Sweet Hatred Chapter 113: Gratitude [r18]

He angled his hips and—fuck—hit that spot.

I saw stars.

My back bowed, an uncontrollable moan ripping from my throat.

"Ohhh fuck—right there—"

"There?" he smirked darkly, pinning my wrists above my head and pounding into with asured cruelty. "You an here?"

Another sharp thrust—precise, punishing.

"Or here?" he snarled, watching my face crumble as he ruined .

I was babbling now—his na, God’s, maybe even so curses I didn’t rember learning—and he just kept going, whispering the filthiest praises in my ear.

"How do you get wetter every ti I fuck you?"

"And you were touching yourself to , weren’t you? Humping my pillow while I was gone?"

His voice dropped, deadly soft. "Now you’re gonna cum with inside. Again. Show how much you need it."

I was seconds away.

His hand slid between us, fingers finding my clit and rubbing—fast and ruthless—just as he slamd into deeper, harder, the veins of his cock dragging against every nerve inside .

"Cum for , Aria," his deep voice dropped even lower in my ears. "Don’t hold back."

And I did.

Another orgasm tore through like a lightning bolt. My vision blurred, body spasming uncontrollably, and I scread his na as the world exploded into white-hot bliss.

Kael wasn’t far behind.

He grunted, cursed, and buried himself to the hilt, spilling deep inside , cock twitching violently as he released with a broken moan of my na.

We stayed like that—panting, trembling, slick with sweat and cum—his forehead pressed to mine, his cock still pulsing inside .

And then he said, voice hoarse, "I’m still not done."

Of course he wasn’t.

He was still inside , thick, hard, possessive—and I could feel him twitching with leftover desire, even as my thighs trembled around his waist.

I was limp, gasping for breath, a flushed, shaking ss. But he wasn’t ready to let go. Not even close.

He kissed my jaw, then my cheek, then my lips—soft and slow, a dangerous contrast to the rough way he manhandled my body next.

"Up," he growled into my mouth, lifting without warning.

"Kael—" I whimpered, barely able to hold myself up, but his grip was unrelenting. He spun us around, feet hitting the floor as he dragged up to stand—barely—my legs wobbling like jelly.

That’s when I saw it.

The mirror.

It was mounted atop a wide antique desk, its heavy fra ornate and regal, one I had admired the hours before without knowing the sin it would witness.

Now, the room’s golden light caught the sweat sheen on my skin, the wildness in my eyes. Kael moved behind , caging in, one arm wrapped around my waist while the other grabbed my jaw.

"Look," he commanded, voice a delicious threat against my ear.

"I can’t—"

"Yes, you can."

He forced my chin up until my gaze t the reflection.

And fuck.

There we were.

, eyes glistening, hair tangled and lips swollen, body still flushed from my climax—utterly wrecked. And him, tall and broad and shirtless behind , his dark eyes locked on mine in the mirror, jaw sharp, muscles flexing as he held up with ease.

"You see that?" he whispered, dragging the tip of his cock along my folds, teasing.

"I love this mirror," he continued, voice lower now, filthier. "Bought it for this exact reason. So you could watch yourself fall apart while I fuck you."

He bent over the desk slowly, palms flat on the wood, ass angled up as his body pinned mine in place. My breath fogged up the mirror as he leaned in, guiding his cock back to my entrance.

Still sensitive. Still dripping.

"Kael—fuck—wait—"

"No." His hand slid up my back, slowly around my neck, until I was forced to et his gaze again.

"Don’t look away this ti."

And then he thrust in—slow and brutal, dragging out the stretch so I felt every inch like a curse and a blessing.

My eyes rolled back. He spanked my ass hard enough to sting.

"I said look."

I looked.

And the sight of him fucking —his body dominating mine, my expression ruined, my tits bouncing with every deep, snapping thrust—was filthier than any porn I’d ever watched.

Kael was watching too. Watching watch him destroy .

"Look how you take ," he rasped, voice shaky with restraint as he bottod out again. "You love seeing yourself like this, don’t you?"

My fingers curled around the desk edge as his hips slamd into mine, wet slaps echoing across the room. The pleasure was too much—raw, animal, wicked.

