Page 189 of Hateful Games

“Nova… What are you playing at?” I ask in defeat. He has me trapped, crowded, and under his mercy.

My eyes drift close as he tilts my head farther back and he practically growls, “I hate the dress you’re wearing.”

“What?” Shock laces my voice.

“I hate the way it’s touching your skin. Hate the way it’s distracting me with the shape of your perky tits. Just a perfect handful that I could easily swallow one whole in my mouth. I hate it’s making me have filthy fantasies that I have no business thinking about when I don’t have time to act on them. And I especially fucking hate that it’s not lying in a heap on the floor.”

My jaw is on the floor by the time he finishes his erotic monologue.

My nipples hard.

My pussy wet.

I’m still reeling, absorbing, and getting my bearings when his hand disappears from my throat and he drops to his knees. His large hands grasp my waist to stop my fall because I suddenly feel bereft. Once I’m steady enough for his satisfaction does he act.

“Just one taste.”

“Nov—”

The words die on my tongue when he hikes the skirt of my dress up and spreads my thighs. An animalistic growl erupts from his chest as his feral eyes feast on my nude thong. The material is damp and embarrassingly sticky from my arousal. From lust for a man I despise. Abhor. Desire.

I suck in a sharp breath, shifting, restless with nowhere to go when he traces my slit with the pad of his thumb over my thong. His gaze locked on the movement of his finger. Up. Down. Deep. Circling when it reaches my clit. Coaxing it out to play.

“So pink.” Rubbing. “So drenched.” Dipping. “So enticing.” Pinching.

“You hate me.”

The wet material is pushed aside and one long finger is thrusted to the hilt in my clenching walls. I buck against his palm grinding on my clit while he keeps his digit lodged deep. He rubs it around in my channel, searching a spot I know hardly any man can find. Yet he does in one second and presses down. Hard. Tapping and teasing it until I drip down his wrist.

“Oh god. Fuck,” I cry out, moaning and desperate to ride his finger, which he intentionally doesn’t allow me to. I almost whine when he pulls it out, certain he’s about to leave me hanging and this moment was just another tactic to have me powerless. My train of thought screeches to a halt when a second finger joins and thrusts inside me.

“So impossibly tight,” he grunts harshly while fingering me deep.

My own fingers seeking pleasure hidden away in the night is nothing against his. They didn’t even bring an ounce of ecstasy compared to his. It is so unfair. Leave it to my fate to pair me with a man I won’t beg to fuck me.

This is only a one-time thing.

A hidden treasure I’ll allow myself once.

“Forget your ass, I’ll have to prepare your cunt so I can fuck it with my cock without bruising you, wife.” His voice tight with barely controlled lust. “Even though the idea has appeal.”

“Shut up.”

“Good idea.”

His lips press against my pussy in an open-mouthed kiss.

I whimper in shock and pleasure and everything in between when his head dips and takes a long lick of my slit. All the while his rhythm doesn’t slow down. Instead, it becomes punishing and rough like he hates how much he’s enjoying my taste yet can’t stop.

Because the feelings are mutual.

I couldn’t stop him if I tried.

His tongue swirls around my clit, licking and sucking the throbbing nub. Sharp teeth nip and scrape, adding delirious pain that adds to the ache building in my core. A third finger joins deep in my pussy. The stretch burning so good.

Again, I try to ride his hand but he uses his free one to flatten against my belly and hold me immobile against the wall. The same thrill of being dominated by this psycho fills and thrums underneath my skin. But I need more. Desperately. So, I do the one thing I vowed I’ll never do in front of this man.

“Please,” I beg.

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