Hateful Games: (An arranged marriage billionaire romance) (Arranged Games Book 2)

Chapter Seventy-two

The floor occupying my office is empty except for me.

I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window as I gaze at the glittering lights of the city. While I wait for Arun’s arrival.

The man responsible for insulting my Rose and leaving her in tears.

Most of all, daring to joke about touching, let alone fucking, her.

Rage like no other had overpowered my veins, running hot and seeking violence. It was a miracle I didn’t stalk to him when I listened to every disgusting word and end his sorry excuse of a life.

My priority in that moment was taking care of Rosalie and erasing the awful memories. I’m furious for letting it occur in the first place. Blaming myself for not saving her from hearing them even though I couldn’t foresee it.

The other three have already been dealt with. Fired with no prospects of another job. While a nightmare awaits them tomorrow morning. They might as well wish they were dead because their lives are going to be one long hell.

Arun, though, a junior project manager at my company, he and I are going to have a chat before I announce his fate. The footage revealed he initiated the inappropriate and misogynistic conversation. I don’t give a fuck about people’s useless opinions. Earth is crawling with these fools.

But I draw the line when it comes to my woman.

No one fucks with what’s mine.

Tarnishes it with their tongue.

A knock sounds at my door, followed by a timid voice, “May I come in, Mr. D’Cruz?”

I turn and face a nervous-looking Arun, who already looks seconds away from pissing his pants. He should be scared. My calm is a thin veneer, keeping my dark savagery at bay.

For now.

I flick my chin to the chair opposite my desk. “Take a seat.”

He enters, gaze flickering around my office and sticking on the bookshelf a tad longer. Swallowing apprehensively, he closes the gap and settles down.

I remain standing, expression neutral. “How was your day?”

“It was same old.” He visibly relaxes at the casual question. “Busy and demanding.”

“Nothing interesting?”

“No, Mr. D’Cruz.”

I rub my chin, smiling coldly. “No cafeteria gossip, perhaps?”

His throat bobs, a light sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. He stammers for an answer, tugging at his collar.

“Do you read, Arun?” He pales. “Because I heard you give the best recommendations. I would like your opinion on what’s good literature. Something that isn’t trash.”

“Mr. D’Cruz… I didn’t mean it,” he splutters out. “It was a joke.”

“Are you saying my wife’s writing is a joke now?” My tone loses the calm veneer. I reach my desk and rest my fists on it, leaning over him. “You joke about fucking my wife?”

“I’m s-so sorry. Please. It won’t happen again.”

“You had lot more balls behind my back, Arun.”

“It was inappropriate, sir. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t. But I’m afraid you don’t realize the enormity of your indiscretions. You hurt my wife deeply and an apology isn’t going to cut it.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“You’re fired, along with the others. Goes without saying.”

Relief pours over him as he assumes that’s all I’m doing.

My protectiveness for Rosalie runs far deeper and darker in my veins. I’ve stopped fighting the moral instincts.

Today, I swim in its depths.

Circling my desk, I approach and stand behind him while pulling out the ink pen from the breast pocket of my suit jacket. Pulling the lid off, I grab the front of his neck and yank his head back.

“Since you obviously hate reading filth yet find yourself reading it anyways and offering useless opinions that make my wife cry,” he squirms but my grip is stronger, “I’ve found the perfect solution. I wouldn’t be a good boss if I didn’t provide a conflict resolution to your predicament.”

I twist my arm in a chokehold around his neck and cut his air supply, watching his face turn red as his lungs fight for oxygen. His fingers helplessly dig into my arm, trying to dislodge my grip like a fish fresh out of water.

“This is going to hurt,” I warn.

“Noo—”

I raise my arm and poke his right eye with the tip of the fountain pen. He howls in pain, body bucking in my hold while blood trickles down his cheek. His screams echo, melding into one another when I ram the tip into his left eye and twist.

“You’re perfectly safe from trash now.”

A blind man can’t read, after all.

Loosening my hold, I step back. He doubles over onto the floor, clutching his bleeding face. Ignoring his cries, I round to the front of my desk and call the security guard to escort him out.

***

Later that night after taking a shower, I slide into bed beside a half-asleep Rosalie.

She stirs at the heat of my naked chest, then lifts her head from the pillow. In the most hypnotic and husky tone, she whispers my name, “Nova?”

“It’s me.” I press a kiss against her shoulder and pull her against my body more securely. “Go back to sleep, Rose.”

She has other ideas.

“I had a long nap in the afternoon,” she huffs amusingly and turns in my arms. Her pierced nipples, undisguised by the thin material of her cami top, brush against my chest. Throwing one leg over mine, she props her chin on her palm laying flat over my heart, and asks, “Where were you?”

“Just a quick meeting.” I trace her jaw. My thumb reaching to caress her lower lip.

I ache to bend and steal a kiss.

But I torture myself, wishing for her to initiate it. Like she did earlier. Then at the place of her future shelter. She’s the happiest when she returns from the biweekly meets regarding the shelter project.

I swear I can spend my life just kissing her alone.

The way I’m addicted isn’t because her kisses taste like my favorite drugs.

Drugs kill.

Her kisses do the opposite. They feed life into my soul.

As if she can hear my thoughts, I’m pushed flat on my back. She straddles my hips and her hair falls down her back like a curtain as she bends and locks our lips together. Slanting her head, she grabs the side of my neck and kisses me for a good long minute.

I run my hands up the backs of her legs.

One traveling up to hold her nape while the other wraps around her waist.

“You’re winning,” she whispers, panting against my mouth.

“What?”

“At spoiling and giving me gifts I’ve no chance of topping.”

“It’s not…”

“…a competition,” she finishes with a teasing grin. “I know that. It seems unfair. I want to make you feel as blissful and over the moon as you make me.”

