Villain's Odyssey: Enslaving heroines, Conquering Villainesses-Chapter 82: Sly moves

BAM!

Asher had somehow managed to sneak into the women’s restroom, his rational mind screaming warnings he chose to ignore. He grabbed Maria’s wrist and pulled her into the furthest cubicle from the entrance, slamming her back against the cold tile wall. The impact echoed softly in the enclosed space.

"I want you to stop whatever the hell you did to me, you crazy psycho," He said, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to taste copper. The desperation in his voice surprised even him. Being this close to her was like standing too near a fire—every instinct told him to grab her, but something deeper kept him rooted in place. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

She smiled then, slow and knowing.

"I did nothing," she said simply. Before he could process her words or form a response, she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers.

The kiss shattered what little control he’d been clinging to. His arms came around her with enough force to snap someone more fragile in half, pressing her against the wall as his mouth moved against hers with desperate hunger. His tongue swept past her lips, exploring every corner of her mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste of her. She made a soft sound—half moan, half sigh—that vibrated against his lips and sent electricity shooting through his nervous system.

He bit gently at her lower lip, then harder, drawing the air from her lungs as his hands roamed over the curves of her body. Her fitted sweater had ridden up slightly, and his fingers found the warm skin at her waist.

Slurp~

Her arms were moving too, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease.

"No!" The word tore from his throat as sanity crashed back over him like ice water. He shoved her back against the wall harder than he’d intended. Her head connected with the tiles with a soft thud, but instead of crying out in pain, she moaned—low and breathy and entirely too pleased.

She was grinning at him now, chest rising and falling rapidly, her dark hair slightly mussed and lips swollen from his kisses. The sight of her like this—disheveled and wanting—nearly undid him again.

"Fuck," he whispered, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples. He was falling into something dark and consuming, and the worst part was that he couldn’t even understand why. What was driving this madness?

"Come on," she purred, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "We’re all alone in here. I can take the lead—you just have to sit back and let me." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she took a step toward him.

He backed away immediately, his shoulders hitting the cubicle door. I shouldn’t have come in here, he thought desperately. What had he been thinking? That he could somehow force her to explain what was happening to him? He’d forgotten the most important fact in all of this—she was stronger than him. Far stronger. And from what he’d observed, she seemed to enjoy pain rather than fear it. Anything he did to hurt her would probably just be some twisted reward.

I have to get out of here.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was sure she could hear it as she moved closer, her hips swaying slightly with each step. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows, but somehow she still looked beautiful—dangerously so.

"Stay the hell away from me," he said, reaching behind him for the door handle. But she was faster, her hand shooting out to grab his wrist. Her grip was firm, inescapable.

"You want it to stop, don’t you?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost gentle.

He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to just give in. "Let go of my hand, Maria."

He felt stupid. Incredibly, monumentally stupid. What had he been thinking, trying to force someone stronger than him to talk? Maybe some dark corner of his mind had actually wanted this to happen. Maybe he’d wanted to grab her and kiss her and completely mess her up to finally get this obsession out of his system.

’No.’ He had to be stronger than that.

I have to get out of here. This girl isn’t going to talk—she’s just going to keep playing games.

"Playing hard to get?" she asked, that grin widening. "How cute."

Click.

They both froze at the sound of the main door opening. Footsteps echoed on the tile floor, followed by voices.

"I hate how she always acts like she’s better than everyone," came a girl’s voice, sharp with irritation.

Asher’s blood turned to ice. If he got caught in here, he’d be expelled. No questions asked.

"We all do, but I don’t really take it to heart," another voice replied. "She’s always been that way from day one." The sound of water running filled the space.

"You don’t want them to hear us, right?" Maria rose up on her toes, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered. Her perfume—something floral and expensive—made his head spin. "Just do as I say, and we’ll both walk out of here happy."

He said nothing, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

"Now, let go of the handle," she murmured.

She then guided him gently, quietly, until he was sitting on the closed toilet seat. The porcelain was cold through his trouser.

"I think someone’s in here," one of the girls said, and Asher’s heart nearly stopped.

"Yeah, I’m in here," Maria called out smoothly, her voice perfectly normal and casual.

"Oh," came the response, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

Before he could react, Maria had settled herself on his lap, her weight warm and solid against him. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks. This was his fault. All of it. If he’d just controlled himself better, if he’d gone to the clubs like he’d planned instead of following her...

But seeing her laughing with Ansley had flipped some primal switch in his brain. The way she’d touched his arm, leaned in close when she spoke—it had driven him to the edge of reason. And now that he thought about it clearly, she’d probably done it on purpose. She’d known he was watching, known exactly what would happen when she walked into this secluded restroom.

He’d played right into her hands.

She shifted on his lap, the movement deliberate and maddening. Her skirt had ridden up, and he could feel the warmth of her thighs through the thin fabric. She tried to cup his face, but he caught her wrists.

"Just tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough. "I’ll do it. Just stop this... whatever this is."

She giggled, the sound light and musical and completely at odds with the situation. "I won’t," she said simply.

He closed his eyes, frustration building in his chest like pressure in a bottle. "Then what do you want? What would it take for you to stop this?"

She was quiet for a moment, studying his face with those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through him. When she spoke, her voice was breathy, almost vulnerable.

"Just... love me," she said. "The moment you do, it was all cease."

He stared at her like she’d just announced the world was ending.

"You’re crazy," he said flatly.

"I know," she whispered, leaning forward to press her lips to his again. This time he kissed her back immediately, all resistance crumbling. She moved against him, and he could feel himself responding despite every rational thought screaming at him to stop.

"Yes," she breathed against his mouth, and the sound nearly broke him.

Click.

The door again. He pushed her away so suddenly she tumbled to the floor, landing hard on the cold tiles. He bolted from the cubicle, not caring about the noise, not caring about anything except getting away from her and the dark pull she seemed to have over him.

The reason he kept fighting this wasn’t just about maintaining control—though that was part of it. Asher had always been someone who needed to understand the consequences, the endgame. The uncertainty of what came after surrender terrified him more than the wanting itself.

...

...

"Tsk." He heard Maria’s tongue click in annoyance as the door swung shut behind him, still vibrating from the force of his exit.

She then pushed herself up from the floor, smoothing down her skirt with hands that trembled slightly—whether from arousal or frustration, she couldn’t say.

"Why do you keep resisting?" she whispered to the empty space, biting down on her lip hard enough to taste blood.

She was lonely.

That was the turth.

When she was with Isabelle and her circle of friends, she had to wear the mask—the same mask she’d been perfecting since she was old enough to understand that showing her true self was dangerous. It was a mask that Azalea had patiently, carefully broken through, piece by piece.

She wanted him back. Needed him back. But she wasn’t patient like he’d been when he was winning her over. She wanted him now, immediately, with all the desperate hunger of someone who’d tasted paradise and been cast out.

This was the only way she could think of. After all, it was how he’d created the [Bond] in the first place.

"Fine," she said to the silence, her voice hardening with resolve. "You leave me no choice."