Page 55 of Hateful Games

Steam filters into the room, announcing Nova’s entrance. Since I didn’t see him carry any clothes with him inside, I know he must be only in his towel. I don’t trust my traitorous body not to react to his half-naked one. It seems to breathe a life of its own.

“Oh, you’re still here, Rose,” he mocks.

I don’t reply, averting my eyes stubbornly.

“Back to the silent treatment, are we?”

Maybe it’ll get me out of going with him if I keep him pissed enough to leave me handcuffed. I can’t believe his audacity of doing it in the first place. Or that he casually keeps it in his bedside drawer. My nose wrinkles at the thought of how many girls he’s used them on.

Is it possible to get cooties from sex toys?

“Or is this your way of asking me to dress you?”

“Uncuff me.” My tone is uninterested. Meanwhile, my wrist aches from pulling at it too hard. Fuck if I’m going to tell him, though.

“Look at me when you’re talking to me.”

God, he’s worse than my father while having a conversation. Two-way street, eyes on me blah blah blah… I refuse to obey him and hear him cross the room to his closet in the corner. My relief is short-lived because he reenters and stops in front of me.

From my peripheral, I see him holding something lacy and I realize he went to pick out a dress for me. Is he seriously going to storm into every aspect of my life? Privacy may as well not be a concept he’s familiar with.

Turning to him, I try to snatch it from his hand with my free one but he steps back out of reach. My cuffed wrist stings when I stretch it to its limits, which isn’t much. The asshole sees me wince but doesn’t make any move to fix my misery.

He is a psychopath.

Refusing to talk is a mistake because my entire being focuses on his sculpted physique. Especially the large bulge hidden underneath the towel, which hangs really, really low. Dangerously so. The knot seconds away from coming undone.

My stomach feels tight with a foreign feeling.

Nova’s body is built to sin.

To ensnare us innocent victims into his lair, forgetting the devil he is.

Water droplets drip from his wet hair, sliding down the middle of his ripped eight-pack abs that look carved from stone. Each cut and shifting mouthwateringly with every calm breath he takes. Light smattering of hair covers his pecs, highlighting his masculinity. I admire every little detail helplessly. His defined biceps, the veins running down his arms, and long fingers with short clean nails.

He may give the illusion of being laid-back, but he’s meticulous and attentive to details.

Again, an insane sensation crawls over my bones.

Dancing to its own tune.

A dizzy wave of desire flaring to the surface and engulfing my body in a spell. The harder I try to suppress this unwelcome attraction, the hotter it burns.

I jerk when he clears his throat knowingly. A vexatious smirk curving across his gorgeous face, watching me with glee and attentiveness. After glancing briefly at the dress, I peer up at him.

“Don’t you think the dress is a little risqué for you, Nova?” I can’t help but taunt with a sweet smile. “Are you planning to come out of the closet at the ceremony?”

His eyes flash in warning. Before he flings the dress toward my chest, barely missing from smacking me in the face. “Wear this.”

I swear he acts obnoxiously on purpose to annoy me. Is this how my life is going to be once we inevitably live together?

“Nova?”

“What, Rose?”

“Did you like to play with dolls as a kid?”

“No.”

---