Chapter 1866: He Needs a Medal
Villain Ch 1866. He Needs a Medal
On the couch. Against the wall. In the hot spring, steam curling around their tangled bodies as he lifted them one by one onto his lap. On the floor, where they clawed at him like starved women feasting on their last meal. In the shower, water pouring over his back as Zoe and Jane pressed against him, kissing and moaning into his mouth while he fucked them both with relentless rhythm.
It wasn’t just sex.
It was warfare.
And yet—
It was also tender.
Between the madness, Allen found himself kissing them softly. Stroking hair out of their faces. Whispering their names like they mattered more than the climax. He’d stop mid-thrust just to smile at their flushed cheeks and say, “You’re beautiful like this.”
They weren’t ready for that.
None of them.
Vivian had burst out laughing the first time he said it, like it was a joke. Then she cried. Then she kissed him harder than ever.
Shea snarled, “Shut up—don’t say that,” even as her thighs clenched around him and her body betrayed her.
Zoe whispered, “Say it again,” and Allen did. Again. And again. Until she was trembling like she’d never been touched before.
By the time dawn hinted at the horizon, the villa was wrecked.
Clothes everywhere.
Panties hanging off the chandelier.
The board game forgotten, cards stuck to the floor with wine and sweat.
Chocolate melted into the carpet.
And his women?
Sprawled. Ruined. Glowing.
Jane lay half on the couch, half on the floor, mumbling something about research notes and how she’d underestimated him.
Shea was face-down on a pillow, muttering threats about tomorrow’s “training session” that no one believed.
Vivian was draped across the window sill again, hair wild, smile lazy.
Larissa sipped wine like her throat wasn’t raw from screaming.
Bella was curled against his chest, smiling like a woman who’d just survived an apocalypse and wanted round two.
Alice was humming, cheeks flushed, stickers still plastered to her skin that read “Allen’s toy” and “Milk me.”
Zoe was passed out on his arm, her face soft, almost innocent.
And Azura—sweet, trembling Azura—was tucked into his side, whispering his name in her sleep.
Allen lay there among them.
Chest heaving.
Body aching.
Cock still heavy, still not satisfied no matter how many times they’d pulled him over the edge.
He stared at the ceiling. At nothing.
And laughed softly.
“I’m gonna die here,” he muttered.
Vivian kissed his shoulder. “No, you won’t.”
Shea giggled into his neck. “We’ll resuscitate you. With more sex.”
Zoe groaned. “He doesn’t need resuscitation. He needs a medal.”
Allen smirked, eyes half-lidded, heart full in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Fuck the medal,” he whispered. “I already won.”
And looking at them—wrecked, ruined, glowing, his—he knew he meant it.
Morning came.
Allen groaned.
Not the lazy, satisfied groan of a man well-rested—no, this was the ragged sound of a survivor.
He sat up slowly, every muscle screaming mutiny. His back cracked, his thighs felt like stone, and his cock… well, his cock looked like it had survived a public execution. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers brushed over faint bite marks on his neck.
The villa was quiet. Too quiet.
Bodies everywhere. Draped across sofas, curled in blankets, tangled together on the carpet. His harem, his chaos, his women—absolutely wrecked.
Shea still had her whip clutched like a teddy bear.
Alice was drooling onto a sticker sheet. Vivian was flat on her stomach, bare ass in the air like she’d just surrendered.
Azura was tucked into Zoe’s arms, whispering something in her sleep.
Jane muttered “research” even in unconsciousness.
Bella’s hair was tangled with Larissa’s, both looking like goddesses who’d fallen in battle.
Allen stood. Wobbled.
He was so naked he didn’t bother with modesty. At this point, what even was modesty?
He staggered into the bathroom.
Looked in the mirror.
“…Holy shit.”
He didn’t look like an emperor.
He looked like a war victim.
Scratches, lipstick stains, love bites, his abs marked by red trails of nails. His hair was a storm. His lips swollen. His eyes bloodshot but still carrying that stupid, dangerous glint.
He touched his jaw, smirked faintly.
“Worth it.”
Still, his body screamed for water. For food. For something to stabilize the battlefield of hormones still boiling in his veins.
Breakfast.
He needed breakfast.
He padded into the kitchen, bare feet against cold tiles, the faint scent of last night’s sex still hanging in the air mixed with the subtle sweetness of wood and coffee beans.
The fridge opened with a soft hiss.
Prepared.
He’d known this would happen. He’d known they’d destroy him. So when he’d cooked dinner, he’d doubled the effort.
Overnight oats with fruit. A tray of parfaits layered with yogurt and berries. Sandwiches wrapped neatly in cling film. Even pancakes he’d made ahead, stacked and chilled.
He smirked.
“Past me… you genius bastard.”
He grabbed the juice. Poured a tall glass. Downed it in three gulps. Then another. Then finally, coffee. Black. Strong. Bitter enough to slap him awake.
The first sip was heaven.
He leaned on the counter, staring out the window at the pine trees swaying in the mountain wind. Stars had faded, sunlight crept down the ridges.
It almost felt wholesome.
Almost normal.
Except for the soreness between his thighs. And the faint sound of Vivian groaning in her sleep behind him, mumbling his name like a curse and a prayer at once.
Allen chuckled softly. “You’re all insane.”
But his chest felt warm. Not just from the coffee. From the thought of them—wrecked, smiling, unhinged—and his.
He plated up some food, quiet, careful.
He didn’t even need to turn to know Zoe would be the first to stir. She always woke up early, even when destroyed. Sure enough, a soft shuffle behind him, then her sleepy voice.
“…Allen?”
“Morning,” he said, not looking back.
“You’re naked,” she whispered, amused, still half-asleep.
“Yeah,” he replied flatly. “So are you.”
She snorted. Walked up, wrapped his apron around his waist, tying it with clumsy fingers. Then she leaned against his back, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades.
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