Page 292 of Hateful Games

Bending down, our chests flush while my hips slam against hers, I whisper in her ear, “Breathe through your nose.”

Her eyes glaze over in twisted desire, my kinky slut getting off on my dominance. Her pussy gripping me tighter, almost choking.

“Fuck,” I grunt. “Come for me, Rose.”

Burying to the hilt, I stimulate her clit the way she likes.

“Now!”

“Mhmm… ahh!”

Her hips jerk, walls spasming under the crashing of the orgasm. I watch, mesmerized, as pleasure drowns in her eyes, mouth parted in an O. Pulling out her panties, I push my tongue in and kiss her roughly.

But I don’t come.

I save it all for her virgin ass that I will claim tonight.

Chapter Seventy-four

Rosalie

The second the power goes out, making our house descend into eerie silence and pitch blackness, I know something is utterly wrong.

The make-my-panties-wet kind of wrong.

Rising from the bed, I exit into the hallway and with my hand perched on the wall, I stroll to the top of the staircase. The moonlight peeks in through the glass walls in some corners.

I should’ve known Nova was up to something nefarious and corrupting when he sent the dogs to stay with Uncle Raghu for the night.

Because he wants us alone.

To claim every last one of my firsts.

While I’m the scared, nervous, and aroused little prey, prime for hunting.

It’s been months since our last play, the memories of the club in Italy so vivid and stirring and provocative that I’m already weak in the knees. The thin and immodest slip nightie I’m wearing brushes against my naked skin enticingly.

Each step sends the hem higher up my thighs.

My hard nipples poking against the soft material.

After the hard and ruthless fucking I received over the desk today, it should have my body tired and satisfied, yet a low pulse begins in my core. The night suddenly feeling haunting and wicked.

A breeze of air whooshes behind me.

Looking over my shoulder, I whisper, “Nova?”

I turn around and a high-pitched scream rips from my throat. A shirtless and masked Nova looms over my shoulder like a sinful devil from my nightmares. His denim jeans hiding the intimidating bulge. I clutch my chest, involuntarily taking a step back.

He takes one forward.

His silence and lethalness bordering on psychotic.

Yet fear has no place in my bones. Just the intense need to lower to my knees and be a slave to his perverse desires.

Somehow over the pounding of my heart, I study his mask and freeze in absolute shock. I reach out and trace the familiar black mask that haunted both my dreams and nightmares. The sweaty and filthy nights I stayed awake, imagining the face behind it.

It was always Nova I pictured.

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