I’m shaking my head before she even completes her sentence and switch our positions. Kissing her hard, I confess, “You’re crazy if you think you don’t. The days you surprise me in the mornings to spend extra time with me, text me during the day because you found something funny, I live for those moments because it tells me I’m as much in your mind as you are in mine. You’ve breathed life into this house, Rose. I leave the office early knowing you’re waiting for me at home. I’ve never had a person who’s all mine. I didn’t even know I needed that until you. You’re the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last when I sleep. I can’t even do either unless you’re in my arms, your scent on me, and the way you fit so perfectly. Like you belong nowhere else. I could name a thousand more things without losing my breath about just how blissed and over the moon you make me feel.”

She stares mutely, eyes blinking back unshed tears and swirling with too many emotions at once. Her hair spread on my pillow like a halo, she looks like an angel I brought down to hell with me.

Or maybe she pulled me to heaven.

Who knows?

All I know is, I want to be stuck here with her forever.

“You make me happy in your own little ways, Rose. The best part, you don’t even realize it.”

“See… there you go again,” a soft hitch in her voice as she pulls me closer, “making me speechless.”

I kiss her neck, licking the column of her throat before sealing our lips. “I can’t get enough of your speechless mouth. I love it even more when it’s teasing me, sassing me… kissing me.”

Her nails dig into my upper arms, head tilting to give me access when I move back down. Leaving a trail of hickeys in my wake. She moans, wild and seductive.

“Turn around.”

My raw command sends her obeying and lying on her stomach.

Her eagerness to please me such a turn-on.

The low scraping noise of the nightstand drawer opening raises goosebumps on her skin. Her face turns to the side to watch me pull out lube and a wide glass butt plug. Keeping them right beside where she can see, and she squirm from delicious nerves and anticipation.

Skimming my palm up her thighs, I lift her onto her knees and tortuously, slowly pull down her shorts halfway.

“No panties?” My palm slaps her right cheek, making it shake. “My wife’s such a slut. Always needy for my cock.”

“Nova,” she whimpers.

“Face into the pillow. Spread your cheeks.”

I stroke my cock tenting my boxers while she reaches behind and presents the tight ring of her asshole. I’ve made her come with my fingers in her ass, made her enjoy the pleasurable pain and taught her to fit three of my fingers without hurting.

She’s as close to being ready as she can be to take my cock.

A shudder racks her body when I trace her slit, bringing back wetness to her second hole. Oh, how beautifully she clenches when I circle it.

Teasing her pussy and ass, I reach for the lube and squirt some onto my finger.

I rub it around her puckered hole.

Her grip slips at the coldness when I squirt some right onto her asshole. I slap her ass with two quick hard smacks. “Hold still, Rose.”

Panting, she scrambles to obey.

Circling my finger, I rub, and just as she relaxes, I push my finger to the first knuckle. Pull out, circle, and thrust again. She meets my pistoning digit until I’m in to the last knuckle. I add another finger, scissoring and stretching until she loosens.

I increase my pace.

She moans louder in ecstasy.

I’m merciless as I fuck her ass.

On my sixth thrust, a pinch to her clit, she sucks my finger in and comes on my hand. I yank out my cock and stroke ruthlessly at the little orgasmic noises she makes, moaning my name.

“Nova!”

With a groan, I splatter cum on her still jerking ass and her spine. I keep coming, viciously pulling at my shaft until I’ve spilled every last drop.

While she recovers and gasps, I take ahold of the plug and lube it up with my semen. Once it’s wet and slippery, I press it against her loose asshole. But it’s bigger and wider.

“Fuck! Nova.”

“Deep breath.” I shove it home. Grabbing some tissue paper, I clean her up. She’s spent and sleepy as I pull up her shorts and turn her onto her back. Tucking away her hair reveals her soft black eyes staring up at me adoringly. “You’ll sleep with it inside.”

“Okay,” she whispers, cheeks flushed.

Kissing her forehead, I slip from the bed and go to the bathroom to wash my hands. I keep the light switched on and the door ajar because she doesn’t like to sleep in pitch darkness.

When I return, she’s lying sideways, facing me.

Still awake.

Though barely.

Yawning, she stretches her arm and pats the blanket. A silent command for me to come closer and lie down. These little innocuous things she does, giving me a softer side of her that is all for me. How can she even think I’m winning?

I’m falling for her.

Every hour.

Every minute.

Every goddamn second.

Crossing to the bed, I lie down and drag her to my side. Using my elbow as a pillow, she wraps herself around me like my own koala bear. I comb my fingers through her silky tresses until her breathing evens out. Or so I think until she speaks, in a voice so low I almost miss the heaviness of those words.

“At last, my father did something right… he gave me you, Nova.”

When I peer at her face, long eyelashes resting on the top of her cheeks, she’s deep in sleep. Making me think I almost imagined her words.

But I didn’t.

They hit me right in the ribs because she’s right. However, unlike her, all his name does is throw me into the wreckage of my past. No sleep haunting me into the wee hours of the morning.

My phone pings with a text.

I untangle from my wife to slide out from underneath the blanket and tuck it under her chin. Even as I sit upright, facing away, her hand finds mine and rests on the top. She’s still out, parted lips slowly breathing.

Grabbing my phone, I think about who would most likely text me this early in the morning.

A single person comes to mind.

And it’s him, which means it can’t be for anything good. The man isn’t the giver of happy news, only destructive secrets.

ZENITH: You were right. He’s the father.

He attaches a report, evidence of his claim.

The truth I knew, but didn’t want to be true, slaps me in the face.

Except, how do I tell Rose that Jasmine is my half-sister without shattering her entire world?