My body responds in ways I can't control, a slow-burning heat gathering between my thighs as I straddle him. The pressure of his hardness beneath me is unmistakable, pressing into my thighs, but he's in no hurry. His movements are methodical, almost teasing, as he savors every inch of my skin, making sure to leave no part of me unexplored. It's intoxicating, this slow burn, like he's pulling me apart piece by piece without saying a single word.
...
My rationale has officially exited the building. This man—this infuriatingly intoxicating man—has mastered the art of seduction, making a 27-year-old virgin like me abandon any semblance of restraint, as though my purity had never even existed.
Tonight, I won't be stopping. "I'm going to claim him," I think, even though I'm keenly aware it will be the other way around. He has me unraveling, not thinking with my mind, but with every burning sensation coursing through my body. And honestly, even if my brain was still functional, I wouldn't put a stop to it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a soft, rational whisper warns, he's drunk, this is wrong. But like a distant echo, I push it aside.
There's something dangerously primal, almost magnetic, about the idea of claiming this man-knowing he might only be a character in some made-up world-and yet, that very thought fuels my need to surrender every ounce of restraint. It ignites an inferno deep within me, a blazing fire so vast, so beautifully consuming, no force in the universe could extinguish it. The hunger is fierce, the desire electric, humming beneath my skin. Every breath he takes stokes the flames higher, and with each passing second, my hesitation melts away, crumbling under the sheer weight of this raw, unyielding need.
It's no longer about rational thought; it's about instinct. My body moves with a mind of its own, drawn to him like gravity. I feel the warmth of his breath, the heat of his skin, and the pounding rhythm between us that drowns out any lingering doubts. Each touch, each graze of his fingers, sends sparks skittering across my nerves, making my pulse race in time with this inescapable pull. The world outside fades, leaving only the burning need to feel every inch of him, to explore this connection that feels too real to be part of any fantasy.
And now, all those lingering fears of propriety, of right and wrong, are nothing more than whispers drowned out by the primal need consuming me.
My mind barely functions beyond the singular thought of him, his body against mine, as the tension tightens between us, tangible and electrifying. The only thing left is this aching desire, so intense it blurs the lines between reality and fiction—between what should be and what is happening right now.
And then, just like that, the moment evaporates. He untangles himself from me, a movement so at odds with the heat still radiating from his body beneath mine.
"Why?" The protest slips from my lips before I can stop it. My hips instinctively roll over him, teasing, making sure he feels exactly what he is walking away from. A low, guttural groan rumbles from deep in his throat, a sound that speaks volumes about his desire. But that groan is all I get—just a fleeting echo of the intensity we were building.
In the next breath, he pulls me closer, our chests pressing against one another, the last barrier between us nothing but flimsy layers of clothing. With a swift yet gentle motion, he shifts me onto my side, so now we're lying face to face, his body still coiled with tension beneath his calm exterior.
His face is flushed, a deep red red from the heat of our encounter, as he locks eyes with mine. But as if he can't bear the silent accusation in my gaze, he gently cups the back of my head, guiding it to his chest. His movements are slow, deliberate—his fingers brushing through my hair before he nestles my face against his firm chest, his chin resting protectively atop my head.
"Sleep," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, but there's no mistaking the finality in it.
Sleep? Now? After everything? Does he seriously expect me to just sleep after leaving me with the female equivalent of blue balls and no explanation for why he's holding back? My mind races and frustration claws at me, but his steady heartbeat beneath my ear seems determined to lull me into submission.
Eventually, whether from the sheer exhaustion of everything that's happened or the lingering fatigue from the chaos of the day at the zombie lab, sleep creeps up on me. I can't tell if it's the warmth of his arms, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek, or just the overwhelming emotional rollercoaster I've been on. But slowly, my body gives in.
Villain Sama's arms remain wrapped around me, firm yet gentle, his presence both unnerving and oddly comforting at the same time. My mind protests for just a moment longer, unwilling to let go of the frustration, but my body has other plans. I sink into him, letting the weight of the day pull me under.
The scent of him, something dark and unnameable, lulls me further into a trance until finally, I drift off, cradled in the embrace of the very villain I was supposed to be reforming. Funny how things never go as planned.