moment she moved to unhook her dress, Allen's fingers caught her wrists again.

"Slow," he whispered. "Look at me while you do it."

Her lips parted. Her skin prickled.

She nodded.

Her fingers moved again. Slower now.

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