Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Villain Ch 1914. That's Cheating!

Warmth. Slick. Heat.

Someone—not shy—dragged herself along his lap, slow and deliberate.

Her folds pressed against the full length of him. Not taking. Not thrusting. Just… sliding. Coating him. Marking him.

Allen gasped, jaw tightening.

"Hey—" he hissed. "That's cheating."

"No," Vivian's voice came near his ear, sultry and smug. "This is the next level."

He tried to lift his head. A mistake.

Hands—multiple—pressed down on his shoulders, his arms, pinning him right back into the couch.

"You said we should take you down," Jane purred somewhere behind his shoulder. "So we're making sure you stay down."

Another shift. Another slow, wet drag of heat along his cock. He clenched his jaw. He couldn't see. Couldn't guess by sight. Only sound. Pressure. Rhythm.

And all of them were getting bolder.

He didn't just feel movement.

He felt intention.

Someone whispered something in another language. A spell? A curse? Maybe just a dirty thought voiced out loud. He couldn't tell anymore. The world had turned into scent and touch and muffled moans.

"You're all insane," he muttered.

A laugh tickled his throat. "And you love it."

Then it happened.

The pressure shifted. Someone lifted herself just enough, then lowered—slow and claiming.

His breath hitched.

That was no tease. No play.

She took him in. All the way.

Allen's head dropped back against the couch with a rough exhale. He didn't speak. Couldn't. His throat was too tight. Too raw with heat. Whoever it was—she was warm. Velvet heat wrapped around him like silk and vice. She pulsed around him, squeezing in slow, delicious waves, like her body was built to unmake him.

She moved once—down. Deep.

Then up again.

Then down.

Slow, steady rolls of her hips that didn't ask for permission.

Allen groaned. "Nngh—fck."

"Language," someone teased. Lips brushed his jaw. "You sound wrecked."

"Not wrecked," he managed. "Just… focused."

"Oh?" The girl riding him rolled her hips again. Deeper this time. She twisted her hips at the end and squeezed.

He choked on air.

"You sure?" she whispered.

"You're cheating," he growled. "This isn't the game."

"This is the game now," Larissa's voice laced around him like smoke. "We're evolving."

"And you're losing," Alice added, somewhere on his right. He felt her hand slide up his chest, cool fingers tracing fire along his ribs.

He tried to move again.

Nope.

Too many hands.

Too many legs curled around his own. Too many mouths brushing skin. One of them bit his ear. Another kissed his shoulder. He couldn't move—pinned by affection, heat, hunger.

Whoever was on top of him now was bouncing.

Not fast. Not greedy. Just deep, slow, rhythm-destroying rolls that made it impossible to focus on anything except the pull of her body and the twitch of every muscle inside him.

He swore he could feel her smile.

"Guess," she whispered.

He groaned. "If I get it wrong, do you stop?"

"No," Zoe said. "If you get it wrong, we switch."

Allen blinked beneath the blindfold.

"You're going to take turns," he said flatly.

"Exactly," Shea whispered, biting his neck. "It's only fair."

Allen tried to collect his thoughts.

Focus. Pressure. Height. Breathing. Voice.

He could do this. He could guess.

He opened his mouth—

Then someone moaned.

Not the one on top.

It was Azura.

Just the sound of it—gentle, high-pitched, barely-there—sent a shock down his spine. She wasn't even touching him right now. And yet, that breathy gasp made him twitch inside the girl on top of him.

"You're not allowed to moan if you're not riding me," he growled.

Azura squeaked from somewhere near his legs. "I-I wasn't trying to!"

"You're distracting him," Bella said.

"On purpose," Jane added.

The girl on top lifted her hips slightly, then dropped again, full and sudden, making him grunt.

"Guess," she demanded again. A challenge.

He inhaled. Her scent hit him fully—citrus and rage, sweat and storm.

"…Zoe," he said through gritted teeth.

She laughed—wild and proud. "Took you long enough."

Then she slid off of him.

And Allen didn't even have a second to recover.

Someone else climbed into his lap.

He felt the difference immediately. Lighter. Shorter. But faster. She didn't tease. She just took him. One thrust down and she was moaning already, breath hot against his lips. Her thighs trembled, but her hands pressed into his chest like she was trying to pin his soul down.

Allen grunted.

Her movements weren't smooth—they were frantic, gasping, like she was chasing something and didn't care who saw.

"Jane," he growled. "That chaos is yours."

She bit his neck. "No fair."

"Justice."

The next one—Vivian, probably—sank down on him with a sound like silk tearing. Slow. Ridiculously slow. Her hands grabbed his face, nails dragging just enough to hurt, and her hips rolled with experience that should've been outlawed.

"Vivian," he groaned.

"Hi, darling," she whispered, kissing his jaw. "Still winning?"

"No," he gasped. "Now I'm surviving."

More laughter.

More warmth.

More of them.

He was still blindfolded, still pinned—arms splayed out over the couch, legs slightly parted, breath shallow. The heat clinging to his skin wasn't just from friction anymore. It was from presence. From lips brushing his collarbone. From teeth tugging on his ear. From the subtle shift of thighs tightening around his hips and the unapologetic weight of love wearing war paint.

They didn't move with rhythm.

They moved with intention.

One of them dragged slow, wet circles across his chest with her tongue. Another gripped his shoulder like she owned the flesh beneath. Someone—he couldn't tell who anymore—breathed down the line of his jaw like she was marking it as hers.

Then came the roll of hips.

Harder now. Deeper.

A full-body grind that made his back tense and his stomach clench.

Allen twitched.

There was no teasing anymore. No coy smiles. No gentle flirtations.

Just heat. Raw and electric. Skin to skin. Movement to madness.

And he felt it—the moment his control slipped.

That drop in his chest. That burn in his core. That moment when the pressure tipped into something primal. His thighs shook just slightly, his arms trembling under the soft weight holding him down. He let out a sound—half-groan, half-laugh, but cracked and hoarse.