Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 42

Caleb’s POV

Serena’s eyes go wide with panic as Lucas’s voice carries through the front door, and I watch the moment reality crashes back into our perfect bubble of stolen intimacy.

“Oh God,” she whispers frantically, trying to untangle herself from my arms. “I forgot—we had plans tonight. I completely lost track of time.”

She pushes against my chest, trying to pull away, to disentangle herself and somehow salvage this situation before it explodes in our faces.

But something dark and possessive uncoils in my chest, something that refuses to let Lucas Bennett interrupt the first moment of real honesty we’ve shared in weeks.

I do something reckless. I cover her mouth with my hand and keep going.

“Shh,” I breathe against her ear, my palm muffling her sharp intake of breath as I resume the slow thrust of my hips. “He’ll go away.”

Her eyes blaze with fury above my fingers, nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

She tries to speak against my palm, probably to tell me I’ve lost my mind, but I silence her with another deliberate thrust that makes her back arch involuntarily.

“Serena?” Lucas calls out again, his voice closer to the window now. “I can see your car. Are you okay in there?”

I slow to a torturous pace—deep, measured strokes that force Serena to bite back moans behind my palm.

Her body betrays her even as her eyes promise murder, responding to my touch despite the circumstances, despite every reason this is wrong.

Another knock echoes through the house, more insistent this time. “Serena, I’m starting to get worried.”

I watch her struggle to stay silent, to keep her breathing steady while I move inside her with calculated precision. Part of me knows this is fucked up, that I’m crossing lines I can’t uncross.

But a larger part, the part that’s watched her slip further away from me with every conversation about Lucas, every mention of their engagement, refuses to let him steal this moment from us.

“You feel so good,” I whisper against her temple, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

She glares at me above my hand, but her hips move to meet my thrusts, and I can feel her getting wetter with every stroke. Her body knows what it wants even when her mind fights it.

“That’s what I thought,” I murmur, dark satisfaction curling in my chest.

Lucas’s voice comes again, and this time there’s an edge of suspicion that makes my blood run cold. “Serena? If you can hear me, I’m going to call your dad if you don’t answer.”

That breaks through to her. Serena’s eyes widen with genuine terror, and she claws at my wrist, trying to remove my hand from her mouth.

I finally relent, pulling back and letting her scramble off the couch. She nearly falls in her haste, grabbing for her clothes with hands that tremble from adrenaline and rage.

“You’re insane,” she hisses under her breath, yanking her shirt over her head. “Completely fucking insane.”

“Am I?” I stay where I am on the couch, tugging on my jeans but making no effort to hide the evidence of what we’ve been doing.

Let Lucas see the rumpled cushions, smell the sex in the air, draw whatever conclusions he wants.

“Or am I the only one willing to fight for what we have?”

She doesn’t answer, too busy trying to make herself presentable before Lucas decides to call for backup or break down the door.

“Just… stay back here,” she whispers, smoothing her hair with shaking hands. “Let me handle this.”

Serena opens the front door with carefully controlled composure, though she’s still slightly breathless and her hair looks like she’s been running her fingers through it.

“Lucas,” she says, and I can hear the forced brightness in her voice from where I’m standing in the shadows of the hallway. “I’m so sorry. I was… I fell asleep on the couch. Lost track of time completely.”

“I was getting worried,” he replies, his voice carrying that same wounded concern that makes my skin crawl. “We had dinner reservations at eight, remember? When you didn’t answer your phone…”

“My phone’s upstairs. I’m so sorry—I’ve been exhausted lately. All the stress from finals and everything.”

Through the crack between the door and frame, I can see Lucas on the porch—polite, composed, the picture of gentlemanly concern.

Family. The word sits in my stomach like poison.

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