Page 25 of Hate Game

“Yeah.”

I took the cup from him and shoved it inside the garbage bag at my feet. Malice’s truck was his baby, and he kept her spotless inside and out.

“Come closer, Rue.” He patted the spot next to his thick thigh.

I swallowed down my nervousness and scooted closer until I’m sitting with my legs tucked under my butt and my knees touching his thigh. He swiped his finger over my bottom lip, brought his finger to his mouth, and licked the spot that touched my flesh.

“Sweet. I want another taste, baby.”

I loved it when he called me baby and his voice got all thick and husky with need… I tipped forward. He grasped my chin between his fingers, brought my face to his, and crashed his mouth on mine.

He groaned, and I expected him to be unforgiving with his mouth and was surprised when he kissed me as though we had all the time in the world. And we did. It was a Saturday night, and we had nowhere special to be.

My mother was gone and didn't return my texts or calls, and Riley didn’t know her whereabouts either. I had no clue where my father was, and Isaac had just told me that he was my half-brother.

Being with Malice and wrapped in his arms was heaven compared to my messy life.

We kissed until we were out of breath and out of our minds with desire. We moved from the inside of the truck to the bed, tucked beneath layers of blankets that Malice had folded and stacked in the back cab.

We stared up at the moon and the stars. It was a full moon. The beams lit up the darkness, and the breeze warmed my face.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“Yes. You?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you by coming first. You’re all I think about, Rue.”

“I think only about you too.” I interlaced our fingers. “I’m fine with it if you do. The first time is a trial run and shouldn’t be scored or judged.”

“But the other times will be?” He squeezed my hand and turned to look at me. He smiled.

“Of course not. No pressure, Malice, for either of us. Let’s just be, okay?”

“I’m good with that. You’re right. Let’s just be. No pressure.” He bracketed his muscular arms next to my head. “No judgment.” He brushed his knuckle over the crest of my cheek. “Just me and you making sweet love, Rue.”

I loved it when he said my name with such tenderness and desire. He cared and wanted me, and I could cry. No one has ever cared or wanted me as much as Malice did at that moment.

We kissed, and it was different from our other kisses. This one promised more of everything: more touching, more moans, more skin on skin. He removed my clothes with care and kept me warm, shielding my naked body, though the breeze was warm.

Malice kissed down my body and asked if he could taste me. I rolled my head from side to side, heady with desire at the thought of his dark head of hair between my legs.

“No?”

“Yes,” I said, out of breath.

He peppered kisses on my stomach and along my hips. I squealed. He looked up with a smile. I play-swatted his shoulder. He knew I’m ticklish there, that butt!

Malice grabbed my hand and dropped a kiss dead center on my palm, his gaze never leaving mine. Desire replaced the smile in his eyes.

He moved low and trailed kisses along my inner thighs, pausing at the tattoo on my inner right thigh. Malice traced the ink with his tongue before he sucked on the spot where the angel was. His mouth was warm and wet on my flesh. His teeth grazed my sensitive skin. Languid heat overtook my body. The pressure between my legs grew. I shoved my fingers in his hair and guided his face to my sex.

“Impatient?”

“Yes,” I admitted with a smile.

Malice’s laughter was like a warm breeze on my sex. He tongued my clit. I clenched the blankets in my hand. He licked up my slit. I moaned. He buried his face in my sex and lapped up my wetness. My pussy wept and throbbed.

It was too much. “Malice.” I clamped his head between my thighs.

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