Chapter 135 (Fixed)

The sudden loss of gravity lasted less than a second, but Ray’s instincts kicked in faster than his brain could process.

As they free-fell toward the wet floor, Ray slammed his weight around, twisting his torso in midair. He shoved his arm behind Milady’s head, wrapping her tight against his chest to absorb the hit. They slammed hard onto the flooded porcelain—Ray taking the full force of the impact on his back, a sharp groan ripped from his lungs as the air knocked out of him.

Before he could catch his breath, a heavy clatter echoed off the tiles. The plastic shower chair had bounced off the wall and was tumbling straight down toward Milady’s exposed face.

Ray’s hand shot out. He caught the chair’s leg inches from her forehead, his forearm trembling as he locked it in place, shielding her completely.

For a fraction of a second, everything went dead silent under the streaming water.

Ray was panting above her, his chest heaving, his body hovering over hers like a shield. His eyes locked onto hers—wide, dark, and breathless. It was the exact blueprint of a heroic, romantic rescue. The kind of moment where two people look at each other and realize they care.

Then the toxicity shattered it.

Milady’s wide eyes didn’t soften. Instead, a twisted, vicious grin stretched across her lips as she looked up at him. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t ask if he was okay.

"Look at you," she rasped, her voice dripping with poison. "Playing the big hero while you’re flat on your back."

Without missing a beat, Milady flipped her body over. She planted herself fully on top of his chest, her thighs straddling his stomach, completely ignoring the fact that he’d just saved her head from getting cracked open. She reached down with both hands, wrapping all ten fingers around his throbbing shaft.

She began pumping him with a fast, double-handed grip, using the slick mix of shower water and pre-cum to grind his sensitive head relentlessly. She leaned down, burying her face into his, shoving her tongue into his mouth in a sloppy, aggressive, suffocating kiss.

Ray’s eyes went wide. The utter absurdity and sickness of it spiked his adrenaline to a dangerous level. He was sore, his back was bruised, he’d just saved her damn life—and here she was, riding his chest, straddling him on the wet floor, abusing his dick with both hands while devouring his mouth like a parasite.

A surge of pure, unadulterated fury merged straight into his arousal.

While her hands kept working him below and her lips bit into his, Ray’s left hand shot over to the plastic chair he was still holding. He gripped the leg tight, his knuckles turning white, and with a raw, guttural roar against her mouth, he hurled the chair across the bathroom.

CLANG!

The chair smashed violently into the porcelain bathtub, cracking on impact and bouncing off into a heap.

Milady didn’t even flinch at the loud crash. She just pulled her mouth back an inch, her eyes gleaming with absolute madness as she kept pumping his dick with both hands.

"Nice throw, hero," she whispered, her chest heavy against his as she squeezed his shaft harder. "Now finish."

Ray couldn’t fight it anymore.

The double-handed grip, the suffocating weight of her on his chest, and the chaotic surge of adrenaline from the crash smashed into his nervous system all at once. His thighs went rigid, his jaw locking tight as a guttural, broken sound tore out of his chest. He bucked upward once, his body completely giving out as his load shot high, painting the deep curve of Milady’s ass crack in thick, warm streaks.

He slumped back onto the wet floor, completely drained, his breath coming in shallow, heavy rasps under the cold spray of the shower.

Milady stayed straddling him for a second longer, her chest heaving, a dark, satisfied glint in her eyes as she felt the heat of his finish against her skin. She had gotten what she wanted. Both of them were completely wrecked, their toxic hunger temporarily sated.

Slowly, Milady pushed herself up, her skinny legs shaking slightly as she stood over him. She looked down at Ray, who was sprawled out on the cold tiles, utterly spent and unable to move a muscle.

"Two to one," Milady purred, her voice cold and dripping with condescension as she wiped a stray drop of water from her chin. "I win. You’re still just a pathetic loser, Ray."

Ray just sat there, propping himself up weakly against the wall. His head was spinning. The whole fucked-up, intense encounter felt like a fever dream—a hazy, suffocating blur of pain, lust, and control games.

Without giving him another glance, Milady turned around and stepped back under the full stream of the shower, acting as if nothing had happened at all. She reached out and cranked the handle, letting the fresh cascade of water wash away the soap, sweat, and the mess on her skin.

