Page 167 of Hateful Games

“I never thought I’d find piercings on a woman attractive,” he rasps, exploring the tiny ring. “But one look at yours, and I wanted to get on my knees and feel it on my tongue. You’ve tortured me with this—” He twists the ring. “—for ten goddamn years, Rose. Today, I finally find out how it tastes.”

Pushing my thighs apart, he slides down the bed and fits his broad shoulders between my legs so I can’t close them. His breath teases my skin, raising goosebumps, and his tongue drags around my belly button.

“Oh god!” I cry out when his tongue flicks it. Pushing down my hips, his mouth closes around the piercing and he sucks. Hard. “Nova!”

The sensations are too much.

He’s too much.

His groan sends vibrations all over my body. I only got the damn piercing on a rebellious whim. Little did I know, it’d become my weakness to derive me from pleasure.

“Does playing with it make your clit pulse?” Nova growls, lifting his half-mast eyes to mine. “Answer me or I’ll find out for myself.”

I nod when he follows his threat by toying with the elastic of my drenched panties.

“Words, Rose.”

“Yes.”

Not taking his eyes off me, he kisses the ring and sucks it into his mouth again. His tongue repeatedly flicking and sending zaps straight to my needy clit. I twist my hands against the binds, every inch of me under his mercy.

“Is your cunt feeling needy, my wife?” he asks with a dirty smirk. “Need my tongue on your poor little clit? I bet I can still make you come by playing with your piercing.”

Is that possible?

“Is that supposed to impress me?” I taunt, secretly wanting him to do just that but too stubborn to ask.

“It’s supposed to drive you mad.”

“You’re always driving me mad.”

Giving one last flick, he climbs up my body until his mouth is hovering over my nipples. Kissing one hard tip that amps up my lust, he says, “I’m going to have your nipples pierced too.”

I’ve always been curious. I’ll be damned if I tell him that. “Oh, you’ve decided that, is it?”

“Your clit, too.”

Oh fuck.

The arrogance of him.

Cupping my right breast, he sucks it into his mouth. His cheeks hollowing out while his fingers glide to my other nipple and pull until I moan in pleasurable pain. His hair tickles my skin and I ache to touch him.

To explore each slab of muscle, his tanned skin, and taste him all over.

Like he’s doing to me.

His lips make a wet noise when he frees my nipple. The shameless sight of my glistening breast has me restlessly shifting, hurting for a release.

Blowing on my wet and swollen tip, he demands, “Still enjoying not fucking?”

Is that what he’s doing? Listening to my demand of no sex?

“Your version of no fucking is quite different from mine.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints,” he taunts savagely. “Wanna know why?”

“I do not have a crush on you.”

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