Page 270 of Hateful Games

I don’t understand it.

“Good girl.”

The heat of his gaze incinerates my skin and I lower my hand to rub my clit. I flick and circle, like he does, but only come halfway close to the perfect pressure he brings.

“I-I’m going to come.”

“Choke my dick. Milk it.”

As the blinding ache nears, I forget being in control and lose the fight as I beg, “Touch me, Nova. Pleas—”

The words end on a pleasured scream as the upper half of my body is forced onto the mattress. Nova’s body covering mine before he slams into me again and again.

“Come, my Rose,” he commands.

I shout his name as I climax. His thrusts don’t slow down, prolonging my orgasm. He doesn’t stop rutting me into the sheets when I feel his hands spread open my ass cheeks and he fingers my asshole.

I’m ashamed when I moan just as he pushes a single digit in. “Ahh, yes!”

It doesn’t hurt like it did the first time. In fact, I crave the raw and forbidden touch. Because every time we’re fucking, he stretches my ass until I’ve begging him for more. He hasn’t said when but I know it’s going to be soon when he steals the last of my virginity.

He’s filled our nightstand with plugs and toys.

Some in sizes I wouldn’t dare to touch, let alone put inside me. The sight of them both scaring and arousing. Yet, we both know I’ll never say no if he decided to use them. I’m a ball of need and anticipation because except the butt plug, we haven’t explored the others.

“Do you like my fingers in your ass, Rose?” pierces Nova’s husky voice through my fog of lust.

“I do,” I whimper when he pushes in two more. “Nova!”

“Such a good girl,” he groans, licking my neck. “My good girl. You’re going to make me come so hard, Rose. Say what I want to hear.”

“Come, baby,” I turn my head and suck his bottom lip. “Fill me with your cum.”

“Fuck!”

One thrust.

Two.

Three.

He roars out his release, biting down on my shoulder, and it triggers another silent orgasm through my spent body.

Chapter Sixty-nine

Rosalie

The next day, I meet Teresa, Nova’s mom, at her place for lunch.

She swings open the door with a wide smile and draws me into a hug. “It’s been so long, Rosalie. I missed you so much. How was Italy?”

Her rapid-fire questions, the enthusiasm and the warm welcome, bring a wide grin to my face. None of it screams that she’s being ungenuine. She’s the perfect example of people who are young at heart, incapable of making an enemy and wishing good on others.

I study her carefully, watching for signs of the sadness I saw lurking the last time I was here. Relief washes over when nothing but brightness glimmers. Perhaps I imagined it last time, projecting my own fears.

She looks happy. Though slightly thinner than last time.

“Our trip was amazing, Mrs. D’Cruz.” I follow her into the kitchen. “I’ve never been on a yacht and I’m already wishing to be back there again.”

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