#52
The room fell quiet.
For a heartbeat, I thought maybe it would end there—until I turned, and met Ally’s sharp, unamused stare.
“…What?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re seriously hopeless.”
“What’s this? Are you jealous~?”
“Jea—!” Ally started, but I didn’t let her finish.
I lunged, tackling her back onto the bed. She yelped, more surprised than hurt, as I pinned her down, laughing.
“Admit it,” I teased, my hands darting toward her sides. “You’re jealous!”
Her laughter broke through almost instantly, breathless and furious all at once.
“You—! Ahahaha! Stop that! You bastard!” she managed between laughs, twisting beneath me.
“You dog!” she shouted, grabbing at my wrists. “Anyone will do, huh?!”
“Hey, I’m just being polite,” I said with a mock-serious tone, dodging her grasp. “It’s rude not to compliment someone doing their job perfectly.”
“Compliment?!” she barked, finally catching my hand and wrenching it behind my back in one smooth motion. “That didn’t look like a compliment to me!”
With a quick twist, she reversed our positions.
Suddenly, I was the one flat on the mattress, her knees on either side of my waist, holding me down with infuriating ease.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, strands of her messy hair falling over her face as she glared down at me.
“You even make passes at the maid? Just how slutty can a man be?!”
I groaned, trying to push her off, but it was useless. No matter how much I resisted, she didn’t even budge.
“So strong,” I muttered dramatically, still pinned beneath her. “You’re going to ruin my pride one of these days.”
“One of these days?” she shot back, grinning. “Try every day.”
I laughed, then in one impulsive motion, slid my arms around her waist and pulled her closer.
The surprise flickered in her eyes—just for a second—before it melted into something softer.
Our faces were only inches apart now. I could feel her breath brushing my skin, warm and steady.
“What can I say… she was incredibly pretty~.”
Ally’s lips parted, ready to fire back, a sharp retort already forming. But nothing came out.
The teasing faltered, her comeback dying on her tongue, replaced by something quieter. Her hold on my wrists loosened, her fingers still resting there, but without their previous steel.
Our gazes locked—her sharp, amber eyes searching mine with that familiar, potent mix of exasperation, longing, and a flicker of genuine concern.
“Just what am I gonna do with you?” she muttered, shaking her head slightly.
“When did you become such a manwhore, huh?” she added under her breath, though her tone was more weary than harsh.
“Ouch,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest in mock pain. “That hurts.”
It didn’t fool her for a second.
Ally’s expression softened, but her gaze stayed firm—that mix of teasing and protectiveness that only she could pull off.
“I don’t care if she’s pretty or not,” she said, voice quieter now. “But I already told you before — be wary of women. You know how things are in this world, Alvin. One of these days, you’ll get hurt by that uncontrollable lust of yours.”
Her words hit with more weight than she probably meant.
Beneath the playful surface, there was genuine worry. And I was feeling happy. Satisfied. I could hear her love. And it… feels good. Being loved. You know.
“Yeah… I know.” I said.
And I did.
I know my actions can be bad… well, sometimes. Or, could be, often. I have this strange, uncontrollable desire that I can’t understand.
And so, I knew she was right — that I was reckless sometimes, maybe too easily swayed by charm or beauty. But that part of me… it wasn’t something I could just turn off.
Like last night.
I know what I did was basically… assault, you know.
With Layla.
If this were my previous world, I would have been thrown behind bars, labeled as dangerous. But I just lost control. And it came so naturally… I feel like I just accepted that no matter what I do, I will be forgiven. And yes, I would. But that’s not the point.
The thing is… even if I did, I would usually, you know, think about it.
Consider things… should I do it, should I not…?
At least, that should have been.
But clearly that was not the case last night.
“I know you’re right. It’s just… whenever I see a beautiful girl, it’s like my body forgets to listen to reason. Everything just heats up, and I end up acting before I think.”
Ally gave me a long look — the kind that peeled through my excuses and saw straight to the truth. Then, slowly, she smirked.
“So basically, you’re just an idiot with hormones.”
I laughed, relieved by the familiar tone returning to her voice.
“That’s one way to put it.”
She shook her head again, exasperated but smiling now.
“You’re impossible, Alvin. If my mom weren’t around to keep you alive, I’d have to start chaining you to the bed just to stop you from chasing skirts.”
“Tempting offer,” I said, unable to resist.
Her eyes narrowed, though there was a glint of amusement there.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
“Nope,” I said, grinning. “It’s part of my charm.”
Ally groaned, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like idiot, then rolled off me and sat up, brushing her hair out of her face.
Her hair was a mess — loose strands spilling over her shoulders, clinging slightly to her neck — but somehow, that only made her look even more irresistible.
I stayed where I was, still catching my breath, watching her from below.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains painted her skin in soft gold, outlining the curve of her jaw, the line of her collarbone, the faint movement of her chest as she breathed.
For a moment, she didn’t speak. She just looked at me — her lips curving ever so slightly, her expression softer than before.
The irritation from earlier had melted away, replaced by something quieter, almost tender. Her gaze lingered, and I caught it — that flicker of worry hiding behind the bravado.
She sighed, shaking her head.
“You’re impossible,” she said at last, but her tone carried no bite.
I chuckled softly. “And yet, you still put up with me. You love me so much, you always forgive me.”
“Unfortunately,” she murmured — though the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying the warmth beneath her words.
“Alright, you win. But whenever you do it, make sure you tell me who it was, okay. I’m really serious, women are not harmless creatures, Alvin. They’ll take advantage of you if you show weakness.”
“Ally…” but before I could say anything else, she leaned down.
Her hand pressed against my chest, just above my heart.
