slosh slosh slosh
Kael scrubbed the last plate, the warm water sloshing in the sink as a smile lingered on his face, quiet but genuine.
He had already served Freya her breakfast even though she had denied, stating she had some groundwork to do.
Things with Rhea were moving—hell, sprinting—in a way he hadn’t dared hope when they’d first met.
Back then, she’d been a wildfire, all sharp edges and raw fury, her amber eyes threatening with death to anyone who got too close.
He’d figured one of them would end up dead—her hands around his throat, or his around hers.
But now?
Yesterday alone, they’d fucked twice, her body yielding to his, her moans echoing in the Haven’s quiet walls.
This morning, that kiss—soft, warm, heavy with meaning—had shifted something deeper.
They weren’t those people anymore, not the killer and the keeper.
His grin widened as he turned off the tap, drying his hands on a worn towel, the memory of her lips still tingling on his.
His hazel eyes flicked toward Freya’s room, thoughts shifting to the upcoming challenge.
Freya’s rematch, her stubborn demand to cook a better lunch than his and win. She was a force—will like iron, pride sharper than a blade.
He knew her strength, how she’d fight tooth and nail to prove herself.
But he also knew his own power, how he could unravel her with a touch, a whisper, his fingers alone enough to shatter her composure.
Where was the fun in breaking her too fast, though?
The game was in the slow burn, the push and pull, watching her fight herself as much as him.
He ambled to her room, nudging the door open with a casual knock.
Freya was mid-yoga, her body a study in strength and grace, stretched out in an erotic, flowing pose—warrior two, arms extended, one leg bent deep, the other straight, her hips tilted in a way that drew the eye.
Her cyan t-shirt clung to her torso, outlining her firm breasts and the lean curve of her waist, the fabric slightly damp with sweat, hinting at the muscle beneath.
Her dark pants hugged her tall, toned thighs, the material stretched tight, accentuating their power and the plump roundness of her hips, her ass lifted slightly as she held the stance.
Her platinum-cyan hair fell straight to her neck, shimmering faintly in the room’s bright lights. Her sharp blue eyes flicked toward him without breaking focus.
"What’re you doing?" Kael asked, leaning against the frame, his tone light but his gaze lingering, drinking in her figure.
Freya’s eyes narrowed, her voice cool, controlled. "Yoga," she said, holding the pose with effortless precision. "Don’t bug me for a few hours—I’m meditating next."
Looked like Freya was doing her best for the preparation of their rematch.
Kael nodded, but didn’t move, his stare tracing the lines of her body—thighs taut, hips angled, the way her shirt rode up just enough to bare a sliver of her midriff. "Just checking," he said, then added, "You remember the rematch, right?"
Her gaze sharpened, locking onto his. "I remember," she said, a spark of competitiveness in her tone. "And I’m taking you down today."
Kael’s grin twitched wider, a glint of mischief in his hazel eyes. "Big words. But you lost yesterday, Freya. And you know, universal bet rules—losers get a penalty. You skated free so far. That’s not how it works."
She froze mid-pose, her arms lowering as she straightened, pivoting to sit cross-legged on the mat, her thighs still a distraction, long and sculpted against the tight pants.
Her blue eyes narrowed, wary but unyielding. "What penalty?" she asked, her voice steady, though a flicker of unease crossed her face.
Kael shrugged, keeping his tone easy, almost gentle. "Nothing harsh—I’m not here to hurt you. Just a small thing, so you remember the humiliation of defeat you faced yesterday, and to remind you what’s at stake today."
Freya’s jaw tightened, her pride flaring like a lit fuse.
She could’ve argued, told him to shove it down his ass, denied any penalty outright. But backing down would mean admitting weakness, and Freya didn’t do weak.
"Fine, whatever," she said, her voice clipped, stretching her arms overhead, the motion lifting her shirt higher, baring more of her toned stomach. "It’s just a few hours, then I’m out of this shithole."
Kael nodded, hiding his satisfaction, and slipped out, closing the door behind him. He returned a minute later, a grin breaking across his face as he stepped back in, one hand tucked behind his back.
"So, what’s the penalty?" Freya asked, standing now, arms crossed, her blue eyes sharp with suspicion.
He pulled his hand forward, revealing a bundle of white lace lingerie, dangling it with a flourish.
The set was pure seduction—a bra with delicate, sheer cups, the lace floral and translucent, designed to tease, barely concealing what lay beneath.
The panties matched, low-cut and lacy, a thin strip of fabric that promised to hug her hips and leave little to the imagination, with a pair of white stockings and garter belt to cinch it all together, straps dangling, begging to frame her thighs and legs.
It was sexy, provocative, a dare woven into every thread.
Freya’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck.
"No way," she said, impulsive, her voice rising, blue eyes darting from the lingerie to his face.
Kael tilted his head, his grin turning sly. "Backing out already? Thought you were tougher than that. No penalty, no rematch—makes no sense for me to play if you’re dodging the stakes. You want out of this ’shithole’? Then, earn it."
Her lips parted, a retort ready, but pride clamped her mouth shut.
She bit her lip, hard, the gesture betraying her hesitation, her blue eyes flickering with defiance and something softer—fear of losing face, maybe.
"Fine," she muttered, barely audible, her gaze dropping to the lingerie, then back to him, resolute but shaken. "I’ll wear it."
Kael’s grin softened, careful not to push too far, and set the lingerie by the door.
"Good luck," he wished, voice low, and slipped out, closing the door with a quiet click.
He headed for the kitchen, his mind already on the shopping list—ingredients for lunch, something to raise the stakes.
He looked at his reflection on a nearby window,
am I turning into a villain?
Nah~
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