Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 66: Rematch begins

Kael unlocked the door and stepped into the Haven, his bags rustling as he kicked the door shut behind him.

The morning’s shopping haul felt like a small victory—ribs for the challenge, pudding for Rhea, and a secret stash of toys now tucked away in his room, hidden in a drawer where no one would snoop.

Do I really have to hide?

He stowed the ribs and pudding in the freezer, the cold air grounding him as he mentally prepped for the rematch.

Freya’s defiance, her iron will, flickered in his mind, and a grin curled his lips.

She’d be wearing the lingerie by now—he’d bet on it. He paused outside her door, his pulse quickening, a silent wager with himself: She’s in it, looking like a dream.

He knocked once, sharp, and then opened the door without waiting for her reply, which she never gave.

His hazel eyes landing on Freya standing tall in the center of the room, looking at him, clad in the white lace lingerie he’d left her.

She was a vision—hotter than he’d imagined, a fantasy carved in flesh and lace.

The floral bra hugged her full breasts, the sheer fabric translucent enough to tease the dusky outline of her nipples, pert and faintly visible through the delicate patterns, catching the light as she shifted.

The garter belt cinched her narrow waist, its straps trailing down to clip the thigh-high stockings, which clung to her long, toned legs, accentuating their sculpted strength and smooth expanse.

The panties—God, the panties—were a cruel tease, low-cut and lacy, barely covering her, the thin strip of fabric riding high to expose the generous curves of her thighs and what lay between them.

Her platinum-cyan hair fell straight to her neck, shimmering against her fair skin, her blue eyes sharp and unyielding, locking onto his with a queenly composure that made his breath catch.

Kael froze, awestruck, like he’d stumbled into a dream.

His pulse surged, blood rushing south, hardening him almost instantly, his jeans tightening uncomfortably.

Fuck, she’s unreal, he thought, his gaze drinking her in—thighs, hips, the way the lace framed her like a masterpiece.

No, I can’t look weak.

Panic flared, and he scrambled for a mental lifeline, conjuring the least sexy image he could: grainy gay porn, awkward angles, anything to douse the fire. It worked—immediately—his erection fading as he snapped back to reality, clearing his throat.

It worked. But now I am ashamed.

"You look wonderful," he managed, voice rough but steady, a grin tugging at his lips to mask his fluster.

"I know," Freya said, her tone calm, composed, not a trace of the embarrassment he’d hoped for.

Her blue eyes held his, unwavering, a faint smirk curling her lips as she stepped toward him.

Her tall figure moved with confidence, the lingerie accentuating every curve—breasts bouncing faintly, stockings whispering against her thighs, her ass barely contained by the panties.

Kael’s heart thudded, his mind screaming she’s gonna pin me down and fuck me senseless, the image so vivid he nearly stumbled.

But she brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his chest, her scent—clean, faintly floral—hitting him like a drug as she strode toward the kitchen, her bare ass cheeks swaying with every step.

He stared after her back, jaw slack, his cock twitching again, straining against his jeans.

Oh, fuck, not again.

Another flash of gay porn—quick, desperate—calmed him down, but barely.

She wasn’t flushed or fidgeting like he’d planned—if anything, he was the one unraveling, cheeks warm, pulse racing.

His, then clever idea, now bad, had backfired spectacularly; Freya wasn’t vulnerable as he expected her to be—she was a goddamn queen, turning his penalty into her throne.

"You remember the rules, right?" he called, following her to the kitchen, trying to regain control.

She nodded, opening the fridge with a graceful bend that made the garter straps taut, her ass on full display.

"Ribs, huh?" she said, pulling out the package, her voice cool but edged with suspicion as she caught his smirk.

"Yup," Kael said, leaning against the counter, his grin widening. "Felt like ribs today."

Her blue eyes narrowed, a glare that said she knew he’d picked them on purpose—slow-cooking, time-consuming, a trap to stretch her limits. freewebnσvel.cѳm

But her composure didn’t waver, her hands steady as she set the ribs on the counter.

"Don’t waste my time," she said, stepping behind the stove, her lingerie-clad figure a vision of defiance and allure. "Let’s get started."

Kael’s gaze lingered—those legs, those thighs, the way the stockings framed them like a fucking invitation.

He wouldn’t mind her stepping on him, crushing his resolve as she kneaded his face between her plush thighs.

His cock stirred again, a low throb, and he muttered internally, Calm down, you horny bastard.

"Give me a minute," he said aloud to Freya who was ready by the stove, taking one last look at the ingredients.

He continued, voice strained. "Gotta get some things ready. Head back to your room for a sec."

Freya’s lips pursed, a sharp tch escaping, her face a mask of annoyance and irritation, but she complied, stalking back to her room with a sway that nearly undid him again.

Kael locked the door behind her, his breath ragged, and bolted to his bathroom.

Images of last night with Rhea flooded his mind—her moans, her body writhing beneath him—and he fapped hard and fast, release hitting like a punch, followed by a wave of guilt, he felt like he was cheating on Rhea, but then he cleared his mind.

They weren’t lovers—just two people crossing paths in a moment that wouldn’t last.

She’d be gone in a month if everything went right, and maybe they’d forget each other after that.

Or maybe not.

Maybe she’d come back someday, not as a friend but as an enemy. There was no way to know, and Kael couldn’t afford to assume anything.

This rehab project was bigger than him, bigger than her, bigger than whatever strange connection sparked between them.

And Rhea had proven something important: that his rehab could work.

He believed in a saying which his mother told when he was a kid — ’Villains are not born, they are created.’

If Kael could reach more supervillains the way he had with her—turn them, help them come out of their shell, using his way, though perverted—then this was more than just idealism.

It was a real advantage for the superheroes.

It could mean a bit less battles, a bit more allies, fewer casualties.

Lives saved not by force, but by change.

Since, he couldn’t become the force, he had too bring the change. Contribute someway.

His methods weren’t orthodox, but they worked—and that, more than anything else, was worth holding on to.

He washed up, grabbed the eye mask he’d bought—a sleek black strip, perfect for sensory play—and returned to Freya’s room, his grin back in place.

"I’m ready," he said, stepping inside, finding her waiting, poised and unyielding in the lingerie. "Let’s go."

He moved to the kitchen with her, the counter prepped with spices, oil, a bowl—everything she’d need for the ribs.

As she positioned herself by the stove, he stepped behind her, close enough to feel her warmth, and slipped the eye mask over her eyes, tying it snug.

"You look like a sexy queen," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, lips grazing the shell, teasing. "You make it really hard to keep my hands off you."

Freya didn’t flinch, didn’t reply, her composure a wall as she reached for the ribs, her hands moving with determination.

She grabbed the bowl with ribs, and seasoned them generously—salt, pepper, paprika, her fingers mixing the dry spices into the meat with deft, confident strokes, the mask doing nothing to slow her focus.

Kael watched, his grin sharpening, the game officially on.