Age Of The Villainous Author:All Hell Leads To Webnovel-Chapter 37: The Morning Aftermath

The suite smelled of sex, champagne, and expensive perfume the next morning.

Sunlight sliced through the floor-to-ceiling glass at a low, unforgiving angle. It caught the dried streaks on the marble table, the rumpled midnight-blue dress draped over a chair, the black lace panties still tangled on the floor near Joanna’s discarded heels.

I woke first.

Naked. Sprawled in the oversized leather armchair that had served as our second battlefield around 2 a.m.

Kasia was curled against my side on the wide sofa, head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. Her breathing was slow and even content. The compulsion kept her anchored even in sleep.

Joanna was across the room.

She’d claimed the far end of the sectional after the third round. Naked except for one stocking that had somehow survived. She was awake, sitting up, knees drawn to her chest, staring out at the city.

Her hair was a wreck. Mascara smudged under her eyes. Cum still crusted faintly on the inner curve of one thigh.

She didn’t look ashamed.

She looked... thoughtful.

I stretched. Joints popped. Cock twitched at half-mast against my thigh, morning wood mixed with memory.

"Morning, Jojo."

She turned her head slowly.

Her voice was hoarse. "Don’t call me that when we’re not fucking."

I smirked. "Noted. How’s the view?"

"Expensive," she said. "Like everything else last night."

Kasia stirred. Lifted her head. Smiled sleepily at Joanna.

"Good morning."

Joanna gave a small, dry laugh. "Is it?"

I stood. Walked naked to the minibar. Poured three glasses of water. Handed one to each woman.

Joanna took hers. Drank half in one go. Winced at the soreness between her legs.

"Three hundred thousand," she said quietly. "It hit my account at 4:12 a.m. I checked."

"Good," I said. "Wire’s clean. No paper trail back to Thorn Publishing."

She nodded. Set the glass down.

"I’ve never done anything like that," she admitted. "Not for money. Not... like that."

Kasia moved to sit beside her. Not touching. Just close.

"Was it terrible?" Kasia asked softly.

Joanna looked at her. Then at me.

"No," she said after a long beat. "It was... overwhelming. And good. Too good."

I leaned against the bar. Arms crossed. Let her see me still hard, still unbothered.

"You’re welcome to walk away," I told her. "Take the money. Keep the memory. Never speak to us again."

She laughed again short, bitter, surprised.

"You think I can do that? After last night?"

I shrugged. "Some people can."

"Not me." She met my eyes. "I want in."

Kasia’s smile widened slow, satisfied.

"In?" I repeated.

"The team. The... whatever this is." She gestured vaguely at the three of us, at the ruined suite. "I’m not stupid. I know what you’re building. Power. Money. Control. I want a piece of it. Not just as your lawyer. As... more."

I studied her.

No hesitation in her foundation now. The buried hunger had cracked wide open.

"More how?" I asked.

"More like her." She nodded at Kasia. "Loyal. Useful. Available."

Kasia reached out. Touched Joanna’s knee lightly.

Joanna didn’t flinch.

I walked over. Stood in front of them both.

"Prove it," I said.

Joanna looked up at me. Then down at my cock, still thick, still ready.

She slid to her knees without being told.

Kasia moved behind me. Pressed her breasts to my back. Hands roaming my chest.

Joanna took me in her mouth.

Slower this time. More deliberate.

She was better than Kasia at this years of experience showing in the way she used her tongue, the suction, the slight twist of her wrist at the base.

She looked up at me while she worked. Eyes locked. No shame.

Kasia kissed my neck. Whispered, "She’s good, isn’t she?"

"Very," I grunted.

Joanna pulled off. Stroked me with both hands.

"I can be better," she said. Voice low. "I can be whatever you need."

I believed her.

I pulled her up. Bent her over the arm of the sofa.

Kasia knelt in front of her face.

Joanna ate her while I fucked her from behind.

Long, steady strokes.

Her ass jiggled beautifully—fuller than Kasia’s, softer.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

I reached around. Found her clit. Rubbed in tight circles.

She came fast. Shuddering. Moaning into Kasia’s pussy.

I didn’t stop.

Fucked her through it.

Then pulled out. Turned her around.

Pushed her onto her back on the sofa.

Spread her legs wide.

Entered her again.

Deep.

Her tits bounced with each thrust. Heavy. Perfect.

I leaned down. Sucked one nipple. Bit it.

She arched. Screamed.

Kasia straddled her face again.

We rode her together.

When I came, I pulled out and finished on her stomach, thick white ropes painting her skin.

She lay there panting. Covered. Claimed.

Kasia licked a streak off her belly. Smiled at me.

"She’s ours now," Kasia said.

Joanna looked up at us both.

Eyes glassy. Satisfied.

"Yours," she whispered.

I handed her a towel.

"Clean up. Shower’s through there. We have work today."

She nodded.

As she walked limping slightly toward the bathroom, I felt the cold fire settle.

Two women.

Both brilliant.

Both mine.

The empire was growing.

And so was the harem.

//\\

To the authors who have stared at a blank cursor until it started to look like a heartbeat, this is for you.

​They told us we weren’t good enough. They sent those cold, automated rejections that read like a death warrant for our dreams.

"Not a fit." "Lacks marketability." Every time you see Alex Thorn crush an editor in this story, remember: this isn’t just fiction. This is the scream of every writer who stayed up until 3:00 AM pouring their soul into a document that the world ignored.

It is for everyone who has struggled with low reads, low reviews, and those stagnant collections that make you want to quit.

​The gatekeepers are human. They are flawed. And in this digital age, they are becoming obsolete.

They sit in comfortable chairs judging worlds they could never imagine, let alone build. They look at spreadsheets while we look at the stars. We don’t write for the approval of a corporate board in a glass office; we write for the person scrolling on their phone at a bus stop, looking for a world better than their own.

We write for the ones who need an escape from a life that feels like a dead end.

​If you have a manuscript sitting in a folder named "Draft 1" that you’re too afraid to post—post it right now.

Stop waiting for permission to exist. If you’ve been rejected ten times, go for the eleventh. Use their "No" as fuel for your fire.

Alex Thorn had to die to get his second chance. You don’t. You just have to keep typing until your fingers bleed and your vision blurs. The industry thinks they hold the keys, but they forgot that we are the ones who build the doors in the first place.

​Let them call us "cringe." Let them call us "amateurs." While they talk, we build. While they judge, we evolve into something they can’t control.

They fear the day we realize that their power is an illusion, a paper shield against a tidal wave of raw, unfiltered creativity. We are the architects of the impossible. We are the voices in the dark that refuse to be silenced by a "standardized" algorithm.

​The system is rigged to favor the safe, the bland, and the predictable. But the reader’s heart craves the wild, the broken, and the real. Every Chapter you finish is a middle finger to the status quo. Every "Publish" button you click is an act of war against the people who want to keep you in a box.

We are not just content creators; we are world-shapers. We are the nightmare that the ivory tower never saw coming.

​Current Motivation Level: 37%

Next Level: +1%

​If this Chapter resonated with you, drop a comment. Tell me about the time a gatekeeper told you "No." Let’s burn the old world down and write a new one together.

​ALL HELL FROM WEBNOVEL STARTS FROM YOU!

— A.T.