Sweet Hatred
Chapter 110: Show me (r18)

Chapter 110: Show me (r18)

His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, his hair messier than usual, and his eyes... God, his eyes. Like fire and ruin and need.

And I couldn’t help wondering again—what is he running from? What is he not telling me?

But then his hands slid up my sides, his mouth claimed mine with a feverish kiss, and all that noise in my head—

Gone.

Just him. Just us.

And the wicked way his fingers curled into my hips like he needed to anchor himself or fall apart completely.

He finally slowed.

The fever in his eyes dimmed into something deeper, quieter—still ravenous, still needy, but controlled now. Like he’d remembered he didn’t want to ruin me. Not yet. His hands softened on my waist, thumbs sweeping over my skin with a tenderness that only made my chest ache harder.

"I’ll run the shower," he murmured, brushing a kiss against my temple. "You should clean up first. You’ve had a long flight."

I blinked at him, stunned at the shift. "Are you... are you trying to take care of me now?"

His lips curved as he pushed a lock of damp hair behind my ear. "Don’t get used to it."

"You’re a menace," I muttered.

"And yet, you’re still here," he said with a wink, rising from the bed.

I groaned into the pillow. "I haven’t even brushed my teeth."

"I don’t care," he called back over his shoulder. "But I figured you would."

The sound of water running echoed from the bathroom. Steam slowly began to waft out, curling like mist into the bedroom. I stayed still a second longer, my heart still racing, my body remembering every slow, aching drag of his mouth on my skin. He was giving me a second to breathe.

But barely.

After the shower, we were met with a feast and I shamelessly stuffed myself. After that I crawled back into bed, still damp, wrapped in one of his massive t-shirts that swallowed me whole. Kael had kissed the inside of my wrist and whispered after dinner. "Rest. I’ll be right back." Something about needing to check in on a few things—nothing I hadn’t heard before.

I’d said I was going to sleep. I meant to.

But I couldn’t.

The moment the door shut behind him, it was like my body betrayed me. The sheets were too warm, the silence too loud, and Kael’s scent lingered everywhere—on the pillows, the mattress, the shirt I wore.

I tossed once. Twice. My thighs pressed together.

God. What was wrong with me?

It was like every part of me still ached for him, still craved the feel of his mouth on mine, the way he touched me like I was the only thing that could calm the storm inside him. I told myself it was the wine. The travel. The fact that we hadn’t seen each other in what felt like forever.

But deep down, I knew. It was him. Just him. And then the thought crept in, slow and wicked: what if I just...I mean, I hadn’t done it in a while and it was his fault anyways.

My hand slid beneath the sheets. Hesitant. Curious.

And I closed my eyes, picturing only one person.

Kael.

The sheets were soft against my skin, but nowhere near enough to soothe the heat pulsing between my thighs.

I squirmed, biting down on my bottom lip, flushed and aching and so embarrassingly needy. My nipples brushed against the fabric of the shirt I stole from Kael, the friction sparking a sharp jolt of pleasure. I moaned—soft, helpless—my hand creeping up to cup one of the aching peaks. My fingers circled slowly, then pinched, tugged, and I gasped.

I was so sensitive. So desperate.

My other hand slid down, sneaking under the lace of my panties. I was already wet—dripping wet—just from the thought of him. Kael’s mouth. Kael’s fingers. Kael’s cock. The way he looked at me like I was something holy he wanted to defile. The way his hands would grip my hips like he was trying to claim every fucking part of me.

I spread my legs and found my clit with practiced ease, swirling slow circles that made my breath hitch. I imagined him between my legs, dragging his tongue along my inner thighs, teasing me until I begged for it. My hips rolled up instinctively, chasing more friction. I dipped two fingers lower and slid them inside, my mouth falling open.

"Kael," I whimpered, even though he wasn’t here.

God, I wanted him. I needed him. My fingers weren’t enough—they never were. But I couldn’t stop. I imagined his voice, low and filthy in my ear. "Is this what you do when I’m not around? Touch yourself thinking of me, baby?"

Yes. Yes, fuck, yes.

My hips jerked as I fucked myself harder, my thumb rubbing frantic, needy circles. I was close. Right there, aching and soaked and trembling as my orgasm built like a storm. I arched my back, letting the pleasure take me, my fingers relentless.

And then the door creaked open.

I froze.

The door hadn’t even fully opened before I knew I was fucked.

Kael stood there, tall, calm, and quiet. His eyes landed on me—on my flushed face, the sheets tangled around my bare legs, the guilty curve of my hand frozen between my thighs, inside my panties. The other hand frozen under the shirt I wore.

And then he smiled.

Not the soft kind. Not the charming, usually smug kind either.

A slow, wicked grin unfurled across his face like the crack of thunder before a storm.

Ah shit. I fucked up.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I scrambled, yanking the sheets up over me like I could somehow erase the image he’d just walked in on. "Jesus—ever heard of knocking?" I blurted, trying to sound angry, but I could hear the wobble in my voice.

Kael didn’t say a word.

He just stepped inside, the tray of fruits in his hand—berries, figs, sliced peaches—all meant to be sweet and thoughtful, but he didn’t even bother placing it down gently.

He just dropped it on the nightstand with a thud, his eyes still locked on me like I was prey trying to slink away.

"This is my room," he said, voice smooth and dark.

I clutched the sheets tighter. "Still not an excuse to barge in like a fucking psycho."

His brow quirked, a dark laugh rumbling from his chest. "Psycho?" he repeated. "Interesting word choice, considering what I just walked in on."

He started toward the bed slowly—predator slow.

"Don’t you dare," I warned, already trying to shuffle back, heart racing.

"Oh, I dare."

He crawled onto the bed, each move deliberate, letting the mattress dip under his weight, letting me feel the power simmering under his control. I kept backing away until I hit the headboard, breath ragged.

"What were you doing, Aria?" he asked, voice low, like velvet and sin.

"Kael—"

"Show me," he cut in, eyes narrowing. "Show me what you were doing. Right now."

I went still.

My thighs clenched. My face burned.

He was so close now. His body hovered over mine, the sheets the only barrier between us. One of his hands pressed beside my head, caging me in completely.

"Don’t make me ask again," he whispered, brushing his lips just barely over my cheek, not quite kissing, just teasing.

God help me, I was already soaking again.