Sweet Hatred
Chapter 75: Need

Chapter 75: Need

For a second, I just stood there. Letting the quiet buzz against my skin. Letting the smell of alcohol and cologne fill my lungs. Letting the image of Kael—Kael, the cold bastard I couldn’t stop thinking about—sink into the bed like he didn’t have the strength to breathe.

I moved toward him, unbuttoning his shirt gently. My fingers trembled—not because I was nervous, but because I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

His forehead burned under my touch.

Fever. A bad one.

"Goddamn it," I whispered. "You fucking idiot."

I grabbed a cool towel from the bathroom, pressed it to his neck, his forehead. Cursed under my breath as I peeled back the layers of his designer armor and found the vulnerable man beneath.

Kael moaned, head turning.

"Aria..."

I froze.

He said it like he was afraid I’d disappear. Like my name was the only thing anchoring him.

"Drink some water," I said, sitting by the bed, trying to push a bottle to his lips.

He refused.

"Come on," I urged. But he didn’t budge. I gave up pretty quickly and placed the bottle back on the small table.

He turned his face toward me instead, grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. And then he pulled me onto the bed. On to his burning body. Just like that.

I gasped, hand landing against his bare chest, skin hot to the touch. My body tensed, eyes meeting his—half-open, burning with something between fever and something else.

"Kael," I breathed, trying to move back.

He didn’t let me. He pulled me even closer. His strength was somehow still the same despite acting like a jellyfish earlier.

"Don’t go," he whispered. "Not you..."

I should’ve pushed harder. Should’ve said no.

But I didn’t.

Not when his lips crashed into mine like he was drowning, like I was the only thing keeping him alive. The kiss was messy, desperate, almost feverish in its urgency.

I kissed him back—just for a moment. Just long enough to taste the ache in him. The want. The apology he couldn’t say.

And then I pulled away, breathless.

"Stop," I whispered, even though my heart didn’t want him to.

He didn’t say anything.

Just clung to me like he didn’t trust the world not to steal me too. He gripped my waist like I was the last thing holding him to earth. Hot, possessive palms splayed against my back, fingers dragging slowly up beneath my blouse like he needed to feel skin—my skin—to breathe.

"Kael," I warned, voice barely above a whisper. "You’re burning up."

"I know," he rasped, voice hoarse. "It’s you."

My chest clenched.

God.

His fever was bad. He wasn’t thinking straight. But the way his eyes devoured me, barely open and yet dark with hunger, that wasn’t just heat—it was something primal.

He kissed me again, slower this time, fingers running through my hair. Less desperate, more deliberate. And it wrecked me.

His lips were soft, but he kissed like a man who didn’t know gentle. Like someone learning it for the first time, from me. Tongue sliding past mine, thumb stroking the bare skin of my side like it belonged there. He groaned into my mouth, low and deep.

And then—I felt it.

His hips shifted under mine, and suddenly I was very aware of the hard length pressing against me.

I broke the kiss, breath caught in my throat. "Kael."

He didn’t open his eyes. Just whispered, "I missed you firefly."

That damned nickname again. It was growing on me before I even realized.

"You’re drunk. And sick."

"I still want you."

That made my stomach flutter in a way I didn’t want to admit.

His hands moved lower, gripping my thighs. Clinging. Like he was afraid I’d vanish.

I sat up slightly, straddling his hips. My mind screamed at me to move. To pull away. But I couldn’t stop looking at him—his flushed skin, his heavy breaths, the way he bit his lip like he was holding back so much more.

He shifted again. His arousal throbbed against me through the layers of clothes and heat. My thighs clenched instinctively.

I hated the way my body reacted. Or maybe I loved it too much.

"You shouldn’t have energy for this," I muttered, trying to get off him.

But his grip tightened, strong and desperate, dragging me back down until I was flush against him. "I haven’t touched you in days." His hand slid down to my waist, pressing me hard against the shape of him.

"Move," he whispered, voice low and ruined. "Just a little... for me."

My heart stuttered.

He rocked up beneath me, slow but purposeful, and I felt everything. The friction. The hunger. The ache I’d tried so hard to bury.

He opened his eyes and rocked up against me again, needier this time, like he couldn’t help himself. I braced my hands on his chest, meaning to push him back—but my fingers curled into his shirt instead.

"Kael," I warned, breath shaky. "You’re feverish... you need to—"

He still didn’t listen.

His hands slid down, found the edge of my skirt, and pushed it up my waist in one smooth motion. I gasped as the cool air kissed my skin, and then I was pressed tight against him again—only this time, there was nothing but my soaked panties and the soft fabric of his trouser between us.

A low groan rumbled from his throat. "Fuck, Aria..."

His hips lifted again, grinding up into the heat of me, slow and rough like he was savoring the feel of it.

I couldn’t breathe. I was wet. Soaked.

I could feel every need, every desperate throb of him beneath me—and the worst part? I wanted to move. I wanted to give in and ride that tension until it exploded between us.

But I held on—barely.

"Why are you so damn stubborn?"

"Don’t make me beg." He said hoarsely.

God. He would, wouldn’t he?

His fingers dug into my thighs, pulling me closer, tighter against the hard ridge straining beneath his slacks. The fabric pressed against my soaked panties, dampening with every slow grind of his hips. It was torture—wet, hot, maddening torture.

I tried to lift myself off him, just enough to breathe, but his hands flew up to my waist, holding me in place as he bucked up again. A strangled sound tore from my throat.

"Kael..." My voice was too soft, too shaky, like I didn’t even believe my own protest. "Stop..."

"Then move," he rasped. "Just... move, Aria."

His head dropped to my chest, breath warm against the skin above my blouse. "I need to feel you. Please."

The word—please—slithered into my spine like fire. Was this really Kael?