SMUT

DONT READ IF BELOW 18



“I hate you, you monster,” I gasped, the words tearing out of me even as my hips bucked up against him.

Adrian’s mouth hovered a breath away from mine, his gray eyes dark with hunger. He was on top of me on the bed, the hard length of him grinding slow and filthy between my thighs, dry-humping me through the thin scrap of lace that was all I had left on.

His eyes raked down my chest, lingering on the black lace bra that barely contained me, the way my nipples pushed against the fabric with every desperate breath. “Really?” he scoffed. “You hate me so much you’re soaking through your panties when I haven't even brought out the real thing?"

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to pull him closer. My fingers twisted tighter in his shirt, knuckles white. “Shut up—”

He rocked harder, the friction so perfect it ripped a broken moan from my throat. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand slid up, thumb brushing the underside of my breast, teasing the edge of the bra. “You can say you hate me all you want, Alexandra. We both know it's a lie."

I hated that he was right.

~

He made her teenage years a living hell. Now he wants to make her his wife.

Alexandra Calloway didn’t expect her miracle job interview to end in a slap across her former stepbrother’s face. She definitely didn’t expect Adrian Reyes, ink-haired, gray-eyed, and disgustingly successful, to propose marriage before dessert.

He was her first heartbreak before she even knew what heartbreak was. The boy who made her feel invisible, unwanted, and small. The boy she spent ten years trying to forget.

Now he's her husband.

The contract was simple. One year. Fifteen million dollars. No feelings. A business arrangement between two people who are supposed to hate each other.

Supposed to being the most dangerous phrase in the English language.

Because the way he looks at her isn't hatred. The way his hands find her waist in a crowded room isn't business. And the secrets buried beneath his cold gray eyes aren't simple at all…..

Elena flinched again, actually flinched, which was so unlike her I almost felt confused. Almost. The red-rimmed eyes, the wrinkled blouse, the way her hands trembled at her sides, none of it matched the polished viper who had slapped me at the gala.


My hand flew up before my brain could catch up. I was going to slap her so hard her future grandchildren in her ovaries would feel it.


"Please," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "Please, Alexandra. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."


I froze, my arm still raised, my breath coming in short, furious bursts. "Sorry? You're sorry? You leaked my private financial records to the press! You had me publicly humiliated! You—"


Chapter 37 - The Devil At My Door