Chapter 20: You’re killing me (18 +)
Rhea's smirk held, sharp and knowing—amber eyes glinting half-lidded as her hands slid up Kael's chest, fingers light over the bruises blooming purple beneath his gray tee. Her touch sparked heat, a slow burn under his skin, and she pressed closer—curves soft against him, red dress a tight flame molding her hips, her chest, her scarred thighs brushing his sweats.
Kael's breath hitched, ribs twinging faint under the ache, and he gripped her waist—fabric slick under his palms, her warmth seeping through. "Idiot," she murmured, voice husky, lips grazing his—soft at first, a tease, then fierce, tasting salt and blood and raw want.
Kael groaned into her mouth, pain a dull pulse drowned by her heat—his split lip stinging, ignored—as his tongue met hers, rough and deep. His hands roamed, sliding down to her hips—fingers digging into the dress's weave, pulling her flush—and she nipped his lip, sharp and quick, drawing a hiss that melted into a grin.
"Easy," she muttered, smirking against him, hands framing his face—thumbs brushing his swollen nose, his bruised jaw, gentle where sheuld've clawed. Her care cut through, a thread of softness in her fire, and Kael's hazel eyes darkened—want surging, sweats tightening as he rocked into her.
Hert creaked as she pushed him back—springs groaning, knees parting to straddle him, red dress riding higher to bare more of her thighs. She rocked slow, deliberate—hips grinding, pressure light over his battered ribs—while his hands slid up, tracing her waist, her back, knuckles brushing the dress's edge.
Rhea's breath hitched, amber eyes flaring, and she tugged his tee higher—fingers careful, nails grazing his skin just enough to sting, peeling the gray fabric off to toss it aside. His chest bared—bruises stark, ribs tender—she leaned in, lips brushing hisllarbone, her heat a live wire against him.
Kael's grin flashed, hazel glinting as he flipped hert protesting, her back hitting the mattress, red dress fanning across gray sheets like spilled wine. He hovered, sweats low on his hips—hands peeling her thighs apart, scarred skin trembling warm under his grip. "You're killing me," he rasped, voice gravelly, lips grazing her neck—her pulse jumping, her scent sharp with sweat and fight's echo.
She arched, dress clinging tight, and yanked his sweats down—fingers swift, brushing him as he sprang free, her smirk widening at his groan. "Good," she hissed, legs hooking his hips—pulling him close, guiding him in—her gasp sharp, raw, amber eyes locking his as he sank deep.