Page 132 of Twisted Little Game

“You will come when I say,” he tells me, suddenly pulling away and looking down at me. “After the confessional.”

He admires his handiwork, gently running his fingertips over the swollen, bitten parts of my skin.

All at once, he glides his fingertips over my lower stomach and then shoves his hand down the front of my pants, getting just enough space beyond the waistband to reach my cock. He squeezes it hard in his fist and then lets it go, removing his touch from me.

“Trying to make me come in my fucking pants?”

“Just trying to remind you that your cock belongs to me.”

“Because I really might come in my pants if you touch me like that again.”

He leans in to brush his lips over my ear, whispering. “Good. Downstairs. Let’s go, beauty.”

I hate him.

Except I really, really fucking don’t.

I need him.

He’s already cleaned off his dick and put it away, zipping up his pants.

He looks like some sort of god-king in that Onyx Society formal cape, and I can’t take my eyes off of him because I can’t believe I get to be with this man.

I groan as he opens the door, pressing down on my shaft, as if that’s going to do anything to help make this hard-on go away.

I couldn’t even be in the same house as him without being hard right now, let alone the same room.

He turns back to look for me, that beautiful, rakish smile landing on his face again. “You will come later. I promise,” he tells me, reaching out his hand toward me. “I would never lie to you.”

I lace my fingers through his and pull in a long breath. “I know I don’t get a secret in the Confessional, because I’m not an Onyx member. But if I did, I know what it would be.”

“Mm. Roman Petrov is a fucking asshole who won’t let me get my nut?” he muses.

“No. Roman Petrov changed my life. I was a cockslut… and now I’m his cockslut.”

He waves a hand through the air. “That is not a secret. Everyone can tell just from looking at you, Tate.”

I give him a playful shove on the arm as we walk down the hallway, making sure I’m nowhere near his stomach.

Downstairs, I’ve never seen Onyx House look more like a beautiful ritual site.

In the front room, there are candles dotting nearly every surface.

The tables, the windowsills, and the fireplace mantle are covered end-to-end with dripping wax candles, tall ones and short, fat ones.

Everyone is gathered with their capes on. Roman walks over to a wooden bureau at the edge of the room and reaches in, retrieving a very fancy looking bottle of liquor.

“This is Maks’ favorite vodka. Very expensive, very delicious,” Roman says.

“Don’t listen to him,” Rayne says, coming up to us. “It tastes like rubbing alcohol.”

Roman lifts an eyebrow at Rayne. “You know I have many weapons, don’t you?” he teases. “If I wasn’t wounded, you’d be in trouble for that.”

Rayne winks at me and walks off, his cape flowing behind him as he goes over to Hunter and wraps his arms around him.

“Last call for secrets and confessions,” Noah is saying, walking all around the room and shaking a box with a slit at the top of it. “Anyone still need to submit theirs?”

“Yes,” Roman says.