Ray stared at her back. Watching the water run down her slender spine, over her petite hips, and down her skinny legs, a strange, quiet spell washed over him. For a split second, mesmerized by the view, he almost forgot how evil she was. She looked small, almost delicate under the heavy stream.

Then he noticed the way she was standing.

Milady tilted her hips slightly, her legs parted, casually peeing right where she stood under the running water.

Ray blinked, his spell instantly shattering as a dry chuckle escaped his throat. "Seriously? You’re peeing standing up like a fucking guy? Classy, Milady."

Milady didn’t even turn around, but her head snapped back slightly. With a mean, deliberate flick of her foot, she kicked a wave of toilet-bound shower water straight into Ray’s face.

"Shut up, loser," she scoffed over the roar of the water. "Wash your face."

Milady didn’t even acknowledge the splash. She reached over to the wall shelf, grabbed the bar of soap, and began lathering it up between her small palms, creating a thick, white foam under the warm stream.

She started at her neck, dragging her soapy hands down over her collarbones and onto her small tits. They were tiny, firm, and flushed pink from the heat, the pale skin slick with suds as her hands cupped them casually, working the soap over her hardened nipples. She didn’t care that he was watching. Water streamed down the sharp indent of her waist, highlighting the subtle, lean V-line tracing down into her hip bones—a tight, delicate frame that looked deceivingly fragile.

She turned slightly to lather her thighs, giving Ray a full view of her back. The water washed over her spine, clinging to the small, tight curve of her ass. It was compact, pale, and firm, glistening under the bathroom light as the suds trickled down the deep cleft where he’d just finished minutes ago.

Ray sat frozen in the corner of the bathroom, his back pressed against the cold tiles, his knees pulled up slightly. He swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the damp air. He hated her guts. He hated every toxic, arrogant word that came out of her mouth. But as he sat there watching the water trace every sharp, petite curve of her body, he couldn’t lie to himself.

She was fucking gorgeous. A complete menace, but breathtakingly hot.

Milady suddenly stopped. She turned her head, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks, and caught him staring.

Her eyes narrowed, and her expression instantly twisted into a look of pure, unadulterated disgust—like she’d just spotted a cockroach crawling across the floor. She lifted her chin, looking down her nose at him with absolute disdain.

The spell snapped in a split second. Ray’s jaw tightened, his pride flaring right back up at her filthy look.

"Hey!" Ray barked from his corner, glaring straight back at her mean face. "Wash your pussy!"

Milady’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but she didn’t say a fucking word back. She grabbed the bar of soap, shoved it straight into her groin under the running water, and scrubbed herself clean with aggressive, furious strokes, glaring at Ray the entire time.

Once the suds were completely washed down the drain, she reached up and shut the faucet off. The sudden silence in the steamed-up bathroom was suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic dripping of water from the showerhead.

Milady reached behind the bathroom door, grabbing a thick, plush towel that was already hanging there. She wrapped it around her tiny body, tucking it tight over her chest, then grabbed a smaller hand towel to wrap her wet hair into a messy turban.

Ray sat there on the cold tiles, naked, bruised, and dripping wet, looking up at her as she preened herself in the mirror.

"Where’s mine?" Ray grunted, his voice still raspy.

Milady didn’t even bother turning around. She met his eyes through the foggy mirror, a cold, mocking smile playing on her lips.

"Out front," she said casually, applying a drop of face serum onto her cheek. "On the sofa."

Before Ray could even process how fucked up that was, Milady reached into the narrow gap beside the sink cabinet and pulled out a long, aluminum floor mop. She turned around and tossed it at him without warning. The metal pole clattered loudly against the wet tiles right between Ray’s legs.

Ray stared at the mop, then looked up at her, his brows furrowing in pure disbelief.

"What the fuck is this supposed to mean?" Ray growled.

Milady adjusted her hair turban, stepping carefully around him as she walked toward the door. She paused at the threshold, resting her hand on the doorknob, looking down at him like he was garbage left out on the curb.

"It means you mop up your wet, pathetic footsteps on your way out, loser," Milady sneered, her voice dripping with venomous triumph. "I’m not tracking your filth through my homet."

Without waiting for his response, she stepped out, slamming the bathroom door shut behind her with a loud, final BANG.

Ray was left completely alone in the steamy, quiet bathroom, sitting naked on the wet floor with a mop in his hand—utterly defeated, sore as hell, and fucking furious.