Page 51 of Hateful Games

Except maybe one or two times around her best friend, Bianca.

She assumes I wasn’t aware of her growing up. Of course I was. She was my nemesis’s daughter. The one girl in the school who didn’t hover around me like a butterfly, demanding my attention. I only pretended Rosalie didn’t exist to me.

Much like the way she’s doing now.

The taste of my own medicine is bitter.

I was accusing her of acting like a child yesterday, and now I’m the one sulking. Fucking irony is a cruel bitch.

I feel a vein throbbing in my forehead when their hands touch for a fraction of a second as Rosalie passes something to him. The black tank top she’s wearing leaves nothing to the imagination. Her hard nipples play peek-a-boo behind her naturally straight hair, slightly curled from sleep.

I’m seconds away from clocking Malcolm in the jaw if he drops his gaze below her neck. Strike that—below her eyes.

While I possessively drag mine over every inch of her.

For whatever reason, she makes me feel possessive and deranged. Whether she likes it or not, I’ve decided she’s mine.

Mine to own. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.

Mine.

My cock is all too pleased with claiming her. It stands to attention when she hops on the kitchen island, causing her tiny shorts to ride dangerously high up her thighs. They might as well be her panties. Her braless tits jiggle, causing my dick to throb at the image of sliding it between them. They’re the perfect size, big enough for my mouth to swallow one whole.

Fortunately, Malcolm’s back is to her as he faces the stove. So, he doesn’t get the tempting view I do.

It’s a testament to my will that I haven’t dragged her away from him, covered in clothes that actually fit and are ugly as hell, and then lock her in my bedroom.

As if she can feel the heat of my gaze, she crosses her legs without turning her head toward me. Her indifferent attitude grating on my nerves. I would take her biting and hitting me any day over this annoying façade.

I never lose control or let anyone get to me. Yet at this moment, I’m a ticking time bomb, seconds away from destroying my surroundings.

However, I’m also curious to see how long she thinks she can ignore me.

I don’t plan to make it easy on her.

She will eventually need to talk to me. After all, there’s still a day left until she leaves to return home.

Last night, I gave her an ultimatum.

Not because I wanted the front-row seat to her playing house with my friend.

She’s blatantly disregarding and following with her threat. Maybe I was harsh and blunt, but she needs to realize that being my fiancée comes with conditions and a reputation to uphold. I cannot allow her to make a fool out of me or my family’s name.

My jaw tics when Rosalie grazes her fingertips down Malcolm’s forearm when he slides her the plate of breakfast, topped with fruits that I didn’t know we had.

“Thanks, Malcolm. Looks delicious,” she softly compliments and does not let go of his arm.

I see black.

Malcolm doesn’t miss the gesture and makes the mistake of dropping his gaze to her lips. Before he can lower it even an inch further, I’m across the room and ripping them apart.

“Eyes and hands. Off. My. Fiancée.”

The cocky prick smirks at my enraged expression.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters for my ears only before striding out of our view.

Rosalie, who’s on a mission to turn me into an unhinged psychopath, quietly grabs her plate and tries to move to the couch I vacated. She doesn’t even pay me so much as a glance at my display of possessiveness.

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