Page 159 of Hateful Games

Demanding.

Seductive.

Slutty.

I was a goner after that.

If she had asked me for the world in that second, I would’ve given it to her in a heartbeat. Hell, I would’ve carved my heart out and laid it at her feet, if she asked.

Because as those lips laved and tangled with mine, she owned me.

Rose has me bewitched, cast in her spell, and she doesn’t even know it.

It’s why it’s eating away at me that she’s shut me out. Like I’ve traveled back to the past. To the morning when she gave me the silent treatment the first time. I’m once more on the receiving end of it as she’s locked herself away in the library.

Instead of going after her, I distracted myself by calling cleaners to sort the mess in the kitchen and dining area. So it doesn’t look like a storm swept in here. If her true motive was to cancel the dinner, she’s succeeded.

I was already on my way for lunch when my phone pinged with the notification of the fire alarm going off.

My first reaction was panic at imagining the worst.

Still, I wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me. Both the girls had looked so disheveled and were arguing among themselves when Dash and I entered. The mayhem all because Rose didn’t want to admit she couldn’t cook.

She rightfully deserved to be spanked.

“Fuck,” I groan, remembering her little cries and moans. I badly wanted to sink my fingers in her heat and feel her come on my hand.

Just like that, I’m back to obsessing over my wife.

Every step we take forward, we take two backward.

I’m a man with patience, with carefully laid plans and determination to win smartly, not with brute strength. Around Rosalie, I have to constantly remind myself of my rules because all she makes me feel is the need to coerce or demolish every obstacle she throws at me.

I tell myself it’s the only tactic to ultimately possess her body.

Or at least, that’s what I thought until today.

Perhaps I’ve been going about tearing down her walls all wrong. The gentlemanly treatment isn’t taking me anywhere. I’ve been holding back, going against my darker instincts. When has that ever worked for us?

The earlier encounter all but proved my spitfire wife craves a firm hand.

Filthy commands.

Her will stolen.

As though you didn’t already know.

Checking the time on my wrist, it’s six in the evening and she’s yet to emerge from her little refuge. Maggie and Bunny are with her while Fire is keeping me company. The little shit was back to humping my leg. So, I put him on one of the tall chairs. Now, he’s fooling me with sad puppy eyes to let him down.

He jumps when I approach and pick him up with one hand.

Holding him, I stride toward the library. I’m patting myself on the back for not putting a lock on the door because it’s slammed shut. No explicit songs today. Without knocking, I push the door open and find her sitting crossed-legged on the couch. Her laptop perched on her lap.

Despite sensing my gaze, she doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

Red hair twisted in a bun, her fingers fly over the keyboard. I scowl at the device in distaste. Solely because I’m unaware what has her undivided attention.

I swear to God if she’s back on those stupid dating apps, I’m going to turn her ass red with my palm.

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