The weight of her touch stilled me instantly. Her hair fell forward, brushing against my cheek.
I felt her breath — warm, uneven — before her lips found mine.
“Just promise me.”
“Okay,”
My hand rose instinctively to her waist, pulling her closer.
The faint scent of her — faintly floral, faintly sweet — filled my senses, grounding me in that moment.
When she finally pulled away, her lips were slightly parted, her eyes half-lidded. A faint pink colored her cheeks, but she tried to play it off with her usual composure.
I smiled up at her.
“That was… unexpected.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, her voice a mix of embarrassment and affection.
I laughed quietly.
“Can’t. I think you just made my morning.”
“Idiot,” she said again — but this time, she smiled when she said it.
Before I could tease her further, another voice cut through the air like a splash of cold water.
“Well,” Morgana drawled, still lounging lazily on the bed, head propped on one arm, while a knowing smirk curved her lips, “…if you two are done flirting and fighting at the same time, maybe we can eat before the food gets cold?”
Ally shot her mother a withering look.
“Fine, fine. Let’s go. I’m starving.”
Morgana chuckled, stretching like a cat before standing. “Good. Because I nearly died waiting for you two to finish your little morning drama.”
I grinned, propping myself up on my elbows.
“Hey, can’t blame us for being passionate.”
“Passionate, huh?” Morgana teased, her grin widening. “Sure, let’s call it that.”
Ally grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at her.
“Out!”
…
The air was thick with the scent of perfume and coffee — but something else lingered too: the memory of skin, sweat, and whispered gasps from the night before.
It clung faintly to me, to the clothes I wore, to the very air that drifted down the grand staircase.
As I descended, the scene below slowly came into view — and it reminded me, once again, that this wasn’t a normal household.
The morning light streamed through tall windows, painting the marble floors in soft gold.
There were fewer people than yesterday, but still more than enough to fill the house with life.
The guests were scattered into small, lively clusters — some gathered around the long dining table, others lounging in the living room’s sunlit couches, and a few chatting idly near the open glass doors that led to the pool.
Laughter mingled with the clinking of cutlery and the faint splash of water outside.
The atmosphere was relaxed but charged — an echo of indulgence lingering in the air, as though the house itself hadn’t quite woken from last night’s pleasures.
Dozens of maids moved among them with effortless grace. Mostly young women, their uniforms were a striking blend of refinement and temptation — black skirts that ended high on the thigh, white aprons crisp against soft fabric, collars neat but never prudish.
Their steps were quick and fluid, practiced yet unhurried, as they balanced trays stacked with steaming food and gleaming silverware.
Some carried themselves with the poise of trained attendants, their every movement precise and silent. Others were far more casual — laughing softly with guests, leaning closer than necessary as they poured coffee or offered fruit.
I even saw a maid bending over to lay down a basket of bread, her blouse unbuttoned far lower than any workplace standard, revealing the soft curve of her chest. Man, they look so soft.
Another passed by barefoot, a jug of juice in hand, her skirt swaying lazily as sunlight traced the line of her hips. And damn, she was not wearing any underwear.
And no one seemed surprised.
While I happily leered at the beautiful maids that seemed straight out of my fantasies, Ally and Aunt Morgana led me through the open hall toward the dining area. Their steps were unhurried, casual — like this was all routine. And probably yes, it was normal for them.
This was not the first gathering, after all.
As we passed under the archway, the scent of baked bread and roasted meat grew stronger, mingling with perfume and the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea.
The long, wooden table stretched across the room, polished to a soft sheen that reflected the morning light.
It was already crowded with people — voices overlapping, laughter echoing lightly between bites and sips.
Even Jean was there — Rodrigo’s older sister, sitting in one of the long couches in the living room with her friends, all equally striking. Two of them were just in their underwear.
And as we approached the dining hall, several heads turned — eyes following me for a moment too long before shifting elsewhere with faint smirks.
Whispers rippled briefly through the air, half-teasing, half-curious, and I caught more than one knowing look exchanged between them.
I could feel eyes following me.
Some stared openly, elbows propped on the table as they tracked my every move. Others tried for subtlety, speaking to their neighbors but sneaking glances at me from the corners of their eyes.
Their gazes weren’t hostile, but there was no mistaking the interest simmering in the room. Excitement. Curiosity. A kind of longing that was less about affection and more about appetite. And, under it all, something heavier—lust, raw and unhidden.
“Is that him?”
“…he’s the one who—”
“If I asked him, would he do it with me, too?”
I pretended not to hear, keeping my eyes ahead, but the words still brushed over me like hands.
Jean saw me and waved, her bracelets jingling softly as she raised her hand in greeting. Her smile was playful, confident — the kind that could stop a conversation mid-sentence. I returned the gesture with a polite wave of my own, which only made her grin deepen.
The woman beside her leaned in, whispering something that made Jean chuckle under her breath before she turned her attention back to her plate, feigning innocence.
Ally nudged me lightly with her elbow, her voice low.
“You’ve got fans,” she murmured.
I exhaled through my nose, trying not to laugh. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m not starting,” she said with mock seriousness. “They are.”
As we passed further down, I caught sight of a few familiar faces—Lindon, Johnson, Tina, Mick—all mid-conversation until they noticed me.
Johnson raised his hand lazily in greeting, while Tina offered a cheerful grin, her robe hanging loosely from one shoulder.
Near the end of the table, I saw Layla sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few stray strands falling over her forehead. She was wearing a soft white shirt that looked two sizes too big for her, sleeves swallowing her wrists, collar slipping slightly off one shoulder.
She looked like she hadn’t spoken a word since sitting down.
What a poor girl.
