Sweet Hatred-Chapter 234: The devil bending her over...

KAEL

She moaned into my mouth and I swore I lost whatever was left of my soul.

I kissed her like she was mine.

Because she was.

Slow.

Rough.

Cruel in the way my mouth devoured hers.

Her sounds only made it worse.

She kept whimpering against me like I was air and she’d been drowning, and fuck if that didn’t make something wild twist inside me.

My hand clutched her jaw, the other keeping her wrists pinned like I’d been meaning to do since I first saw her tonight, looking like a fucking sculpture carved in gold.

Every moan she gave me, every drag of her hips, I could feel it pulling at the last thread of my restraint. Even as her words were filled with venom, I was losing myself.

Fast.

And the goddamn alcohol in my system wasn’t helping.

That slow-burning scotch had settled behind my ribs like fire and fury, and Aria... Aria was the match scraping the edge of it.

I hated it.

I hated how much I wanted more.

She was always mine to rile up. Mine to bend and watch unravel. But now, now, she was the one doing it. Twisting me. Tempting me. Testing me.

And I didn’t know if I wanted more of this... or to burn the whole damn medicine to the ground.

I’d been calm. Too calm. That eerie kind of calm I knew meant danger.

Storms don’t scream. They build. Quietly.

Like the moment I got back to my room and didn’t find her.

She disobeyed me again. She left.

And I wasn’t even angry. But I was fucking riled. And she seemed to like the chase.

Then I saw her again. Right before the gala. Barely put together. Breathless. Fidgeting. The little marks I’d left on her skin still trying to hide under her collar. She avoided my gaze like a coward. Like she knew what she did.

I’d let it go. I told myself I would.

But then... the party started.

And she came out looking like a fever dream in a painting. That dress hugged her like sin. Like it missed her just as much as I did.

And the open back? The goddamn train dragging behind her like she was royalty walking into war?

It ruined me.

But she didn’t come alone.

Sylas Stanley.

I remembered him vaguely, just another spoiled brat like Ash, all flash and zero discipline. The kind of man who flirted with danger just to see what he could get away with.

I didn’t like how familiar he was with Aria. I didn’t like how she let him touch her.

I didn’t like how she looked at him.

How she smiled. How she laughed.

How she let him pull her away like he owned her, like he was the one who made her skin flush and her lips part in soft little gasps.

No.

That was me.

I kept it together, watching.

Even when his hand landed on her lower back. Even when he leaned in too close. Even when he exchanged testing glances with me.

I let it go.

But when he pulled her into the dance floor? When she let him touch her the way I should’ve?

I was already on the edge.

And then, he kissed her cheek.

That was it.

That was the moment something inside me fractured clean through. I didn’t even blink as I strode to her. Ready to end the goddamn gala if needed. But,

Now... now I had her again.

Her wrists trapped.

My mouth on hers.

My other hand dragging over her throat, her breast, back to the heat between her thighs, slick and aching and soaked for me.

She squirmed. I didn’t let her go.

She taunted me. I didn’t flinch.

"Then what about you?" I breathed. "You looked happy with him," I murmured against her jaw, dragging my fingers back to her clit, slow and cruel.

"Was he keeping you warm tonight, firefly?"

I pressed down harder. She gasped.

"Did you let him whisper in your ear the way I do?"

I curled my fingers. Her back arched. Her head hit the wall.

But I didn’t stop.

"You like when he touches you, Aria?"

Her moan choked off. I smirked. But it didn’t reach my eyes.

Because inside... I was boiling.

He had touched her.

Looked at her like she belonged beside him.

Like she didn’t already belong to someone else.

The rage wasn’t just jealousy anymore.

It was something worse.

Something darker.

I wanted that smirking fuckboy gone.

Off this island.

Off this earth.

And I didn’t care what kind of war that would start.

Because when I looked at her now, writhing under my touch, flushed and wet and helpless, I knew one thing:

No one else gets this.

No one else can even breathe near her again.

And the moment she made me taste her fury, I sealed it.

She was mine.

Even if I had to remind her over and over again.

Even if I had to carve it into her skin.

Her moans were soft, bitten down, soaked in defiance and laced with heat. That made it worse. Everything in me coiled tighter with every breath she took, every twitch of her thighs, every drop of her slick melting down my fingers.

And I hadn’t even started.

I let go of her wrists.

Not because I was giving her freedom, but because I needed both hands to ruin her properly.

"Come here," I said, voice low, ragged, but eerily calm. My hand wrapped around her waist as I pulled her toward the heavy table nearby, one of those antique, hand-carved ones. Ornate. Polished. Cold.

I bent her over it. Slow. Deliberate. Possessive.

She made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a protest but I ignored it. Just as I ignored the angel statues carved along the sides of the table. Fitting, really. The devil bending her over where the angels could watch.

One arm twisted behind her back again, restrained. My other hand drifted to the base of her spine, pushing her down just enough, making her arch, tilt, present herself to me like some offering I was too far gone to resist.

And then I undid my belt.

The soft clink of the buckle sounded like thunder between us. I unzipped with the kind of slow, unbothered cruelty that I knew made her clench with anticipation.

She could probably feel it now, the hard, hot press of my cock against the curve of her ass. Throbbing. Angry. Desperate. I’d been half-hard the entire night, but now... now I was fucking feral.

I gave her a sharp slap. Right on that pretty little fold, wet and wanting.

Her hips jerked. She hissed. And my smirk sharpened.

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