Page 129 of Hateful Games

Hooking my finger in the fallen strap, I gently drag it over her shoulder. My knuckles brushing her tight nipple when I pull the cup back over her breast. Though not my fault, I’d rather not have her pissed at me first thing in the morning.

Drinking in the view of her like this one more time, I decide to wake my fiery Sleeping Beauty.

However, as I take a step back, something catches my eye on Rosalie’s inner right thigh. Multiple dark little spots, very high so they won’t be easily visible. If she hadn’t had her legs spread slightly, I would’ve missed it. I peer closer and a mix of shock and fury filters through my system. What the hell?

Cigarette burns mar her skin. Deep enough to leave permanent scars, and they look really old and nasty. Someone purposely put their hands on her to harm. And they succeeded.

I immediately want to put them six feet under the ground.

Preferably alive.

So it’s one long and suffocating death they suffer.

Staring at her, I wonder, what kind of horrendous memories is she hiding? Was she badly neglected during her childhood? How could her other family members be so blind?

Searching her other leg, I don’t find any other scars. My rage doesn’t lessen, though. Instead, my suspicions go straight to her abusive father. But I can’t go after him without proof. And it happens to be Rosalie herself who can tell, but she’ll never trust me enough to confess.

I’ll find a way.

I promise that to myself.

I shouldn’t feel so obsessively protective of her, enough to not think twice about killing another human. So much so that once I finally get my hands on him, I know I wouldn’t hesitate.

Yet I do.

Especially as I recall the very first day I met her, and like an egotistical bastard, blew smoke right into her face. The way she flinched but stood up to me bravely flashes through my head and I feel like shit and about two feet tall.

It’s the final straw.

Because today, I decide to quit smoking.

Again, it’s disconcerting how easy the decision is. If only I had time to analyze it.

“Rose,” I tap her leg. No response. I tickle her feet and she kicks out in reflex. So, I do it again, becoming amused as she keeps fighting me off. “Get up. We need to check out in one hour.”

She rolls to the opposite end and flings the blanket over herself. The little dogs, who I almost forgot, pop their heads up to see what the fuss is about. When they see it’s just me, they close their eyes again and huddle closer to Rosalie.

“Not a morning person?” Her middle finger is my answer. Grabbing the end of the blanket, I give a test tug.

“Don’t you dare.” Her voice is husky from sleep.

My cock jerks, imagining the same note when I’m making her come.

“Fine. Have another half hour while I shower.” Stepping back, I warn, “When I’m back, your ass better be up.”

***

The room is still dark with my defiant wife still dreaming in her sleep when I emerge from the bathroom, dressed in a fresh suit. Fire and Maggie are awake and playing among themselves on the floor in the corner. At least they listened to me.

As for Rosalie, time for the big guns.

Striding toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, I shove open the curtains. Bright sunlight pours in, and immediately Rosalie shouts, “Shut them back, Nova. Can’t you see I’m sleeping?”

“Time to get up.”

“Don’t see how I can help since you’re already up and irritating me.”

“I have places to be.”

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