DaoistIQ2cDu

It's simple. A vengeful wildfire of a woman. A tyrant who begs to be burned.  

When Aria crashes into Kael’s empire, hellbent on making him pay for taking her job away, she’s met not with defiance—but a dare. “You want revenge?” he taunts, voice dripping with dark invitation. 

“Then ruin me. Take your pound of flesh exactly where it hurts.” His proposition is a trap laced with sin: As expected he calls the shots in his bed, her contempt is his twisted aphrodisiac. 

“Hate me until your hands shake,” he growls. “But do it on top of me, where I can watch you savor every cut.”  

Their arrangement is a collision of dominance and delirium. Aria wields her fury like a blade, determined to break him. Kael? He thrives under her wrath, goading her darker, deeper, hungrier. 

But vengeance turns slippery when every insult she hisses ignites his obsession, and every cold glare melts into bruising kisses. Soon, the bed becomes a battleground—her nails carving victory into his skin, his whispers a serpent’s promise: “Chain me with your rage, darling. I’ll still come back for more."  

The rules are simple: No mercy. No surrender. But as their games spiral into something ravenous, who’s destroying whom? And when hatred burns this hot, what’s left when the ashes cool?

Sweet Hatred

My fingers slid under the shirt and found the clasp of her bra, undoing it with effortless precision. The moment the fabric slipped away, her breasts bounced free, full and inviting. A good fucking sight for sore eyes.

A low growl rumbled in my chest as I took one into my mouth, circling my tongue around her hardened nipple before sucking deep. A sharp gasp escaped her, her body arching, fingers digging into the cold countertop in a feeble attempt to steady herself.

I chuckled against her skin, the vibrations making her shudder. "So sensitive aren't you," I murmured, my lips brushing over to her other breast.

My hand kneaded the softness of the first, my thumb flicking over her slick peak, while my tongue worked the other into submission. She tried to hold back, tried to suppress the sounds threatening to spill from her lips, but I could hear it—the quiet, needy whimpers breaking through the cracks of her resistance.

Desperation (18+)