Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 29: you’re watching this

Rhea sauntered to the dresses aisle. Fingers trailing silk as she grabbed her own haul—silky pink, cut low to tease her frame, and a green number, tight and short to cling where it counted—dumping them in with a wink that dared him to comment.

Kael's hazel glinted smug as he leaned in, breath brushing her ear with a warm huff. "Guess we're both perverts now, huh?" Her laugh came soft, throaty, and she scooped up her picks—jeans, shirts, those dresses—and slipped into the fitting room, curtain rustling as she called out, "Stay right there—you're watching this."

Kael's pulse kicked up, hazel darkening with a mix of nerves and heat as he leaned against a rack, the cart creaking beside him while shoppers drifted past, oblivious to the charge building in their corner.

She emerged slow—jeans clinging tight to her thighs, tank top hugging every scar and curve, her damp hair framing her face as she spun, hips swaying with a deliberate roll that caught the light.

"How do I look?" she asked, voice husky, stepping close until her heat pressed against his chest, amber locking his gaze with a teasing spark. His throat tightened, a flush creeping up his neck as he nodded, voice gruff and low.

"Damn good—fits you like it's made for you." She smirked, satisfied with the catch in his breath, and ducked back in, fabric whispering loud against her skin as the curtain swayed shut. The wait stretched—his fingers tapping the rack, pulse thudding steady—and then she parted the curtain again, stepping out in the silky pink dress.

Slits climbed her thighs, the neckline plunged to tease the swell of her breasts, nipples faint through the thin weave as she leaned against the frame, one hip cocked high. "Better than those, right?" she purred, fingers trailing the hem slow, lifting it just enough to flash the edge of her panties, her smirk widening as his breath hitched sharp.

Kael's cheeks burned—red creeping to his ears, pants tightening fast—and he coughed hard, rubbing his neck to hide the shake in his hands. "Yeah, uh, way better," he stammered, voice cracking as his gaze darted down her frame then snapped back up, caught in the web of her tease.

She laughed low, a sound that coiled hot in his gut, and slipped back inside, rustling louder as fabric slid over skin. The green dress came next—shorter, tighter, a slash of emerald that hugged her ass and left her thighs bare, shimmering as she strutted out, bending slow to adjust a strap, flashing more skin with every tilt.

"This one's the keeper," she said, voice a velvet tease, brushing his arm as she circled him close, her scent—soap and warm flesh—flooding his senses until his head swam. His grin broke flustered, hazel dark with want as he nodded quick, words tripping out.

"Buy it—gotta have it," he rasped, cart groaning as she piled her haul in—three for her, three for Freya, and four dresses total. Kael paid the bill, cash swapped slow as night deepened outside.

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They hauled bags back to the Haven, takeout swinging—noodles spicy, grease slick—and ate at the dining table, flavors bursting sharp as steam curled between them, her laughter from the shop lingering soft in the air.

Kael plated Freya's share, slid it under her door with a knock—silence answering cold, but he didn't call her out.

After dinner, Rhea drifted toward her room, a slow, sultry sway in her steps, amber eyes gleaming with unspoken promises. Kael followed, lingering at the threshold as she slipped inside, pausing by the bed with a glance that all but beckoned him in. But instead—unexpectedly—he murmured, "Good night," and shut the door. The lock clicked, final and sharp.

She spun, palm smacking the wood with a frustrated thud. "Kael, what the hell is this?" she snapped, voice muffled but laced with an unmistakable pout.

Outside, he leaned against the frame, rubbing a weary hand over his face. His voice was soft, but there was no room for argument. "I'm tired, Rhea. Have to go to work early tomorrow, cash is tight. You're sleeping alone tonight."

Silence. Thick. Tense. Then, after a beat, her voice slipped through the crack. Low. Concerned. "Anything I can do to help with that?"

He grinned in the dark, unseen, but felt the shift—her fire dimming, curling softer. "Not tonight," he said, warm and steady. "Rest up. You're back in Freya's room tomorrow."

A huff. The bed creaked as she flopped onto it, grumbling, "Night, asshole."

His chuckle was quiet, his boots scuffing against the floor as he made his way to his own cold bed. But even as he sank onto the mattress with a groan, exhaustion swallowing him whole, a warmth flickered in his chest—a silent victory he didn't bother fighting.

Shopping bags slumped in the corner, their rustle faint as he kicked off his boots, leather thumping the floor, and pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen's glow harsh against the dark. He swiped to his account balance—numbers glaring low, a thin thread of cash stretched taut—and sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet.

He flicked to his appointments next—screen filling with tomorrow's slate, bookings packed tight from dawn to dusk—and the sigh deepened, relief mixing with exhaustion as he scrolled through the list, names blurring into a promise of coin.

His thumb hovered, mind drifting to Rhea—her voice through the door, softer than he'd ever heard it—and he wondered if could trust her yet. But doubt nudged back, sharp and steady, and he shook his head slow, muttering to himself, "More time, need more time," the words swallowed by the room's stillness.

Then Freya flickered into his thoughts—icy glare, locked door—and he swiped the screen again, typing quick into the search bar: rehabilitation techniques for villains. Results spilled out, links stacking fast, and he scrolled through, hazel narrowing as he skimmed—words like empathy training, behavioral pivot, consequence mapping flashing past. He did the same for Rhea, weeks ago, and surprisingly, it worked.

One caught his eye—a method buried halfway down. He snapped a screenshot—the glow flaring bright against his knuckles—and locked the phone, tossing it onto the bed with a soft bounce.

The mattress creaked as he stretched out, shirt rucking up as he sank into the pillow, and he had a good night's sleep.