Page 58 of Shattered Hate

“Fuckkkkk,” Daxton all but screams, his voice echoing off the shower walls, the sound of the shower almost drowning him out. I thrust into him again, then pause, my eyes closing as I savor the tight, pulsating heat wrapped around me. Daxton’s breath comes in ragged, desperate pants, his body trembling against mine, the water flowing over the flames between us. I could stay in this moment forever.

“Move,” he demands, his low rumble of impatience evident as he pushes back against me, his body begging for more. My fingers dig into his hips, hard enough to leave marks. I grit my teeth and start a punishing rhythm; the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoes off the tile walls, mingling with our grunts and moans.

Steam begins to rise around us, the water slowly warming, and I can taste the salt of his skin on my lips. Daxton braces one hand against the shower tiles, his fingers splayed wide, the other reaching back to tangle in my hair. He yanks hard, pulling my head down to his shoulder. I bite down on the curve of his neck, the sweet sting of his skin between my teeth, my tongue licking at the indentations I leave behind.

“Harder,” he demands; he’s utterly wrecked with desperation. My stomach clenches, my balls drawing up tight at the raw need in his tone. Ragged breaths leave me as I moan his nameover and over, the sound vibrating through my chest. I can’t get enough of him. He feels too fucking good. Too fucking right.

“Can you feel how much I hate you?” I hiss, hating how fucking amazing he feels squeezing my cock right now. His hand slides down the tiles, his fingers scraping against the grout. “Tray, Tray, Tray.” He repeats it like a mantra of need as he wraps his hand around his dick, and he begins pumping furiously, his body chasing its release.

His breath hitches, a desperate gasp. “Don’t stop, Tray. Please, right there.” His fingers curl against the slick tiles as his knuckles go pale.

I lean in, my words a low rumble against his ear. “You’re not so quiet now, are you? Not when my dick is buried deep in your ass.” His moans increase, echoing off the walls, and I know he’s teetering on the edge. My hips slap against his ass, each thrust punctuated by a grunt from deep within my chest. “Come for me, Daxton,” I growl, my lips brushing his earlobe. “Show me how much you love my cock buried deep inside you.”

His body convulses, every muscle tensing. “ShitfuckTray!” His cry is a jumbled mess of pleasure. His head lolls forward, forehead pressing against the cold tiles.

“Fuck yes,” I roar, slamming into him once, twice, then stilling. My body goes taut, every nerve alight with euphoria. I come hard, filling him, and it feels like it goes on forever. Daxton’s moans continue to reverberate through the showers, his body milking me for all I’m worth.

We stand there, panting, as the water washes over us. My forehead rests against the back of his neck, my arms wrapped around his waist. I can feel his heart pounding, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

Slowly, reality starts to seep back in. The chill of the water, the hard tile beneath our feet, the ache in my muscles. But I can’t bring myself to let go of him just yet.

Daxton shifts, turning in my arms to face me as my dick slips out, causing me to groan again from the tenderness. His eyes are wide, pupils still blown with desire. A mix of emotions flickers across his face—confusion, wonder, fear. I’m sure my expression mirrors his.

“Tray,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “What… what was that?”

I swallow with difficulty, my throat tight as I struggle to find the right words. “I don’t know,” I finally confess. My hand instinctively rises to touch his face, but then I let it fall, retreating a step backward, distancing myself.

His expression shifts abruptly, turning cold and unyielding. “That didn’t feel like you hate me.”

“But I do.”I don’t.“And you hate me,” I follow up.

“I do,” he whispers.He doesn’t.His words falter and uncover his vulnerability.

The silence stretches between us. Water continues to pour over our bodies, but I barely notice it anymore. My eyes are fixed on Daxton’s face, searching for something—anything—that might give away what he’s really thinking. But his expression is a mask and unreadable.

“We should go,” I mutter, reaching behind him to turn off the shower. The sudden absence of sound is deafening.

Daxton nods, not meeting my eyes. He moves to step out of the stall, but I catch his wrist. The touch sends a jolt through me, and I see him flinch.

“Wait. What happened this week? Why do you look like you haven’t slept in days?”

His eyes finally meet mine, and the sadness I saw earlier is back, mixed with something else. Anger? Uncertainty?

“It doesn’t concern you.” He brushes past me once again, and this time, I don’t push it.

I let him go.

Chapter twenty-eight

Daxton

Naturally, he shut himself off right after we had that mind-blowing sex. The moment I turned around in his arms and noticed the change in his eyes, I knew. They went from soft and tender to cold and distant, and I knew he would pull away. Then he had the nerve to look at me with those detached eyes and ask why I looked so terrible. What a jerk.

I’ve been avoiding him all week. Every time I pass him in the hallway, my heart races, and I want to scream, grab him, and kiss him with all the passion I still feel. But I can’t because he despises me, and I’m supposed to despise him too. But the truth is, I don’t. Yet it seems like the only thing that makes him content is us hating each other, as if our animosity is the glue that holds his world together.

Am I really such a joke to him that he can’t let go of this supposed hatred? The reasons he claims to hate me are as flimsy as paper and nonexistent. “It’s your fault,” I shout at the grave in front of me, glaring down at the weathered plaque that showsBexley’s name. The cemetery is eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. I hate that I’ve come here out of anger, with my fists clenched and my chest tight.

“Why did you ask me to keep that secret? I’m so close to telling him, Bex, but how can I? After everything you’ve done for me, how can I betray you like that?” Tears stream down my face, hot and unrelenting. “Why can’t you be here right now, helping me with this? I hate you for leaving me,” I sob, my voice breaking. “I hate you.” But deep down, I know I don’t. I never have and never will truly hate Bex.

---