Villain Ch 1723. You Taste Like Trouble
Her back was pressed against the wall, and Allen kissed her like he had nothing else to lose. Like her lips were the answer to a question he never dared to ask.
He was warm—too warm. His mouth tasted like faint chocolate from dessert, layered with something darker, like the ghost of red wine and some terrible sweet sin he never even apologized for.
Azura's head was spinning. Her hands clutched the collar of his jacket, holding on like the floor might give out beneath her.
She was melting—literally melting—and Allen's body against hers wasn't helping. His hand was at her waist, not moving, not grabbing, just there—firm, protective, present. Like he was anchoring her to reality and threatening to pull her out of it at the same time.
