Page 115 of Hateful Games

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My husband.

I forget the thousands of eyes on us. My hands fly to his budging forearms, digging in just as harshly as I submit to him. As he expertly coaxes me to kiss him back in earnest. His tongue licks the seam of my lips. The teasing flick earns a gasp, giving his tongue permission to invade.

Boy, does he.

He pours the years of pent-up anger, lust, and need into the kiss. He kisses me like it’s our last. As if he’s about to die and I’m his ticket to heaven.

He ruins my reality.

My hate that I carry so palpably in my heart.

I want to hate his touch.

His taste.

But he erodes all my rational thoughts.

Nothing matters except the press of his lips and the moans he elicits from me like a thief. When he finally pulls away, our eyes meet. His brows knit together, puzzled and still high on my taste. They lock on my swollen lips.

Before I can blink, his fuses our mouths again in another searing kiss that I feel to the tip of my toes. My world tilts on its axis when his hand moves to the front of my throat and tilts my head back to kiss me even more deeply.

He steals my innocence until I’m nothing but a puddle at his feet.

Pressing on my wildly pounding pulse, he growls against my lips, “You’re mine now.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Rosalie

After the ceremony and cake cutting, we’re all sitting around a large dining table set up for the close family and friends with Nova on my side, when my phone buzzes in my lap. I see a notification for my group chat with my best friends, who sit a few chairs down across from me with their significant others.

I open the chat and immediately repress a groan.

BIANCA: That was one hell of a kiss.

IRIS: I’m still blushing.

BIANCA: Nova is whipped.