Asra stayed curled against Ather’s chest for several long minutes, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. His arms were still wrapped around her, one hand lazily stroking her back. The kisses he had placed on her tear-stained cheeks still burned on her skin — gentle, almost loving.
It confused her. It angered her.
Suddenly, the storm inside her chest exploded.
Asra pushed weakly against his broad chest, trying to create some distance even though his arms didn’t let her go far. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked up at him with red, puffy eyes.
“I hate you,” she whispered shakily.
Ather’s hand paused on her back. He looked down at her, expression calm and unreadable.
Asra’s voice grew louder, childish and full of raw emotion.
“I hate you… I hate you very very much!” she cried, hitting his chest with her small fist. It barely moved him. “You’re so mean to me! You hurt me, you scare me, you do whatever you want and then you kiss my cheeks like that… I don’t understand you! I hate you so much, Sir!”
Her words dissolved into loud, heartbroken sobs. She kept pushing at him uselessly, tears streaming down her face as she repeated again and again:
“I hate you… I hate you very very much…”
Ather let her cry. He let her hit his chest weakly. His face remained cold and serious, but his eyes darkened with something intense — possession mixed with dark satisfaction.
He caught both her small wrists in one hand and pinned them gently but firmly against his chest, stopping her weak attacks. With his other hand, he cupped the back of her head and pressed her tear-soaked face back into the crook of his neck.
“Say it again,” he murmured against her hair, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me how much you hate me while you’re naked in my arms, full of my cum.”
Asra sobbed harder, her words muffled against his skin. “I hate you… I hate you very very much… You’re so bad… so cruel…”
Ather’s lips brushed the top of her head. He didn’t smile, but the arrogant satisfaction in his eyes deepened. He held her tighter, letting her cry out all her pain and confusion against him.
“Good,” he whispered darkly. “Hate me as much as you want, little wife. It changes nothing.”
He kissed her damp forehead, then her cheeks again — slow and deliberate — while she continued crying and muttering “I hate you” between sobs.
Asra eventually exhausted herself, her repeated declarations of hate fading into soft, tired whimpers. She stayed buried in his chest, small hands clutching his shirt even as she whispered one last time:
“…I hate you very much…”
Ather simply held her closer, one arm locked possessively around her waist.
He knew the truth.
Her hate tasted sweeter than any love he had ever known.
Write a comment ...