Ch. 87 – Give Me All Your Hate

Rhys drove into Rhea with a blind, driving intensity, his hips snapping forward as the warm water of the shower cascaded over their skin, turning the air into a thick, swirling mist of steam and heat. Rhea welcomed every relentless thrust with breathless, shuddering gasps, her golden skin glistening under the amber bathroom lights as her body moved in perfect, frantic synchronization with his. The friction of their union echoed loudly off the tiled walls, a steady, hypnotic rhythm that swallowed all rational thought.

Behind him, Vespera was a living, breathing wildfire. Her slender hands and lips trailed incessantly across his back, shoulders, and neck, kissing and licking him with a feral, possessive excitement. Her sleek, leopard-spotted tail lashed through the water, sending miniature waves against the porcelain sides of the tub, while the muscles of her lower body rippled with raw, unrestrained power. Rhys shuddered violently at the sensation of her touch, his kinetic reserves humming with a dangerous, unstable energy that drove him to accelerate his pace even further.

With a fluid, breathtaking display of acrobatics and dark sorcery, Vespera deftly spun around the circle of Rhys’s torso, shifting her weight effortlessly to face him head-on. She hovered over Rhea, her hands flicking as strands of glowing, translucent chain-contract magic materialized out of thin air, locking onto the bathroom's structural points to suspend her effortlessly in a gravity-defying posture above the golden-skinned woman.

Vespera locked her slitted, amber eyes directly onto Rhys’s, a radiant, wicked smile stretching across her sharp features. She parted her legs wide, proudly displaying her pristine, glistening wetness to him through the shimmering water.

"I’ve been having so much fun stringing Marcus along, you know," she purred, her voice dripping with playful malice as she leaned closer to Rhys's face. "The poor, pathetic fool thinks he actually has a chance... but I had to make sure you knew, Rhys. I haven't let him touch me. Not once. This is all exclusively yours."

Without breaking eye contact, Vespera slipped a hand down between her thighs, stroking her own warmth and parting her folds to show him how pristine and ready she was, waiting entirely for his command. Rhys looked down, his mind moving too sluggishly through the sensory haze to fully process or care about her twisted mind games regarding Marcus. All he saw, all he registered, was the pulsing, radiant heat right in front of him, waiting while he continued his heavy, driving rhythm into Rhea.

All mine, a dark, possessive phantom of a thought echoed in the deepest recesses of Rhys’s mind.

Driven by an overwhelming wave of possessive frenzy, Rhys sped up his pace, his large hands gripping Rhea’s hips so tightly that his fingers dug into her soft golden flesh. Rhea let out a high-pitched cry of pure ecstasy, her muscles tightening around him like a velvet vice, her legs spasming uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her frantic moans bounced off the tile, blending with the steady roar of the shower overhead.

Vespera mirrored his frantic energy, her fingers moving with manic speed across her own wetness while her other hand cupped and squeezed her heavy, perfectly shaped breast. Her sultry, half-closed eyes remained locked onto Rhys’s, her breathing turning ragged and desperate as she watched him dominate the space between them.

Rhys was teetering violently over the edge. Every vestige of his moral compass, every lingering memory of his vows, every thread of his quiet civilian life vanished completely into the ether. He didn't care anymore.

With a low, animalistic growl, Rhys finished hard, his entire frame locking up as a massive surge of heat tore through him. Rhea took every single drop greedily, her internal muscles milking him dry while she pushed back against him with her remaining strength. The sheer volume of their release overflowed the union, creating a wet, echoing slap of excess that cut through the steam.

Even as he spent, Rhys didn't relent; his hips twitched forward in a final, shuddering aftershock, his hands still clamped rigidly onto Rhea’s hips. At the exact same microsecond, Vespera convulsed behind her suspension, her fingers clawing at the air as she finished with explosive, deafening violence. Her legs spasmed wildly in the enchanted chains, her body arching backward as she cried out into the humid air.

For a brief, exhausted second, Rhys slumped forward, his forehead resting against Rhea’s shoulder.

Then, an impossible second wind surged up from the absolute base of his spine—a raw, volatile wellspring of power he couldn't identify and didn't care to question. With sudden, kinetic violence, Rhys straightened his posture, pulling completely out of the dazed, euphoric Rhea as she collapsed backward into the shallow water, her mind completely blown into a state of blissful, unresponsive blankness.

