Villain Ch 1978. I Deliver Outcomes

Allen watched her.

Not just like a man admiring a woman.

But like a king watching someone surrender.

Every inch of satin she pulled down was another beat skipped. Another flicker of that wicked smile on his face. Another whisper of his breath getting darker.

She was down to nothing but her underwear now.

Allen exhaled.

"I like when you trust me," he murmured.

Then he reached for her.

And every muscle in her body tensed.

Not from fear.

But from the sheer weight of his presence.

He didn't touch her mouth.

He didn't even kiss her first.

No.

Allen dipped his head, breath ghosting over her collarbone. Then, lower. His lips touched the curve of her shoulder. His fingers slid up her thighs, not to tease.

But to own.

He didn't ask for permission. He didn't need to.

He was the kind of man who knew when a moment belonged to him. When someone did.

And tonight? She belonged.

His mouth didn't open. He just let his lips drag. Slowly. Lightly. Tracing along her skin like he was writing something only he could read. The ghost of heat he left behind made her tremble, arching ever so slightly… not enough to escape, but just enough to chase.

She gasped when his hand moved… not fast, not greedy, but firmly. Possessively.

"You're shivering," he murmured against her skin.

She whispered back, "Because you haven't kissed me."

That made him chuckle. A low, dark sound.

"Kissing you now would ruin the tension," he said. "And I like you like this. Hungry."

Her breath hitched.

He looked up at her, eyes shadowed and sharp. And then, without warning, he took her hand. Brought it to his face. Let her fingers trace his jawline. His cheekbones. The curve of his lips.

His tongue flicked out, licking the tip of her finger… slow, deliberate.

She bit her lip.

Then, he guided her hand lower. Over his chest. His ribs. Down the flat of his stomach, until her hand shook again.

"You feel that?" he asked.

She nodded.

"That's what you do to me," he said, voice low and close, like a threat dressed in velvet. "So don't look away."

She didn't.

Her eyes stayed locked with his. Even when his hands slipped behind her thighs and lifted her gently onto the bed. Even when he leaned over her, body grazing hers but never settling. Even when she thought, for just one second, that maybe this time she'd be the one in control.

But then she tried to move.

Tried to shift her weight. Take initiative.

And his hand caught both of hers… pinned her wrists to the sheets above her head like they weighed nothing.

She gasped. "Allen—"

"No," he said. One word. Soft but final.

Her body arched again, this time involuntarily. Not to escape.

Just because she was suddenly so aware of him.

His weight. His heat. His dominance.

He wasn't trying to hurt her. But he was reminding her who she was with.

Her breath quickened. Her chest heaved.

His grip wasn't harsh.

But it was absolute.

"You want to feel in control, don't you?" he murmured, leaning in. His lips hovered just over hers. Not touching. Never touching.

She whimpered. "Allen…"

His body pressed down now, fully. The solid weight of him pinning her in place. His chest against hers. His legs bracketing hers. His face was so close she could feel every exhale.

He tilted his head. Let his nose brush hers.

"I'm going to ruin you tonight," he whispered.

"Promise?" she breathed.

He laughed softly.

"I don't make promises," he said. "I deliver outcomes."

Then, just as her body trembled again, he shifted. Kissed her jaw. Her throat. His teeth grazed skin, not enough to break, but enough to warn.

The bed creaked faintly under them. The sheets crumpled where her hands struggled, uselessly, beneath his grip.

Her thighs squeezed around his waist. She tried to move again.

But his strength wasn't something she could fight.

He didn't flinch. Didn't loosen.

His lips found the space between her collarbones and stayed there, breathing her in. Like this was less about pleasure. And more about possession.

She whispered his name again. Not as a plea. Not even as a protest.

His lips trailed lower. Down to where the edge of her bra met skin. He didn't remove it. Just breathed across it. Let her squirm.

Then he whispered, "I want you to remember something."

"What?"

"That every single inch of you tonight…" he paused, raising his eyes to hers, "belongs to me."

Her lips trembled. "I already do."

He smiled, slow and sinful. "Say it."

She hesitated.

He applied just a fraction more pressure to her wrists. "Say it."

"I belong to you," she whispered.

"Louder."

"I—belong to you."

His smile widened. And then finally his mouth met hers.

But not soft.

Not sweet.

It was dominance disguised as a kiss. Tongue sweeping in, claiming, conquering. One hand still pinning both of hers. The other sliding up her thigh, curling around the waistband of her underwear.

She moaned into his mouth. Arched again.

He pulled back just enough to speak.

"You want more?"

"Yes."

"You want me to let go?"

"No."

"Good."

His fingers slid beneath the lace. Not teasing now. Not delaying.

Just taking.

Her hips bucked, breath ragged, but still, he held her down.

She couldn't move.

Couldn't run.

Didn't want to.

The helplessness was intoxicating.

Because it wasn't about pain.

It was about surrender.

About letting go in a way that made her heart race and her body ache and her thoughts vanish.

Allen hovered above her like a shadow stitched with heat. That look in his eyes, half-hunger, half-warning, never left her. He studied every twitch of her breath, every tremble, every second she forgot to pretend she wasn't already his.

Then she felt it.

The sudden coolness of leather sliding over her skin.

Allen's belt.

Her breath caught.

He didn't rush. He took his time. Looping the belt out from his pants, the metal buckle clicking softly as it came free. The noise was quiet. But it echoed through her like a promise. He didn't need chains. Or spells. Or games. He had this. Just one belt and a gaze like command incarnate.

And he used it.

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