Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 11: Not done yet?

A faint creak jolted Kael from the haze of sleep—the cot's frame protesting as he shifted, the morning light now sharper, slicing through the boarded slits to stripe the gray walls. Rhea sprawled across his chest, her scarred cheek pressed warm against his skin, crimson hair fanning damp and wild, her breath a soft rhythm against his collarbone. Her leg hooked over his, a lazy claim, and the air still hung thick—musk, sweat, the raw aftermath of their night woven tight. He exhaled, slow and steady, and moved to slide out from under her, his muscles tensing as he edged toward the cot's side.

A tug stopped him—firm, unexpected—Rhea's scarred fingers curling around his wrist, her grip tight but trembling. He froze, hazel eyes flicking to her face, and caught an expression he'd never seen: her cheeks flushed deep red, amber eyes wide and unguarded, shimmering with something soft, something vulnerable. She didn't speak—lips parted, then pressed tight, her pride a wall she wouldn't breach—but her hold didn't waver, anchoring him there.

Kael raised a brow, a grin tugging his lips as he settled back on one elbow. "What's this? Not done yet?" His voice was rough, teasing, still thick with the morning's haze, but his gaze sharpened, searching her.

Rhea's flush deepened, her breath catching, but she shook her head—quick, almost sharp. "It's not that," she rasped, voice low and scraped raw, her fingers tightening briefly before loosening, though she didn't let go. "Stay. Don't... don't go." The words stumbled out, reluctant, like they burned her throat, but her eyes held his—pleading, fierce, a silent demand she wouldn't voice louder.

He blinked, the grin faltering as his mind churned. More sex, he'd thought—her hunger matched his, insatiable since yesterday—but then it hit him, a jolt that sank deep: she wasn't clawing for release. She was pulling him back because he was about to leave—slipping out after he was done and then, gone, like she was a tool, a toy to sate him and discard. The realization twisted in his gut, sharp and unbidden. Wouldn't she feel used? Hollowed out, like her fire meant nothing beyond his bed?

Kael eased back onto the cot, the frame creaking under his weight, and turned to face her fully, a softer smile breaking through. "Alright, miss firebrand," he said, voice dipping warm, playful, as he brushed a damp strand of crimson from her cheek. "You've got me. No running off this time." His fingers lingered, tracing the scar along her jaw, and he leaned closer, cedar scent mingling with her musk. "You're something else, you know that? All that heat, and you still surprise me."

Her amber eyes softened, the blush fading to a faint glow, and she smirked—small, hesitant, but real. "Shut up," she muttered, but her grip on his wrist eased, sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder, a quiet claim. Inside, Kael's mind ticked—a sharp note to himself: Think about her, not just me. This matters—bonds like this, they shift, they break if you don't tend them. He'd been careless, riding the high of her surrender, but she wasn't just his creation—she was Rhea, and that meant more than he'd reckoned.

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The air shifted, charged again, as her fingers flexed against his skin, tracing the red lines she'd clawed into his back. "You're still here," she said, voice low, teasing now, her leg brushing his thigh—a spark reigniting. Kael grinned, rolling onto his side, his hand sliding to her hip, pulling her closer until her scarred chest pressed flush against his.

"Damn right I am," he growled, lips brushing hers—not a crash this time, but a slow, deliberate graze that drew a soft "Mmm..." from her throat. She tilted her head, deepening it, her tongue flicking against his, needy but unhurried, and her hands roamed—scarred fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him over her. "Kael..." she moaned, voice breaking as she arched up, hips rocking against his, the heat building fast.

He didn't hold back—shifted atop her, knees sinking into the cot as he gripped her thighs, spreading them wide. "Fuck, Rhea..." he rasped, voice thick, as he pressed against her—hard again, hot and slick from her already—and thrust in deep, a single, steady push that tore a loud "Yes..." from her lips. The cot groaned, metal scraping tiles, as he moved—slow at first, deliberate, each roll of his hips drawing a shuddering moan—"Ahh... Kael..."—her hands clawing his arms, nails biting skin.

She matched him, hips bucking up, meeting every thrust with a grind that sent the cot rocking—"Harder... please..."—her voice a desperate chant, raw and loud, echoing off the gray walls. He obliged, picking up pace—thrusts turning sharp, fast, skin slapping skin in a wet, frantic rhythm. "God... yes..." she cried, head thrashing, crimson hair tangling beneath her as her thighs clenched around him, trembling. The sounds filled the room—her moans—"Mmm... fuck... Kael..."—his grunts, the cot's creak, a symphony of flesh and need.

He leaned down, chest pressing hers, sweat mingling as he hooked her legs higher—over his shoulders, opening her wider—and drove deeper, each thrust a jolt that ripped a sharper "Ahh... right there..." from her throat. Her hands slid to his back, nails raking red trails—"More... don't stop..."—and he growled, teeth grazing her neck, sucking hard at the scarred skin as he pounded into her, relentless. "Fuck... you're perfect..." he rasped, voice fracturing, as her walls tightened, pulsing around him.

"Kael... I'm..." she gasped, voice breaking, amber eyes wild as she teetered—"Yes... fuck, yes..."—and shattered, a scream—"Kael!"—tearing free as her climax hit, body locking tight, shuddering beneath him. Her hips bucked, erratic, moans spilling—"Mmm... ahh..."—as she rode it out, slick and trembling, clawing him closer. He thrust through it, drawing out every spasm—"Take it..."—until she was whimpering—"Too much... oh..."—voice hoarse, craving still.

He wasn't done—kept moving, hips snapping hard, chasing his own edge as her moans spurred him—"Fuck... Rhea..."—a low growl rumbling in his chest. She gripped his hair, yanking him down, lips crashing to his in a messy, desperate kiss—tongue and teeth, her cries muffled against his mouth—"Come... please..."—and he broke, thrusting deep one last time, a guttural "Fuck..." spilling out as he spilled into her, hot and pulsing, his body tensing atop hers.