NOVGO.NET Chapter 1735: Morning Wood
Chapter 1735: Morning Wood
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.
That realization cracked the surface of his dazed mind, dragging him further into waking. His brows knit slightly, still too tired to open his eyes fully, but enough to feel…
Wet.
Warm.
And very, very specific.
A groan tumbled out of him before he could stop it. Not sharp. Not shocked. Just… helpless. Like his body had chosen pleasure over consciousness and was dragging the rest of him along for the ride.
His eyes opened.
And the world focused.
It was morning. Early, maybe. The light was pale, gold-drenched, coming in at that angle that only meant one thing… too early to be rational.
Blankets half-spilled. Pillows crushed under tangled limbs. Heat and bodies and breath.
He looked down.
And there she was.
Jane.
Between his legs, her back curved like a sin and a blessing, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate from the base of his cock to the tip. Like a fucking lollipop.
She wasn’t in a hurry. That was what made it worse. That patience. That adoration.
Allen’s throat clicked. His hips twitched involuntarily, and he bit down on another groan, this one tighter, rougher—because seeing it made it different. Realer. Hungrier.
Jane looked up at him then, lips flushed, eyes glowing like she’d just found a secret under his skin and planned to write her name on it.
And before he could speak, before he could even catch up to his own heartbeat…
Alice kissed him.
She leaned in from his left, her weight shifting the mattress, her fingers brushing his cheek as her lips covered his. Soft. Warm. Firm. Like a seal. Like a command.
He made another noise, less groan and more confusion, but she swallowed it like a gift.
Her mouth didn’t ask. It took, but not cruelly. Like it was owed. Like she already had the right to every part of him, including his breath.
Her hand slid over his chest, slow and searching, like she was memorizing him with every inch of her palm.
Then she pulled back, her eyes half-lidded.
“Good morning, Allen,” she whispered.
His voice was hoarse, wrecked already. “This is… something else of a morning.”
Alice smiled, and it made him ache in places he didn’t know could ache.
“I figured we’d surprise you,” she said, her voice low and soft and terrifyingly calm. “Let you wake up feeling wanted.”
He tried to breathe.
That’s when he noticed the weight behind his head. Soft. Heavy. Bare skin against his crown, the texture of a body both warm and silken. The scent of faint shampoo and sleep and woman.
He tilted his head slightly.
Vivian.
He was resting on her lap.
More specifically, on her bare lap.
His temple brushed the swell of her breast, and he almost groaned again because of course—of course—Vivian was naked, watching this unfold with her usual slow, observant smirk.
Except this time, her hand was in his hair. Stroking.
Not teasing. Not taunting.
Just there. Steady. Rhythmic.
Like she was grounding him. Like she was the sky and he was spiraling, and this—this—was the thread keeping him from coming undone.
“You look overwhelmed,” she murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
Allen blinked up at her.
“I—” he tried.
He didn’t finish.
Because Jane’s mouth had swallowed the rest of the sentence.
She moaned low around him, and the sound vibrated down his spine like lightning caught in velvet. His fingers gripped the sheets hard enough to wrinkle them, trying to hold on to something as everything else was being stripped from him—logic, shame, restraint.
“Damn it…” he grunted.
Alice leaned in again, whispering into the shell of his ear.
“Let us take care of you.”
And it was that, more than the mouths and hands and skin, that made something crack.
Because Allen wasn’t used to being taken care of.
He was used to control. Used to being the one with the plan, the edge, the calm voice in chaos. But now, he was laid bare, literally and metaphorically. Held down not by force, but by intimacy. Worship. The kind that didn’t demand anything back except his surrender.
Vivian traced the line of his jaw with her thumb.
Jane pulled off him with a soft pop and looked up, breathless. Her chin glistened. Her eyes were full of something not quite pride, not quite hunger—something holier. “You taste like trouble,” she said, grinning. “I like it.”
He covered his eyes with one hand, groaning again. “This is unreal.”
“It’s not a dream,” Alice said, kissing his collarbone. “Though I wouldn’t mind if it was.”
Vivian leaned down, her breast pressing against his cheek. “You don’t have to do anything today. Not a single thing. Just be here.”
Allen let his hand fall to his side. He stared up at the ceiling.
The room smelled like sex and skin and blooming roses. His heart was beating too fast, but it didn’t feel like panic. It felt like awe. Like confusion in the face of softness he didn’t think he deserved.
Hands brushed down his ribs. Fingertips over his stomach. A kiss to his hip. A bite to his shoulder.
He didn’t even know whose touch belonged to who anymore.
It didn’t matter.
Because by the time he groaned again—low and broken and real—they all understood the truth.
Allen was letting go.
And that? That made them ravenous.