Page 188 of Hateful Games

Nervous. He’s making me nervous with his silence. Intensity. Utter masculinity.

I never thought chiseled and clean-shaven guys could ever pull it off. Yet he proves me wrong with a single look.

“Nova,” I call out, putting as much annoyance as possible in my tone. Of course it comes out throaty and breathless. I sound like those silly girls staring at their crush. I’m none of those things.

This energy between us is foreign.

Or was I just oblivious to it?

I don’t like it. I want his barbs. His insults. His threats. So I can call this a figment of my imagination.

My feet move backward on instinct as he takes a step forward. Still unnerving me with his quietness. The vulture has always something to say. I keep backing away until I collide against the wall. He stops less than a breath away when our predator and prey dance ends.

Since when did I turn into a prey? Apparently, I’ve entered another dimensional world.

Even though I’m by no means short, I still have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. I swallow when he raises his hand and ever so slowly wraps his thick fingers around my throat.

This has to be crossing unspoken lines in our game of wills.

The race of destroying each other.

I shouldn’t allow it to happen every time we’re within touching distance. As I’m enveloped by his scent, his last night’s speech reverberates in my mind. I fight the urge to clench my thighs.

“Let go.” I could rip his hands off. But good Lord, I just fucking can’t. He presses on the sides in response. The gold in his brown eyes turning molten. “You want a kick to the balls, then just say it.”

“Why always so feisty, wife?”

“Why always such a dick, hubby?” I retort.

“No need to talk in circles.” My fingers curl against the wall, seeking purchase. Some anchor as he bends inches from my mouth, his warm breath teasing my lips that part involuntarily. His low voice a seductive purr, raising goosebumps on my skin as he speaks. “You aching for my dick in your needy cunt? Then just say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“See. That’s better.”

I glower at him and finally lose my patience as I shove at his stony chest. He doesn’t budge. Not even an inch. What is he made of? Granite. Cement. Then again, he’s Satan’s spawn, so how can a mere human hurt him?

“What would be better for you is to step back. Unless you want to go to the party with two broken hands,” I threaten.

His fingers tighten, suffocating and sending shock waves down my body. It feels exhilarating. A rush of thrill coursing through my limbs. “I thought lying was beneath the Kapoors because I don’t believe you really want my hand gone from your delicate neck.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Is that why your nails are practically digging in my waist, my thorny Rose?” he taunts.

I startle and even though I can’t look down because of his tight and domineering grip, I can feel my fingers clutching him. Using him as an anchor. And it’s not the only thing I notice. Feel. Crave.

Because not only am I holding him, I’ve also pulled him flush against me until our lower halves touch. My eyes become heavy-lidded as I feel his unmistakable and large bulge. His thick cock pulsing and fighting the confines of his pants as it presses right against my lower abs.

Fuck me. Why did the rumors have to be true?

His is not your average, run-of-the-mill dick.

I haven’t forgotten the sizzling memory of him in my mouth. Hot. Throbbing. Every inch that he made me count. I can read the same memory in his sinful eyes.

I gasp when his head tilts until those soft lips that are always in a cruel scowl ghost over mine. Teasing me with just a touch. A tiny feel. I forget about letting him go when he nudges my nose with his, his parted lips roving over my cheeks, my lips. Doing everything but kissing.

No. Kissing and him shouldn’t even be in the same sentence.

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