Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives Chapter 1732: Off Script

Chapter 1732: Off Script

Villain Ch 1732. Off Script

They brought a tray of wine and refilled the snack dishes without making a sound, like ghosts in black uniforms.

Once they were gone, the girls rearranged themselves again—more lounging than sitting, more limbs than order. But the mood stayed… weirdly ta. Not dull. Just… settled.

He was waiting for the shift. The chaos. The way it usually crept back in after monts like this. But it didn’t co from where he thought it would.

It ca from Vivian.

“Allen,” she said suddenly, not moving from where she was stretched upside-down over the armchair. “Co shower with .”

Zoe choked. “That’s not how you ask—”

“It’s not a request,” Vivian cut in lazily, already sliding off the arm like a feline uncoiling. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, eyes glittering. “I’m feeling generous.”

Allen raised an eyebrow. “Generous enough to share the hot water?”

“No. Generous enough to touch you without biting,” she said with a wink. “Co on.”

“Fine.” He followed.

He didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe it was the way she didn’t wait to see if he would. Just assud. Maybe it was the slight tension in her shoulders, the kind that didn’t match her usual swagger. Or maybe he was just too tired to question it. Too curious not to.

She led him through the door into Shea’s en suite—grand enough to fit six people, marble counters glowing under low gold lighting, a tub large enough to drown in and a walk-in shower with four separate water jets. It slled like warm jasmine and sothing sharper underneath.

She didn’t say anything.

She turned on the water. Steam blood.

Then she stepped behind him and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Slowly. Fingertips brushing the fabric, not quite teasing, not exactly restrained either. Her nails traced the line of his spine when she pulled it off, then paused at his waist.

Allen just stood there.

Normally, by now, soone would’ve cracked a joke. Maybe him. Maybe her. That’s how it usually went—banter, sarcasm, heat layered with arrogance. Or maybe it went straight for seduction.

But tonight felt… off-script. Weighted. Like sothing was different, and neither of them knew how to say it out loud.

She wasn’t smirking. Her eyes didn’t sparkle with that usual “let’s make him squirm” kind of thrill. Her hands, when they touched him, were steady. Gentle. Deliberate.

He tilted his head slightly, trying to keep it casual. “You sure you’re not planning to drown ?”

Vivian gave a soft snort, almost amused. “If I was, I wouldn’t do it in the shower. Too noisy.”

He chuckled, low and tired. But truth be told—he had wondered. When she said “co shower with ” in front of the others, he thought she was teasing.

That it’d be heat and half-lidded looks and her usual brand of flirtation, the kind that got under his skin and made him forget how to breathe.

She helped him undress—slow, smooth, too smooth—and he swore she did it on purpose. Her fingers grazed his hip, lingered at the base of his spine. She trailed them over his stomach once. Once. Not long enough to cross a line, but enough to tighten sothing in his chest. In his throat. Lower. But not touching his manhood.

Allen bit the inside of his cheek.

She was doing it again, wasn’t she?

ssing with him.

When the hot water hit his skin, he braced himself—not just for the temperature, but for her. For whatever ga she was about to play. He expected her to crowd him. To push him against the marble. To say sothing dirty in that drawl of hers and laugh while doing it.

But she didn’t.

She followed him in, quiet, calm. No smirk. No hungry eyes. Just… warmth.

Her hands slid over his shoulders—not rough, not demanding. Just present. The pads of her thumbs moved in slow circles near his neck, her palms trailing heat down his back. She wasn’t trying to coax. Wasn’t trying to seduce.

It caught him off guard. Hard.

“Sit,” she murmured, and gestured to the built-in bench tucked against the back wall of the shower.

He did, blinking.

She knelt beside him, water glistening on her collarbones. She didn’t look at him like he was prey. Didn’t look like she was trying to make a mory. She just opened a bottle that slled like rosemary and citrus—clean, sharp, fresh—and started to lather his arms.

Up and down. Slow. Gentle.

His chest. His back.

Her fingers brushed over his ribs, tracing the edge of a scar he’d gotten years ago. Then his collarbone.

His breath caught. For a second.

Not because it was erotic. Not exactly.

But because it wasn’t.

Allen shifted slightly. His thighs tightened without aning to. He’d already felt the tension stirring before she even stepped in—anticipation, instinct, whatever it was. But now that he was sitting there, naked, wet, with her touching him like he mattered—not like a plaything, not like a challenge—it all just sort of… flipped.

“You’re actually… bathing ,” he said, disbelief soft in his voice.

Vivian gave a hum. “Mm-hmm.”

“You’re not—” He cleared his throat. “—trying anything?”

That got her attention. Her hands paused, cloth still trailing his chest. She looked up.

“No,” she said. “Should I be?”

“I thought you were teasing earlier.”

“I was.”

He arched a brow. “Then this…?”

She shrugged, eyes dropping back to her work. “You looked tired. Figured you’d like soone else taking care of you for once.”

Allen sat there, steam curling around his legs, his skin hot from the water but colder under her words.

He didn’t know what to do with that. The softness. The reversal.

He expected heat and gas. What he got instead was stillness. Thoughtfulness. A kind of intimacy that felt way more dangerous than any kiss.

Because he couldn’t compartntalize it.

Because it wasn’t just body. It wasn’t just fun.

It was care. Genuine care.

Which was worse.

So much worse.

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