Sweet Hatred
Chapter 85: It’s over... right?

Chapter 85: It’s over... right?

ARIA

I felt him collapse on top of me like a fallen tree—heavy, hot, and completely spent as I hugged him. His breath fanned across my neck in ragged pants, chest rising and falling against my chest, skin slick with sweat.

We were tangled in the sheets, our bodies fused, my muscles trembling from the sheer punishment of the last one hour or so. My bones felt like liquid. My brain was short-circuiting. I could barely remember my own name.

Finally, I thought, sinking into the mattress. Finally, it’s over.

I lay there like roadkill, eyes fluttering shut, body aching in places I didn’t even know could ache. I could already feel the soreness blooming across my thighs as lukewarm fluid trickled between them, along my spine where he’d gripped me like I was his last meal. I didn’t even have the energy to curse him out. Not really.

But then...

I felt it.

A twitch.

A slow, rising pressure, still inside me.

I blinked.

"...No," I muttered weakly, too scared to lift my head. "You’re not serious. You’ve gotta be kidding me."

But he was not. That bastard was getting hard again. Inside me. And I felt his cock almost double in size again.

Before I could even form a full sentence, I felt him move—one slow roll of his hips and I damn near saw stars. My legs kicked weakly in protest.

"You demon," I whispered, voice hoarse, as he slid out just enough to make me clench. "You’re going to kill me. You’re actually going to kill me—"

Before I could finish the sentence, he shifted and pulled out. Flipped me on my stomach like a damned report file.

One arm looped around my waist, dragging me upward. The other fisted in my hair, firm and commanding, angling my head back as he lifted my hips off the bed. I gasped as he slid in again, deeper, so deep I swear I felt it in my throat. His chest pressed to my back, mouth at my neck, breath hot and low.

"Still with me?" he rasped.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My brain tapped out the second his teeth sank into my shoulder. Not rough. Not painful. Just enough to sting—to mark me. His mouth dragged down to the dip of my spine, kissing, biting, licking, as his hips started that slow, devastating grind.

Deep. Purposeful. Cruel, like him.

Every rough thrust of him knocked a sound out of me. Whimpers, moans, things I wouldn’t admit to making. He’d pull out slow and purposefully just to plunge back in deeper, his hard dick stroking my spot that nearly drove crazy and literally turned me into a sprinkler.

My arms buckled, but his grip caught me—held me up like I was nothing but a doll in his hands. I could only bounce from the force of his thrusts.

And then he did it.

He shoved me down—face-first into the mattress, ass up, hips tilted just right—while caging my wrists behind my back in one brutal hand.

"Oh my God," I breathed. "Kael—Kael, wait—"

But he didn’t.

He entered in again. Harder. Deeper. The kind of stroke that made my vision blur and my soul momentarily leave my body for a wellness retreat.

My toes curled. My mouth fell open on a soundless gasp. I felt like I was being split in two.

And that fucker groaned like I was the one ruining him.

He didn’t stop. Hours passed in waves—between the deep, dragging thrusts and the quick, punishing ones that had me sobbing into the sheets and our bodies slapping.

There were short breaks, sure. Water. A lazy kiss. The occasional moment where I could breathe. But then his hands would wander, and we’d start all over again.

He had not been exaggerating when he had said I’d made him lost control. Like a sex-crazed lunatic and frankly I enjoyed every bit even though I’d never admit it out loud.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I passed out.

Like... lights out. Gone.

Not from sleep. From overuse. Never in my life was I pounded to unconsciousness but the bastard broke the record.

I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up, the first thing I felt was soreness.

Everywhere.

My thighs ached. My back was sore. My lips were swollen. My soul was sore. I groaned into the pillow, not daring to move, because I knew the second I did, I’d discover a new place that hurt.

"Am I still alive?" I croaked.

And then I realized...

He was still wrapped around me.

Not just touching me. Not just cuddled up beside me.

Wrapped. Like a goddamn python.

