Sweet Hatred
Chapter 27: "That’s a lie, woman."

Chapter 27: "That’s a lie, woman."

Aria’s POV

The first thing I felt was soreness—everywhere. My legs, my arms, even places I didn’t think could ache. My body felt wrung out, drained, like I had been put through a damn endurance test. And then there was the heat, a lingering warmth between my thighs that had no business still being there.

My brows furrowed as I blinked against the soft glow filtering through the curtains. My mind felt sluggish, tangled in a haze of exhaustion. I shifted against the sheets, and that’s when I noticed it—my skin was soft. Too soft. Clean.

I lifted my hand and ran it over my body. No stickiness. No traces of last night’s mess.

Kael.

The memories hit me all at once, flashing behind my eyelids like a goddamn movie reel. His hands on me. His voice—low, dark, and utterly wrecking. His fingers. His mouth. The way he had unraveled me piece by piece, keeping me right on the edge only to rip it away until I was too far gone to fight it.

I swallowed, my face heating even though no one was here to witness my reaction. My eyes darted to the other side of the bed. Empty.

Of course.

I pushed myself up, ignoring the dull ache in my thighs. The suite was silent except for the faint clink of a spoon against ceramic. My head turned toward the open doorway leading to the living space, and there he was.

Kael.

Dressed in a crisp black suit, his tie perfectly knotted, not a damn wrinkle in sight. He stood near the large window, a steaming mug in one hand while his other scrolled through something on his phone. Relaxed. Composed. Like he hadn’t spent the entire night wrecking me, like he hadn’t pushed me so far past my limit I was still feeling the effects of it.

Something snapped inside me.

I threw off the sheets, stomped forward, and before I even processed what I was doing—my palm cracked against his cheek.

The sound echoed, cutting through the quiet. His head tilted slightly from the impact, the coffee in his hand sloshing dangerously close to the rim but not spilling. Not even a drop.

Slowly, too slowly, he turned back to me.

He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked amused. Smug. That goddamn smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like he had been expecting this. "Good morning to you too."

Then, he glanced down at himself, at the few drops of coffee that had almost stained his suit jacket. And with that infuriating smirk still in place, he drawled, "Do you know how much this suit cost?"

Oh, fuck him and his expensive suit.

My hands curled into fists at my sides. "That was for making that sleazeball pester me last night."

His smirk deepened. "That’s a lie, woman."

He stepped closer, the scent of coffee and something distinctly him filling the space between us. His voice dropped, low and smooth, like he was letting me in on some dark little secret.

"You slapped me because I edged you so much you were begging me with your eyes to let you cum." His fingers ghosted over my wrist, just barely touching. "And I let you. All over my hands. So much. Remember firefly? You should have seen your face."

I seethed. This fucking bitch.

I raised my hand again, ready to wipe that arrogant smirk right off his stupidly gorgeous face—

But this time, he caught me.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist, not tight, not rough, but firm. Unyielding.

"We have a meeting in twenty minutes, Firefly," he murmured, his grip releasing and turning into fingers interlocking with mine, even as his free hand lifted the coffee mug toward me.

I blinked at it.

"You’ll need this."

I wanted to throw it in his face. Instead, I snatched it from his hand and took a scalding sip just to spite him.

I would deal with him later.

***

Millan’s sky draped over us as we walked toward his jet. The meetings were over, the deals were struck, and it was time to go home, earlier than planned.

I barely remembered the flight back. My mind was too damn busy fighting off the images that kept replaying—haunting me, tormenting me.

Even during the meeting, while Kael’s hands pressed firm against the documents, his deep voice rolling like thunder across the room, I couldn’t stop thinking about last night. About him.

Those same fingers, now casually pinning the papers in place, had been inside me. Stretching me, teasing me, making me fall apart until I was nothing but gasps and desperate whimpers.

I clenched my fists in my lap. Stupid. So fucking stupid.

I let my guard down. I walked straight into his trap and gave him everything he wanted—so damn easily.

A slow, knowing smirk curled on Kael’s lips, and I nearly died of mortification. The bastard knew. He knew exactly what was running through my mind. I wanted to shoot myself from the sheer embarrassment I felt.

Thankfully, he didn’t say a word the rest of the trip, but his eyes did. Every now and then, as he scanned his schedule and signed contracts, I caught him watching me—calculated, amused, as if he was savoring my torment in silence.

When we landed, my phone buzzed relentlessly. I pulled it out and scrolled through the missed calls and unread messages.

Sarah. Olivia. Both asking if I was working overtime.

Then an unknown number.

My stomach turned to ice.

Eric.

The message was weak. Same half-assed apology about how he’d forgive me for smashing his car if I’d just let him explain.

I locked my phone with a sharp breath. That little ant was still trying, still crawling back, and I hated that he still had any effect on me at all.

The car rolled to a stop in front of HQ’s building. As I reached for the door handle, ready to follow him out, his hand shot out, stopping me.

"You’re done for today," he said smoothly, his frame blocking me from the exit. His sharp eyes flickered over my face, soaking in my confusion before his lips curved in that maddening way.

"I’ll call you tonight."

His voice was soft, deep. A promise.

I hated how my stomach clenched at those words.

I shoved him away and slammed the door shut, ignoring the way he chuckled under his breath.

He didn’t even glance back as he walked over and leaned into the driver’s window, murmuring something to the chauffeur before disappearing inside his building—leaving me simmering, fuming, aching.

Damn him.