Page 143 of Hateful Games

“Not a perv, your husband.”

“The first has a better ring to it.”

“Then I better not tell you that I’ll be picturing you naked while I fuck my fist in the shower. So, you might as well join me.”

She shoves me away and I chuckle, not missing her flush bright pink at my filthy words. Surrounded by her smutty books, yet I make her shy and nervous.

It’s enthralling.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Your loss.” Pressing a quick kiss on her upturned mouth, I leave the library.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Rosalie

Nova returned home in a better mood than he left this morning.

I swear the switch between hot and cold is meant to give me whiplash.

While keeping me on my toes.

And his filthy confessions and innuendoes—I hate how they give me butterflies.

Even now as he’s upstairs showering, my mind running amok with visions of him standing under the spray of water, his corded arm flexing and moving as he wraps his fingers around his thick cock.

I’m desperate to know if he’s rough and harsh with himself. The sounds he makes when he’s about to come. If he plays with his piercing. The feel of the shiny barbell underneath his fingertips.

The urge to go upstairs and watch him is so visceral, it physically pains me.

My nipples involuntarily bead into hard peaks as I imagine his lips twisted in pleasure, his messy hair falling on his forehead as he strokes himself to the thoughts of me.

What would he do if I were bold enough to join him? Would he command me to fall to my knees and wrap my lips around his length? To suck him deep to the back of my throat?

Do I even wish him to? Am I willing to be so vulnerable for him?

Yes, and yes.

Maybe I need a cold shower.

I want to keep him at arm’s length but he keeps bulldozing his way in. His mischievous and wicked mind could become my kryptonite. It’s bad enough I’m attracted to him and his carved-from-stone physique.

And morbidly fascinated with his pierced dick.

Couldn’t he have had an ugly face and a pot belly?

He’s like every possessive and morally gray man described in my books come to life. A temptation that is dangerous to succumb to.

Shoving the troubling thoughts into a dark corner of my mind, I check the remaining time on the food app for our dinner to arrive. Few minutes to go. I can’t believe he left his phone downstairs, and without a passcode, no less. Either he’s extremely foolish or it’s a trap.

My bet is on the latter.

Since I lack boundaries and suddenly common sense, I scroll through his gallery and there are hardly many pictures. Next, I open his social media app and go straight to his DMs. He must have a long line of models sliding into his DMs vying for his attention. And they are!

They don’t even care he was engaged and is now mine.

Shit. Not mine. But whatever.

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