Page 48 of Villains Never Die

He laughed and I glared up at him, my hand resting on the rook I was about to move.

“You’re cute when you scowl.”

“Nothing about me is cute.”

“You gonna touch me later like that rook you’re fingering?”

“I’m not—bloody hell!” I muttered, sliding the piece into place. “You’re baiting me again. Why do you delight so much in tormenting me?”

“Because I like the face you make and the way you sound when you’re irritated.”

“The way I sound?”

“Bloody this, bloody that. Pip pip I hate you,” he mocked my accent.

I glared at him and jerked so hard my knee bumped the board and almost sent the pieces sailing to the ground. “I do not sound like that!”

Rook didn’t reply, just made a smooth next move and smirked at his pieces that outnumbered mine on the board.

“How do you get thirteen lives?” he asked.

I watched the board, not him. I needed to calculate better strategies, but his question made my eyes snap up to his. I swallowed once, my throat unyielding, and said, “You trade something terrible for it.”

He observed my face for a long moment, his eyes cutting holes in my composure, and decided not to ask me to elaborate.

And then he won the game.

***

I was still stewing about it as we lay with limbs wrapped together, snogging in my bed. His hand cupped my cheek too gently, possessive in a way that was tender. He was less confusing when he was aggressive with me.

“How did you go from a chess genius to making money off men beating each other to a pulp?” I asked, putting distance between myself and that soft touch.

He groaned against my lips and drew back to see my whole face. “That’s what you’re thinking about while I have my tongue down your throat? I was bullied a lot when I was a kid, so I learned to fight. Then I taught other people how to fight. A year ago, an opportunity presented itself here, so I took it. It’s not an exciting story.”

I sighed, and when he reached for my lips again, I shoved the sheets aside and traced one fingertip down the crack of his arse. I circled his hole and pressed gently, making his hips jut forward, then press back against the pressure.

“Where do you keep the lube?” he asked.

I laughed. “You don’t rely on your gifts enough.”

I smeared lubricant over him, the slick glob appearing from my fingertips, and dipped one inside him to my first knuckle.

“Turn over,” I said, pulling my hand away. Rook rolled onto his stomach and I climbed behind him, straddling his thighs. I scratched my nails lightly down his strong back muscles and kneaded his backside with my palms. When I spread his cheeks, he inhaled a hiss of breath, and I dipped my head low to taste him.

I swirled my tongue around the ring of his arsehole and pried him open. Dipping and licking, I worked him open, my chest glowing when he relaxed for me.

“Fuck, England, yes. Just like that.” His hands fisted in the pillow above his head and his shoulders shifted.

I lapped at the soft skin of his arse one last time before I sunk two fingers into him, more lube pouring from the pads of my fingers. He relaxed through the intrusion and laid still and ready. I pushed further into him, coaxing his arse to open for me, to make space for my cock. A third finger joined the first two, and he tensed slightly.

“Breathe, love. If you can’t take three, you can’t take my cock.”

Rook let out a throaty chuckle and let me prepare him.

I slapped the side of his thigh. “Lift your hips.”

He rose halfway to his knees and I positioned myself behind him. His hole glistened with lube and I bent to kiss his spine as I eased into him.