Page 6 of The Villain We Tempt

The part that stretches awake and throbs when I cinch the choker around my throat. The part that notices my nipples tightening to points as I set up my phone in the middle of the ring light and fiddle with my preset filters.

The part that has 923,000 followers who know her as Velvet Villainess.

Whose worst-thing-she’s-ever-done has a million views on social media.

Who’s about to one-up Mariana Guzman with an even bigger breadcrumb.

Kingsward Hall, like a few other buildings on the Knightsblood campus, was once the house of one of the founders of the college. The Pembroke family lived here andcontinuedto live here for another hundred years or so until they decided they were done living on a college campus.

The family ended up leaving the property to the school, on condition that Para Bellum have unconditional and exclusive use of it. To symbolize this, they even mounted a big brass “key to the home” mounted on a plaque and gave it to the first new Para Bellum residents, who in turn put it on a shelf full of leather-bound books in their prestigious library and promptly forgot all about it.

I swallow as I glance up over my shoulder at that very key, still on its plaque on the heavy bookshelves, surrounded by priceless first editions.

Iknowsomeone’s going to notice it at some point. I also know that it’s going to stir my followers up into a frenzy and probably snag me five thousand new subscribers.

Time to give the people what they want.

I tap the record button.

The music plays quietly from my phone speakers, just to give me a beat. I’ll add the music at a normal volume when I edit this later. Slowly, I start to dance to the track, sensually rolling my hips and looking straight into the camera. My hands slide up mysides, my fingers splaying erotically over my breasts as I run my tongue over my lips.

The funny thing is, my audience isoverwhelminglyfemale and, according to a recent survey I did, mostly straight. So it’s not like I dress up in fetish gear and dance sensually for the male gaze.

I do it because I think a woman seeing another woman owning her sexuality isempowering.

There are other female romance content creators that I follow, and Ilovewhen they produce stuff like this. It’s not because I’m sexually interested in them. It’s because the female formissexy, empirically speaking, and women owning their sexual expression is fucking awesome.

So when I dance, I’m channeling every ounce of that raw sexuality inside me.

My hips grind. My thighs squeeze together. I’mveryaware of the fact that there’s nothing but skin against skin between my legs.

A flush ripples thorough me as I think about The Ghost Prince’s latest video, where he was using a knife as if it were his cock, thrusting at the air in front of his gyrating hips and flexing abs.

Later, when I edit and eventually post this video, it’ll have my full review of the last dark romance book I read in the first comment. But for now, there's just me, the ring light, the camera, and that dark thing twisting and slithering inside me as heat pools between my thighs.

I end up doing three takes, just to make sure I have enough usable content to edit together later. Then I’m done.

Time to take the mask off.

Time to go back to the usual version of Galina Nikitin.

Time to go find my friends, none of whom have thesmallestidea that I’m Velvet Villainess.

I grin as I pull off my mask, wig, and top before I stuff everything into the small bag. God, this video is going to catch likewildfire. I blush, feeling a pulse tug at my core as I walk over to turn off the ring light.

I’m…wet.

I can’t help it. It’s all of it: the mask, the costume, the character, the fact that I can truly let myself go when I am Velvet Villainess. The fact that as much as I try to tell myself otherwise, I get off on the exhibitionism.

The ring light flicks off, plunging the library back into near-total darkness.

“Well, well, well...”

I whirl so fast it’s like I’ve been stabbed with a cattle prod, my flailing arm sending the tripod and ring light crashing to the floor and the scream strangling in my throat.

My pupils go wide as I stare in fear, horror, and shock at the man sitting languidly in a tall-backed upholstered chair at the other side of the library.

His black-clad legs are slightly spread.