Sweet Hatred-Chapter 253: survival

The show was on, but I couldn’t hear a damn thing.

Aria was beside me, legs curled, blanket tugged over both our laps. She’d settled in like this was her natural habitat, couch, snacks, messy hair, her bare legs brushing mine under the damn blanket, and I was dying.

Every time she laughed at something on the screen, my stomach clenched. Every time she sighed, shifted, or tucked her hair behind her ear, I had to look away. Like an idiot.

I downed another can of beer. Probably my fourth. Maybe fifth.

Big mistake.

My head was fuzzy. My skin too warm. And that... urge that had been riding me all night, it started to win.

I glanced at her. She was focused on the show, smirking at the stupid banter between the characters. Her lips looked soft. Biteable. And the curve of her waist under that shirt... fuck.

She’d taste so good.

She’d ride me just right.

She’d ruin me without trying.

I blinked once.

And suddenly, she was on top of me.

Straddling me.

That oversized shirt draped lazily around her thighs, and she was moving, grinding, slow, hypnotic. Her hands gripped my shoulders, and she leaned in to whisper:

"Is this what you’ve been thinking about all night, Sylas?"

I swallowed.

She rolled her hips harder against me, and I felt it, how wet she was, how ready. I groaned, reaching to grab her ass and guide her even rougher against me, but she caught my hand mid-air and dragged it under her shirt. Onto her bare chest.

My palm met warm, soft skin.

No bra.

And she moaned, head tilted back, mouth parted as her hips moved with more purpose. I leaned in, mouth crashing against the base of her throat. Kissing. Biting. Tasting.

"—Sylas?"

Her voice snapped me back.

I blinked hard.

The show was still on. The room was dim. And Aria was still beside me on the couch, not on top of me. Definitely not grinding on my lap with no bra on.

She was staring at me. One brow raised.

"You okay?" she asked. "You’ve been quiet. You’re flushed. Don’t tell me you’re already wasted from a few cans."

I scrambled. freewebnøvel.coɱ

Cleared my throat. "No—uh, no. I just... need to use the bathroom."

She tilted her head, suspicion dripping off her. "Mmhmm. Down there." She pointed towards a direction behind the couch.

I stood, blanket sliding off my lap too quickly. I grabbed the can and took it with me just for distraction. Anything to hide the obvious strain in my pants.

"Be right back," I muttered, not meeting her eyes.

As I stepped into the hallway and shut the bathroom door, I leaned against the sink, exhaled.

Fuck.

Get it together, Sylas.

She didn’t even know the kind of chaos she was causing. And if she did...

God help me.

I gripped the bathroom sink and stared into the mirror like it owed me answers.

The cold porcelain under my fingers was the only thing grounding me. The only thing keeping me from unzipping and,

Fuck.

I looked up. My reflection was flushed. Eyes glazed. Jaw clenched so hard it hurt. And that familiar tightness between my legs, still throbbing. Still pulsing. Still fucking there.

I cursed under my breath and leaned over the sink, twisting the tap and splashing cold water on my face.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t just lust.

This was something else entirely.

I stared at the water dripping from my face. My breath came slower now, but not calmer. My thoughts started to drift, back to that night.

The Island.

After Kael dragged her away.

I’d been standing there in that opulent room like a fucking fool. Everyone else disappeared like ghosts and I was left behind, burning. Reeling.

So I followed.

I know. Stupid.

I told myself I just wanted to talk to her. Wanted to see if she was okay. But when I stepped down that vine-covered hall, the heavy oak door slightly cracked open, I heard it.

Her voice.

Her moans.

Kael pounding into her like a man possessed, like he was trying to fuck her soul out of her body and mark it with his name.

I should’ve walked away.

I should have.

But I didn’t.

I stepped closer.

The noises got louder. Wet. Filthy. Her whimpers like a damn melody etched into my skull.

He knew I was there. That bastard wanted me to hear. To know. And she didn’t stop. Neither of them did.

I stood there in silence, heart clawing up my throat, hands clenched into fists, until I finally managed to turn away.

I shut my eyes now and dragged in a breath. "No wonder that sick bastard is so fucking hooked on her."

Because she’s addictive.

And now I’m just another fucking moth about to burn alive in her fire.

I used the bathroom and stepped out, blinking at the dim living room.

And there she was.

Curled on the couch, one leg folded under her, blanket tugged up to her waist, head tilted back slightly as she yawned. Hair still wet. Skin glowing faintly. She looked like a fucking fever dream.

She looked up as I walked in.

"You okay?" she asked, brows furrowed, concern in her voice. "You’ve been gone a while. Did the beer knock you out or something?"

I cleared my throat, shook my head. "No. Just needed air."

"Hmm," she muttered, stretching with a sleepy smile. "Well, I think we should stop here. I’ve got work in the morning anyway."

No. Don’t go.

But I nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."

She stood, gathered the leftover snack wrappers, and handed me the blanket.

"You can take the couch. Sorry it’s not a fancy penthouse bed."

"It’s perfect," I said, voice quieter than I meant.

She smiled faintly. "Goodnight, Sylas."

"Night, Aria."

And just like that, she was gone. Back into her room.

I lay back on the couch, blanket over me, pretending to breathe normally. Pretending my body wasn’t still pulsing from the ghost of her scent and the imprint of her warmth.

But her soap still clung to the air.

The couch still smelled like her shampoo.

The blanket still held her body heat.

And my hard-on had only gotten worse.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Tried to focus on the ticking clock. The hum of the fridge. Anything.

But all I could see was her crawling over me again. That oversized shirt slipping off her shoulder. That look in her eyes when she was riding me in my fucking head.

I groaned into the pillow.

I was not going to survive this woman.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.