And the worst part?

I did love it.

Kael leaned in again, dragging his tongue across the shell of my ear. "Eyes on the mirror, firefly," he murmured, low and sinful. "Wanna watch you co apart on again."

Then he thrust into —slow, deep, deliberate.

I choked on a gasp as my hands flew to the edge of the desk for balance. He didn’t stop. One of his hands stayed at my waist, the other gripping my jaw, keeping my face turned to the mirror.

"Look at you," he groaned, watching every reaction I made. "Look how fuckin’ perfect you are when you’re stuffed full of ."

His pace was brutal and steady, hitting every spot like he owned them. My breasts bounced with every thrust, Kael watching it all through the mirror with dark, possessive eyes.

He dipped his mouth to my neck, growling, "I love—"

He paused, breath catching.

"I love the way you feel around ."

But it didn’t sound like that was what he originally ant. And fuck, my heart stuttered. Just for a second. A stupid, reckless second.

I wanted him to say it. Really say it.

But I swallowed the ache, forcing my gaze back to the mirror. "Pervert," I muttered breathlessly. "You’re just obsessed with watching yourself fuck ."

Kael grinned against my neck, eyes dark. "No, firefly," he whispered. "I’m obsessed with watching you lose yourself because of ."

And just like that, I was gone again—hips jerking, mouth open in a silent cry as he ramd into harder, the desk creaking beneath us.

He slamd into one last ti, deep—God, so deep—and I swear I blacked out for a second. His groan was low and ragged in my ear, and then I felt it. The twitch. The thick, hot flood of him spilling inside , again and again like he couldn’t stop, like he didn’t want to.

I gasped.

It was so much. Too much.

My walls clenched involuntarily around him, greedy for every drop, but I felt it anyway—slick and warm—sliding down my thigh in a slow, humiliating drip.

"Oh my god..." I whispered, my voice nearly lost in the haze of it.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed there, his body pressed against mine, cock still buried deep, breath hot against my skin.

"Fuck, look at the ss you made of ," he murmured like it was a complint. Like he was proud of it. Of .

Then—before I could say anything—he lifted into his arms. My limbs felt like jelly, my brain sowhere far away, floating.

He carried to the bed.

I didn’t resist. Couldn’t.

I just clung to him, dazed and aching, until he laid down on the sheets and followed , still inside .

No thrusting. No pressure. Just him, buried to the hilt, his weight over like a blanket I didn’t want to escape from.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine, and I could barely breathe.

My arms wound around his neck. My legs hooked around his waist on instinct. I didn’t even think. I just needed to keep him there. Inside .

My head was empty. Like I’d been unraveled. Like he’d fucked the thoughts right out of .

I felt him twitch again, still hard. Still claiming from the inside out.

He didn’t speak. Neither did I.

But I heard him.

I heard everything in the way he held , in the way he stayed—not moving, just being.

And for once, I didn’t run from it. I just tightened my grip and lted into the silence that wrapped around us like a secret only we were allowed to keep.

His breath was hot against my ear, our bodies pressed so tightly it felt like we were trying to lt into each other. I could still feel him inside , twitching. We’d remained sti—neither of us moving, just breathing, just existing in this hazy cocoon of warmth and rawness.

He whispered my na. "Aria..." Like it was the only word that mattered.

I opened my eyes, and his were already on —dark, heavy, yet soft in the most devastating way. There was so much in them, more than I could hold, more than I was ready for. I felt it in my chest—a sudden heat that had nothing to do with lust. Sothing terrifying. Sothing beautiful.

I turned my face away, burying it into his neck, hoping he wouldn’t see the way my lips trembled or how my heart was pounding like it wanted to scream sothing I didn’t dare say. His hands gripped my hips, pulling closer, and he started to move again—slow and deep. Not fucking . Loving . Worshipping .

"I’m happy," he murmured into my hair. "That you slapped that night outside the club." He laughed softly, like the mory was a bruise he liked pressing. "And I’m grateful you looked at like I was the worst thing you’d ever laid eyes on. Because if you hadn’t... I don’t think I’d have had this mont. You."