Page 75 of Hateful Games

Except when I open my eyes, his masked face is inches from mine.

Thrill shoots up my spine.

Because his broody silence shouldn’t be so hot and scary. Nor should arousal spread through my veins at the depravity of letting my enemy’s best friend dry hump me in a deserted hallway in an ancient castle.

My mind reminds me Nova is doing the same with another girl somewhere close.

Despite knowing his fiancée was at home, he came here to play chase and fuck another girl. After posting our sham of a photo to fool the world of our fidelity.

Why should he have all the fun while sabotaging every aspect of mine?

Staring into Malcolm’s face shrouded by darkness and feeling his lust, I let go of my inhibitions and trace my hand up the ridges of his abs. Curling my hand around his nape, I pull him down and whisper, “I want you but first… you need to catch me.”

Shoving him, I run.

His footsteps thud behind me just as I push inside another abandoned room. Candles light it, providing a semblance of serenity and I turn my head when Malcolm enters behind me. Arrogant as ever, he crooks his finger at me.

We circle each other and I put the bed between us.

Sneakily, he momentarily distracts me by slowly removing his jacket from his broad shoulders. His physique is no less impressive, and I stare, starstruck, especially at the bulge straining his pants.

He stalks forward, making me realize he’s trying to trap me in a corner. Except, there’s another door closer to me and I sprint toward it, just shy of his hand grabbing me. I expect to walk into another hallway since this place is built like a maze.

My smugness disappears when it’s a small closet I enter instead.

The door slams shut behind me.

Locking me inside with my predator.

Chest heaving, I face him, and the savageness wafting from him leaves my body thrumming with need. My fingers twist in my dress as I watch him roll his sleeves up. I can sense his gaze perusing over my hard nipples, visible because of the moonlight spilling through a window high up in the corner.

The moment he’s done baring his forearms, I take a step back.

“We shouldn’t,” I whisper in a last-ditch attempt, but there’s no fight in my plea.

He shakes his head, as if agreeing, but still moves toward me.

Bridging the gap, I’m pushed against an empty shelf. There’s nowhere to go. His fingers tangle in my hair while his free hand shoves underneath my skirt. I feel his impatience in the vicious pull with which he tears off my thong.

My knees buckle when he boldly cups my drenched pussy.

Nothing besides my own fingers have touched me there.

I wait for the shyness to sink in but being shrouded in near darkness lures the wicked girl in me who isn’t afraid to take control of her life. Spreading my legs wider, I invite him to take more, touch me harder and more possessively.

His thin patience snaps.

Grinding the heel of his palm against my clit, he dips one digit between my wet folds. I hear him groan low in his throat before a second finger joins to rub my pussy. The more teasingly he does it, the more I soak his hand.

As if I didn’t already know it, he shocks me by lightly slapping my pussy until a wet noise pierces the air between us.

It’s illicit and wrong.

He does it twice more, my whimpers spurring him on.

I can’t contain my whine when he pushes one finger inside my entrance. I’m incredibly tight despite my arousal but his will is stronger. His hold in my hair shifts to press his palm just above my pussy and hold me still as he stuffs his finger to the knuckle.

The fullness is a strange sensation. Sinful and erotic.

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