Page 66 of Hateful Games

In this position, every soft inch of me is touching his hard one. Yet he tugs me even closer until our heartbeats sync. Tentatively, I run my fingers through his soft hair on the back of his head. His eyes flash in savage lust, dropping to my lips when I lick them nervously.

What the hell am I doing?

“I think I’ve got it,” I murmur, trying to step back and break the spell.

“Not yet.” His tone is low and hungry.

I squirm, not used to a man—any man—holding me so intimately. My lips part of their own volition when something very long and hard pulses against my lower stomach. I still at the realization that it’s Nova’s cock.

Oh my god. He’s turned on.

Because of me.

And we aren’t even doing anything remotely deviant.

Studying my reaction when I don’t pull away, one of his hands slides down to cup my ass over my denim shorts. My eyes close from the sensation when he teasingly squeezes my flesh. I can’t help but dig my nails into his neck when he does it again.

Harder.

Rougher.

Greedier.

All while he stares unblinking as I unravel before him. Until I’m sure he will leave imprints of his fingers. This must be what I read in my books actually feels like.

His other hand travels to the back of my neck and twists my hair in his fist to turn us sideways. Keeping our lower bodies pressed together, he tilts my head back and bends to bring our mouths inches apart.

Stop this now, Rosa.

God knows I should stop.

Push him away.

Something. Anything.

Because we both know this is way past the line we’ll ever cross in public. This is him bulldozing through my boundaries.

But I… can’t.

I drop my gaze to his mouth. So close that I can make the small Cupid’s bow and memorize how his upper lip is thinner than the bottom one. How they’ve only given me the softest whisper of a kiss.

My first not-a-kiss kiss.

Raising my gaze to meet his, I check to see if he’s remembering it, too, from years ago. His fingers clench against my flesh, his jaw tightening. Breathless, I wait for him to finish what he started. To shove me against the couch and show me what a real kiss is.

A villain’s kiss.

Because that’s who he is to me, isn’t he?

“Nova,” I rasp. “Ki—”

A sudden flash goes off, followed by a loud click. Alarmed, I whip my gaze toward the sound and find Malcolm standing in the corner, holding up a phone.

When did he even come in? And why is he snapping our picture like a creep?

“Did you get it?” asks Nova in an aloof tone as he lets me go.

I feel bereft for a second before staring between them in confusion, the sexual haze twisting into an eerie feeling in my gut. Malcolm throws the phone to him, which he smoothly catches with one hand.

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