His arms were tight around my waist, one leg slung over both of mine, chest flush against my back. His face was buried in my neck, breath hot and unsteady. I wiggled a little, trying to shift, and his grip tightened like a reflex.

"...Are you serious right now?" I whispered. "You’re clinging to me like I’m gonna disappear."

Which... fine. Cute. Whatever.

But then I felt it.

Heat. Not the sexy kind. Not the he’s gonna fuck me again kind.

The fever kind.

I tensed. Lifted a hand, placed it against his forehead.

Boiling. Again.

"You fucking idiot," I hissed.

Of course he’d overexerted himself. He was still sick. I told him to rest. I told him to chill. But nooo, he had to go full demon-mode and wreck both of us like he didn’t have a single care left in his body.

I thwacked him lightly on the forehead with my fingers.

He groaned.

"You pushed yourself too far," I muttered, trying to untangle from him. "You’re burning up again. I knew this would happen. I knew it."

He didn’t let go.

"Kael," I warned, wiggling more. "Let me go. I need to get your meds."

He made a low sound in his throat, something close to a grumble. His arms tightened again like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

"If you die here," I gritted out, "it’s gonna be such a pain in the ass calling the ambulance to come pick up your stupid body. Do you know how much paperwork that is? Huh?"

Still no response.

I huffed. "I swear to God, if you don’t let go, I’ll ignore you for the rest of the week."

That got him.

His arms loosened a little. He stirred, eyes cracking open—those stormy, venomous green eyes, dazed and hot with fever—and he said, with all the seriousness in the damn world:

"Don’t."

Just that. One word.

And the way he said it? Like I’d threatened to rip out his heart and toss it in traffic.

I blinked, caught off guard. "I was kidding—"

"No," he said hoarsely. "You can curse me out. Hit me. Hate me. But don’t ever ignore me. Not you."

My breath caught.

Damn him.

Damn him and that look and that voice and that need bleeding out of every part of him.

"...Fine," I muttered, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Then stop acting like a damn toddler and let me take care of you. Don’t make me fight you."

He let out a sigh, and finally, finally, let me go.

I peeled myself off the bed like roadkill on hot pavement. Everything hurt. My hips, my back, my thighs—hell, even my eyelids felt overworked. I stumbled a bit, bracing my hand against the wall like I’d just survived some apocalyptic war. Which, to be fair, I kinda had.

The room was dim, but the second I tugged open the curtains, I froze.

Evening.

Soft amber light spilled across the bed, painting Kael in gold. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling too fast for my liking, the sheets tangled low around his waist. I could still see faint red trails on his back from where I’d clawed him—proof that I didn’t exactly put up a fight.

Jesus, we really went at it that long?

My stomach growled. Loudly. Pathetically. I looked down at myself—bruised, bitten, sticky. Nope. No chance in hell I was going to feed this man looking like the final girl from an apocalyptic movie.

I showered fast. Hot water stung the marks he left behind, and I winced at the soreness in places I didn’t even know could get sore. My legs shook when I stepped out, and I cursed him under my breath.

Tyrant. Freak. Sex demon in a fevered body.

When I dried off, I grabbed one of his shirts from the floor—it hung off my body like a nightgown—and padded into the kitchen. I didn’t know what I was making yet. Just... something warm. Healing. The kind of thing a sick man who tried to murder you with orgasms might need.

Soup, maybe. Eggs. Tea. A bullet to the head. I needed to google the steps again.

I opened the fridge, rummaging through it until I found what I needed. Just as I started heating water for tea, I heard the bathroom door creak open.

He was awake.

Shuffling around. Probably trying to pretend he wasn’t about to collapse in the shower and crack his skull open.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, muttering, "Hard-headed bastard..."

A second later, his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Curiosity wasn’t even a question—it was instinct. I leaned closer, screen lighting up with a soft chime.

One notification. No name. Just an unsaved number and two words:

Hi darling.