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…..

I had been standing in the hospital hallway for hours, watching the door to Geneviève's room, waiting for Dr. Montana to give me news that wouldn't make me want to throw myself off the roof. Edmund stood beside me, his back against the wall, his arms crossed so tight I could see the veins bulging in his forearms.


He hadn't spoken in forty-five minutes.


The door finally opened. Dr. Montana stepped out, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, her scrubs still stained with dried blood. Geneviève's blood.


"She's stable," Dr. Montana said, pulling off her gloves. "The bullet missed the femoral artery by less than a centimeter. Another inch and she would have bled out before you got her here."


I closed my eyes, a breath I didn't know I was holding escaping my lungs.


Chapter 42 - Face-slaps