Vespera hung suspended in her glowing chains, her amber eyes wide, locked onto him with fierce, expectant hunger.

A heavy, electric tension hung in the air between them, thick enough to cut with a blade. Without a single word of hesitation, Rhys reached out, his powerful hands gripping Vespera’s waist as he physically lifted her out of her suspended magical shackles and straight into his arms.

Vespera gasped in surprise, wrapping her legs instantly around his lower back as Rhys slammed his lips against hers in a fierce, breathless, utterly ravenous kiss. The water rained down over their tangled bodies, washing away the steam as Rhys carried her backward and pressed her firmly against the cold, wet tile wall of the shower.

Without breaking the kiss, Rhys drove directly into her.

Vespera’s back arched sharply against the tile, a strangled, beautiful moan muffled directly into Rhys’s mouth. Rhys’s hips moved with a mechanical, relentless fury, meeting her every upward thrust with a brutal, punishing tempo.

Deep down in the dark, buried vault of his psyche, a faint, ghostly whisper tried to murmur a warning—Lira... what about Lira?—but the voice was instantly snuffed out. Rhys simply wasn't there anymore. The house husband was dead; only Omen remained.

Rhys pulled back just enough to look deeply, unflinchingly into Vespera’s eyes. And for the first time since he had ever known her, past the predatory grins, past the loan shark ledgers, past the manipulative games, he really saw her.

Her slitted amber eyes weren't mocking or triumphant. Instead, they were wide, soft, and swimming with an intense, terrifyingly genuine devotion—an expression of raw, unadulterated love that Rhys had never expected to find in a creature as calculating as her.

So that’s how it is, Rhys thought, feeling his consciousness drift dangerously close to the blinding light of total surrender. You actually...

"You know..." Rhys heard his own voice rasp out, flat and heavy with bitter irony. "...I really hate you."

The words tumbled out of his mouth like broken glass. But Vespera didn't flinch. She didn't curl her lip or summon her binding chains in wrath. Instead, a triumphant, elephantine laugh bubbled up from her chest, and she leaned in even closer, her arms wrapping tight and desperate around his neck, burying her face into his wet shoulder.

"That's fine, my love," she whispered fiercely against his ear, her voice dripping with absolute, unshakable adoration. "Give me all the hate you have... and more."

My love. Those two syllables ricocheted through his skull, echoing louder than the roaring cascade of the shower head. Hearing those words from her lips didn't disgust him—it ignited a primal, destructive spark in his chest. Rhys drove into her harder, faster, the sound of their union rising into a frantic, deafening tempo that shook the bathroom pipes.

Vespera moaned in pure, ecstatic acceptance, her hands flying upward to grip the thick, glowing magical chains that descended from the ceiling for leverage. Using the heavy links to brace herself, she began bucking back into Rhys with everything she possessed, matching his brutal pace stroke for stroke.

It felt like hurtling down a massive mountain slope with the brakes entirely sheared off—a terrifying, exhilarating, catastrophic crash that Rhys knew he couldn't stop, and deep down, desperately didn't want to.

They both rushed toward the precipice together, their movements merging into a blur of raw, unhinged friction.

They finished with explosive, earth-shattering violence. Rhys drove all the way inward, his powerful, muscular frame trembling from head to toe as Vespera’s upper torso arched sharply off the cold tile wall in a violent spasm of absolute release.

She cried out his true name—Omen! Omen!—over and over again, her voice cracking with euphoric delirium as she wrapped her legs tighter and tighter around his waist, locking him in place to ensure she caught every single drop of his essence.

Completely spent, his kinetic reserves utterly depleted and his body drained of every ounce of fight, Rhys’s strength finally gave out entirely. His legs buckled, and he slumped forward heavily against her shoulder.

Vespera caught him with effortless ease, wrapping her arms around him and embracing him with fierce, unconditional love against the wet tile. Together, sliding down the slick wall under the pounding water, they collapsed backward into the shallow, swirling water of the tub, coming to rest right beside the still-recovering, blissfully dazed and boneless form of Rhea.

Wrapped tightly up in each other's arms, the three of them lay tangled together on the porcelain floor, the warm water continuing to rain down endlessly over their quiet, secluded, and utterly ruined world in the dark, silent night.