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He doesn’t cower away in fear of who might be watching.
He doesn’t show any hesitance because of who I am.
Instant turn-on.
My hands slide down his chest, bumping over the hard edges of his abs and stopping above his belt. Nurse aside, whoever the fuck she is, can wait. Because I need this more than her.
The mask is mediocre, not at all at my caliber, but whatever. I won’t be able to see it when he’s taking me from behind.
Then it hits me. Billy the fucking Puppet. A bubble of laughter lodges in my throat when I try to fight the irony of that, since my dad and uncles spent the better half of their high school life tormenting my mother and her friends with riddles.
The leather string around his neck connects to a sable-colored emblem, as my fingers trace the lines of it. “Want to play a game?”
Silence.
My hands trail back up his chest until they reach the bottom of his mask. My finger hooks beneath the plastic but he catches me by the wrist.
“Fine.” TheFfalls from my tongue. “Keep it on. It’s my thing anyway.”
Snaking his other arm around the curve of my waist, heat waves pull me against him like a riptide, until my back hits his front and the cool touch of his mask grazes the nape of my neck.
But then it all stops.
The violent brush of a familiar flag sends a sizzle ofredheat through my veins. Around a dance of recited flames, War’s eyes are fixed solely on me. My breath catches when they move over my body the same way his hands do.
Death perfumes the air like any other party we have, only this time a girl is slumped over Priest’s lap. A varnish of pale skin, she glows against the tongue of flames like a mannequin to admire. With two metal buckets on either side and slits that travel from her wrist to her elbow, it’s clear that she’s dead.
He’s unhinged, no doubt, but Mom will appreciate the effort he took to keep any evidence off her grass.
Priest keeps her limp body on his lap, her head tucked into the crook of his neck and her legs slightly parted over his. Jesus. The only step above his already demented soul is exactly where I draw the line.
Necrophilia is a hard no.
Resting my hand over the stranger’s, my eyes close as his knuckles skim my belly. Wrath blasts my skin as if I wore a bullseye on my chest, as my eyes peel open and land on a snarl so wicked it could make the Devil run.
He wanted to play games but forgot who he was playing with. He simply led with a pawn, where I always started with a queen. I didn’t need the detachment of my brother, or the wicked finesse of War. I don’t even need the virtuous charm of Vaden.
The thrill of every game pumped through my veins like DNA. I’d tear out my own heart and use its strings as teeth floss before I’d ever let him defeat me.
Checkmate.
The party dissolves around us as the seconds feel like minutes, neither of us breaking eye contact.
With a bubble of thrill, I lower the guy’s hand and he finally dips beneath the band. My lips part, forming a perfect ‘O’ when fingers finally skim over the smoothness of skin.
Arching back into him, my eyes roll a little when his finger splits me open and wisp over my clit. With the hand that’s on the barrel of his neck, I force his face to my shoulder. The pant expelling from beneath the mask would be desperate in other circumstances.
But queens and pawns…
His finger thrusts inside before lining the crease and anchoring on my clit. The length of his cock billows against my back when he shifts his hips forward. With both of us refusing to break, my knees weaken and the hand on my pussy tightens as the guy catches me when I almost fall, only aggravating the fire that continues to burn between War and I.
I break.
Curved in a pillow of rage, War’s lips are the gates of hell, his tongue the Devil’s shrine. Even with the vicious warning of his scowl, my teeth silence my pants by catching my lower lip.
The familiar sway of elation tightens around me—
War is off his chair in a flash, swallowing the distance between us like the beautiful monster that he is.
