Page 47 of Hateful Games

So, the cat’s out of the bag. I don’t bother denying it.

Instead, I quietly watch her.

Roaming my eyes down the length of her body, I take in the black turtleneck sweater molded to her skin. The curvy shape of her breasts pressing against the soft material as her chest rises and falls with her angry pants.

A lesser man would quake in his boots at the stormy expression locked on her face.

Yet all it makes me ache to do is piss her off more.

So, I do. By unashamedly admiring her supple figure as she stands with her hands perched on her narrow waist.

Her outfit would be modest if she wasn’t wearing the tightest and shortest fucking leather skirt known to mankind. The hem of which barely reaches the tops of her thighs, showcasing her toned and long legs. Black stockings with knee-high boots complete her showstopper-worthy look.

She doesn’t show a stitch of her skin, yet I’m driven mad with the need to touch her.

Especially when she stares at me likes she wants to throttle me.

The truth slaps me in the face.

I hate her as deeply as I want her.

Naked. Writhing. Screaming. Underneath me.

“Up here, you ass.” She clicks her fingers in my face in annoyance. Her hips cocked to the side as she sharply accuses, “You went too far, Nova.”

Hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her cheeks are a darker shade of rose that matches the color of her long tresses. I wonder if it’s because of the cold or… me.

My fingers tingle from remembering the silky smooth feel between my hands in the locker room. Instead, I ball my hand into a fist.

“Too far, as in more than you almost killing me?” I ask coolly.

Miya’s jaw drops in stark horror behind Rosalie, who hardly pays her any attention.

“A mistake I’m deeply regretting,” Rosalie retorts.

“Are you seriously having her followed, Nono?”

I stare at my little cousin pointedly when she calls me by the nickname she gave me when we were kids. She was just learning her first words and found it difficult to say my name. Once she called me Nono, it just stuck.

Ignoring her, I focus on my fiancée and answer with a smile. “Yes.”

“Just because we’re engaged doesn’t mean you have the right to invade my privacy like that.”

“Actually, it’s exactly why I do, Rose.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yet I have been doing it for the last two years.”

Utter shock transforms her features before the redness on her cheeks deepens in anger. My casual tone pissing her off, and she takes a step forward, one hand balled into a fist.

I raise my eyebrow challengingly, daring her to hit me.

But her stubbornness to not touch me wins.

Such a shame.

Rosalie may believe I have my security detail on her to assert my dominance in our relationship, but she couldn’t be more wrong. My intention at first was to only be her shadow, especially when rumors about our secret engagement began circulating.

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