Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 70: buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz~

buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz~

Freya bit her lip harder, the sharp sting grounding her as Kael’s fingers worked their relentless magic.

His rhythm was maddening—one hand deep inside her, curling and stroking her walls, teasing her G-spot with a slow, twisting motion that made her core tighten, while his thumb grazed her clit, light but deliberate, keeping her teetering on the edge.

Just when she felt the climax building, a wave ready to crash, he’d slip out, rubbing her outer folds instead, his fingers slick with her arousal, denying her release.

Her body trembled, thighs slick, the nipple clamps’ faint weight tugging with every shudder, but she clung to her focus, the ribs’ soft bubbling her lifeline.

Don’t break, Freya. You’re stronger than this.

But...

Just...

Once...

I wanna cum...

Kael stood, his presence shifting closer, one hand still teasing her pussy—slow, circular strokes along her folds, keeping her wet, aching.

He wanted to see her face, to catch the cracks in her queenly mask. His hazel eyes locked onto her lips, bitten raw, a faint trickle of blood oozing from where she’d clamped down too hard.

"Hey!" he yelled, concern cutting through his tease.

He pressed the remote, silencing the nipple clamps’ buzz, and slid his fingers out, leaving her empty, throbbing.

"You’re bleeding, Freya. I can’t keep going if you are like this."

Her blindfold hid her glare, but her voice was sharp, defiant. "Why do you care what happens to me?" she retorted, her chest heaving, the clamps glinting against her fair breasts, her body still wired from his touch, blood sliding down her lip., "Am I making any excuse, am I complaining?" her sexual and mental frustration piled up.

Kael’s grin softened, and turned worried, gentle.

He went close to her side, his hand lifting to her cheek, fingers brushing her flushed skin.

Her head twitched, a subtle lean into his touch, her blindfolded gaze tilting toward him, drawn despite herself.

"Freya, you still don’t get me, do you?," he said, voice low, a purr that sank into her bones. Completely different from the usual Kael she heard daily. This one, sounded concerned.

"I don’t hate you Freya — if anything, I admire you." His thumb traced her cheek, lingering on the spot where she’d bitten her lip, the faint blood smearing under his touch.

Freya didn’t swat his hand away, yet.

Her hands clung to the kitchen counter like it was the only thing keeping her from falling into an abyss. Her hands were the last steady part of her—she couldn’t trust her shivering knees to hold her up anymore.

Kael activated his Empathetic Resonance, a warm, pulsing wave that calmed her racing heartbeat, sharpened her senses, made every word crystal-clear so that she could listen him, word to word.

"I admire how you carry yourself," he murmured, voice low, "even after everything you’ve been through."

His thumb traced the curve of her lower lip, lingering for a moment before slipping past, brushing gently against the tender skin.

The touch was slow, intimate—not teasing, but reverent—as though making her feel it, his touch and every millimeter it moved.

It dipped into her mouth, sensual, tasting faintly of her, her breath catching against the press of his hand.

"I admire how you flipped into this strong person to show your strength," he whispered, his voice a low drawl, eyes locked on hers. "To prove who’s the boss."

His thumb was already resting against her lips, but now his index finger joined—sliding in alongside, brushing against the slick heat of her tongue. They moved slowly, not just touching, but inviting her to respond. Her breath hitched, lips parting wider as her tongue curled instinctively around them, soft and warm, slick with anticipation.

He let them linger—stroking, teasing—a gentle, erotic rhythm as her tongue moved with his fingers, not fighting but dancing, accepting the intimacy like a secret shared in silence. Every movement was slow, exploratory, sensual.

"But..." he continued, his breath brushing her cheek, voice dipping deeper, "did you really have to become someone else... to show that strength?"

His fingers withdrew slowly, her tongue chasing after them instinctively, as though reluctant to let go.

He dragged them over her bottom lip, leaving it glistening, and then finally pulled away—leaving behind a trail of warmth, tension, and a silence heavy with desire.

Freya froze, his words hitting like a blade, slicing through her defenses. She had heard him.

I don’t hate you. I admire you... Did you really have to turn into a different person to display your strength?

They echoed, burrowing deep, her world narrowing to their weight.

For a moment, sound vanished—the skillet’s bubble, the Haven’s hum, even her own heartbeat—leaving only Kael’s voice reverberating inside her, a flame she couldn’t resist, drawing her like a moth.

Did I?

Doubt flickered, raw and unfamiliar, shaking the foundation of her pride. Had she built this queenly mask to hide pain, not to wield power?

She shook her head, vigorous, platinum-cyan hair swaying, slapping Kael’s face, snapping herself back.

The ribs. Focus.

She lifted the skillet lid, leaning in, inhaling deeply—the smoky-sweet aroma of barbecue sauce, rich but not quite halfway there, the meat needing more time to tenderize.

She replaced the lid with a soft clink, her hands steady, her resolve clawing its way back.

You’re Freya. You don’t break.

She stood straight again.

Kael watched, his grin returning, softer now, as she stood tall again, naked save for the blindfold, garter belt, and stockings, the nipple clamps glinting against her flushed skin.

"So, no more biting your lips?" he asked, voice light but probing.

Freya didn’t speak, she as silent, looking straight into nothingness, but gave a slight nod.

Kael’s grin widened.

"Nice," he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her cheek, warm and fleeting, a spark against her skin. "Now I’ll continue."

"Suit yourself," she replied, voice low, steady, though a tremor of anticipation lingered beneath her defiance.

The skillet bubbled on, the ribs simmering in their smoky bath, time stretching slow and heavy.

Freya braced herself, hands clenching the counter once again, her body still tingling faintly now—nipples sensitive from the clamps, pussy still wet and aching from his earlier touch, thighs slick with her own arousal.

She smacked her lips.

There was a lingering tingle left on her tongue, what had he done to them?

Scratch counting, I will just go with my sense of smell.

Wait a second,

Freya stiffened, she realized something. She smacked her lips again.

smack ~

gulp ~

Did I just taste my own...?