Villain Ch 1735. Morning Wood
The next morning.
He didn't wake up all at once.
It was gradual, like the tide.
Like the kind of tide that doesn't ask for permission—just slips into the cracks of your awareness, flooding your chest with warmth, then your thighs, then your breath.
"Hm?"
The sound wasn't even a word, just the groan of a soul swimming somewhere between dreams and body. Allen was still mostly asleep, drifting in that silken blur where thoughts had no shape and time didn't yet exist. But something was wrong.
No.
Not wrong.
Just… different.
There was heat—deep and pulsing, like it had crawled out from beneath his skin and was curling in slow spirals through his stomach. And something else. A sensation. Barely a whisper at first. Movement.
Low. Lingering.
Gentle enough to confuse. Bold enough to pull him from sleep.
He tried to shift, muscles stretching out of habit—but he couldn't. His body wouldn't respond right. Not out of weakness, no. He was pinned.
