Page 263 of Hateful Games

It was turning out to be the worst day, where I was preparing to lick my wounds alone. Because that’s the way it’s been in the past.

However, the second Nova’s concerned voice reached me with a hint of protectiveness in it and he touched me, I just couldn’t hold back.

He was undeniably sweet and caring.

The late-night drive was the perfect distraction. Most men balk at the thought of a woman driving their car, yet Nova didn’t once say a word. Instead, he sat in the passenger seat with Fire on his lap while Bunny and Maggie sat in the back. It wasn’t a date, but it felt like one as all of us ate ice cream.

Nova stealing half of mine.

I pouted until he got me a second one, promising he wouldn’t steal it.

The way he’s making me utterly, deeply, and madly obsessed with him, its equal parts scaring the hell out of me and making me feel alive like I’m perpetually on cloud nine.

Before I start daydreaming him, I sit upright and push the blanket off. I suppress a shiver from the cold air of the bedroom and walk to the window. Sliding the curtain, I peek outside.

So, this is what five o’clock in the morning looks like? Hmm… I was right. My husband is insane for wanting to wake up at the crack of dawn.

Today, I finally solve the mystery of his morning routine.

My dogs don’t even stir while I gaze at them in envy. Bunny on the floor while the mini ones slept with us on the bed.

Still wearing Nova’s hoodie, I tiptoe into the hall to search for him.

The kitchen and the living room are empty. Suddenly I remember we have a home gym, which I saw in the first week. He must be working out. Having managed his calendar once upon a time, I’m aware of his jam-packed schedule.

My wild guess proves to be right when I hear the whooshing sound coming from the end of the hall. It becomes louder and more frequent, making me intrigued.

I round the corner and like someone shot me, my entire body ceases.

My pussy quivers.

As my eyes lock on my husband in the middle of his powerful workout. Shirtless and wearing a pair of black shorts hanging low on the V of his hips. His fists covered in black boxing gloves deliver hard, quick, and precise punches, sending the punching bag flying. His ample muscles ripple and flex with every move.

Of course, he still boxes even if it’s in the privacy of his gym.

My knees go weak at the savage expression, the square jaw set in concentration and those messy locks falling onto his forehead. The man doesn’t look out of breath. Every muscle and vein in his upper body is pronounced. The eight-pack abs clenched tight and rippling enticingly.

Oh fuck.

Is this what I miss every freaking morning?

I must be crazy if I’m sleeping through this.

That’s it. Time to start waking up early. Because if the sight of my tall, sweaty, and muscular husband as he pounds into the boxing bag with lethal punches isn’t motivation, then nothing else in this world will be.

Ever so attuned to his environment, he senses my lascivious gaze on him.

His head turns in my direction and I try not to combust from the intensity of his stare. He breathes through parted lips, chest rising and falling with each harsh breath.

Feeling my own heartbeat pick up, I enter the room and smile softly. “Hii.”

Removing the gloves one by one, he meets me halfway. His morning voice deep and husky as he says, “Morning.”

“I…” Words don’t form on my tongue and I trail off. I can’t think, let alone form coherent thoughts when he stands this close, his chest distracting me.

“You…” he mirrors, a note of amusement in his tone.

Why isn’t he touching me or kissing me?

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