Page 74 of Hateful Games

I’m curious what he’ll do next.

Loosening his grip until my wrists fall back to my sides, he nudges me forward with his palms on my hips. Tingles spread all over me as I obey the command. Turning, I look up into his face and gasp in shock.

Because staring down at me is no savior, but a predator in sheep’s clothing.

Malcolm.

Chapter Twenty-one

Rosalie

His black mask concealing every square inch of his face, he stares down at me. Except those hollow eyes piercing into me.

Does he recognize it’s me?

I bet he does. Why else would he protect me from his egoistic friends?

I’m still pissed at him for earlier, yet relief pours over me at knowing it was him all along. It explains why I felt comfortable and not quivering in fear.

“Oh! Thank God, it’s you!” I mumble, smiling.

He eats the distance with one step.

“Are you trying to say sorry?” I tease.

His head tilts sideways. Raising his hand, he hooks his finger underneath my mask and pulls until the knot at the back of my head uncurls.

Shit. I completely forgot I was wearing one too.

When my face is revealed, something shifts. It’s seismic and dangerous.

I can’t see his expression yet I can sense his mood darkening.

My breaths slowing down while I remain still as a statue when he trails the edge of my feminine mask down the slope of my neck. Goosebumps rise everywhere he teasingly caresses. My nipples harden into tight peaks even though he’s not even touching them.

He languidly travels a path over the cuts in my dress.

Is this the same Malcolm I’ve been living with for the past week?

Has he wanted me all along?

Or somehow, he’s uncovered my plan of seducing him?

Sure, we had friendly banter but I never got the vibe he desired me. Except today, when he caught me and Nova together. Maybe the anonymity is allowing him to let his true feelings reign.

Isn’t that exactly what I wanted?

His hand is almost to the apex of my thighs when I seize his wrist. My voice quivers when I whisper, “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer and lets the mask flutter to the ground. I tremble when he tugs his hand free and runs his knuckle up my thigh that’s visible through the slit in my dress. Tracing upward and upward, he wraps his hand just below my hipbone and wrenches me against him.

I moan, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket as he presses me against the large bulge in his pants. Pushing me against the wall, he rests his other hand above my head while wrapping my leg around his waist, and then he ever so slowly thrusts.

Shoving the skirt of my dress aside as if it’s an annoying hindrance, his hips grind against my pussy. The thin barrier of my thong turning shamelessly damp, letting me feel every thick ridge of his erection. Head falling back, my eyes close as he sets a slow but hard pace.

I can’t believe this is happening.

It must be a dream.

---