Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-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 she could'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.

Her cot 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 his collarbone, her heat a live wire against him.

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Kael's grin flashed, hazel glinting as he flipped her—cot 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.

He thrust slow, steady—pain spiking in his chest, drowned by her heat—her dress bunching higher with every roll, crimson teasing against her skin. Rhea's moans broke free—soft, then loud—her hands roaming his back, dodging bruises, nails biting where she dared. "Fuck, Kael," she hissed, voice cracking, hips meeting his—careful but fierce, a rhythm weaving around his wounds. He groaned, low and rough—hands gripping her thighs, her dress a slick barrier as he moved—her warmth tight, pulsing, driving him harder. She pushed back—breathless, grinning—and spun, knees sinking into the cot, dress hiked to her waist as she arched, amber eyes glinting over her shoulder.

Kael's hands found her—gripping her hips, sliding up slow—peeling the red fabric off inch by inch, crimson pooling at her knees as she bared fully, skin flushed and scarred. He pressed in—deep, hard—hands sliding to her breasts, squeezing firm, thumbs brushing peaks as she gasped, a jolt ripping through them both.

She rocked back, meeting him—wild, unyielding—her cry sharp, his groan ragged as he thrust faster, cot creaking loud under their weight. Her dress tangled at her knees, then slipped free—red discarded, her body naked and trembling as he drove into her, hands kneading her chest, bruises a distant throb.

Sweat slicked their skin—her hair spilling crimson over the sheets, his breath hot on her neck—and they broke together, her cry piercing, his growl guttural, heat crashing like a tide. She slumped forward—cot sagging, knees buckling—and Kael followed, collapsing beside her, chest heaving, bruises pulsing faint under the haze.

Rhea curled into him—naked, flushed, scarred skin warm against his—her hair fanning over his chest, amber eyes fluttering shut. His arm draped her—heavy, spent—sweats kicked off somewhere in the mess, the lock-up plan a ghost in his skull, burned away by her fire.

The night blurred into soft touches, heated whispers, and unspoken confessions.

The red dress eventually ended up on the floor, along with Kael's remaining clothes.

And as the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the window, Kael found himself lying beside Rhea, their bodies tangled together beneath the sheets.

He'd completely forgotten to lock her in another room.