Page 222 of Hateful Games

Her gaze softens as she blinks. “You want me to sign them?”

“Yes.”

“Last I checked, you don’t have a bookshelf in your office.”

“I had one installed.”

“Are you sure?” Mischief lights up her face. “Justin will tease you about reading romance books.”

“Worth it.”

Her chest expands in a rough exhale at my answer. I hate the way her insecurities make her believe that what she does is any less what talented artists do. That it’s something to be disrespected or made fun of.

I will not tolerate it.

Sliding my palm to the back of her neck, I bring her mouth closer to mine and proudly say so she doesn’t miss it, “If my wife writes it, I will read it.”

Her eyelids fall closed as if it’s too much.

Deep down, I know she believes me.

Slowly, they open. Lighthearted and warm. Resting her hand on my chest, she bites her lip and teasingly whispers, “And help with research too?”

“That too.”

“Like how I can make my fictional Nova’s death painful and bloodier? If the details are accurate or not.”

“You little hellion!” She yelps, laughing and squirming when I tickle her mercilessly.

“Stop! Stop!” she pleads. “I was kidding.”

“You’re awfully obsessed with fictional Nova and call him yours when you have me, alive and a lot handsome, vying for your attention for years.”

A light flush darkens her rosy cheeks and the slope of her neck. The cute top she’s wearing not concealing her hard nipples. She arches her back, catching me staring. The air in the cabin shifts from amusement to dark cravings. I pull down the neckline, baring the dark brown tip.

I don’t touch it, making her squirm.

“Where do you want my tongue, Rose?”

“M-my nipple.”

“Then what?”

Her tongue peeks out, leaving her lips glossy. “You know, Nova.”

“I need to hear you say it.” I cup the underside, lifting it but not giving her what she’s aching for. “Tell me exactly what you want my lips, my tongue doing to your pretty nipple.” Squeezing the soft globe, I coax her, “Talk dirty to me, Rose. If it were a scene you were writing, what would the man be thinking and doing if he had her naked and willing.”

Heart racing, shyness flickers across her beautiful and lust-drunk face.

“Tell me or we stop.”

Nails digging into my other arm holding her neck, she surrenders. “He’d pull her other breast out.”

“Like this?” I yank the material down until it’s bunched obscenely underneath her tits. Her plump fucking tits. “Then?”

“He’d stare first, licking his lips like he’s desperate for a taste. Inching his hand up, he’ll fit them in his rough palms, running circles around the tips until they harden even more. Making her shift her hips and soak her panties.”

I hold on to every erotic word spilling from her lips.

---