God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

“Niko, no.” He grabs my arm. “Don’t…tell Kill. Don’t tell anyone about what you just saw.” “Why not…? Fuck me.” I pause. “Is this that man you told me about that time? The only one you’re attracted to?” Gareth’s lips part. “N-no.” “You just stuttered. You never stutter.” “Just forget it. Since when are you this perceptive?” “Since now. It’s him, isn’t it?” “No,” he says with more force than needed. “In that case, I guess I can discuss this further with Kill and Jer and see if it’s true or false.” “Nikolai!” “Or you can just tell me.” “Fine! It’s him.” He looks more relieved than burdened as he puffs out the words. I relate to him in more ways than one. I know what it’s like to be in a secret relationship where no one is allowed to know. It’s suffocating sometimes, but it’s worth it. And from the look in Gareth’s eyes, I think he feels the same as I do. It’s not ideal, but like me, he wouldn’t have it any other way. “A much older professor, huh?” I grin. “You’re much more adventurous than I thought, cousin. I’m actually impressed.” “It’s nothing serious, so don’t tell anyone.” “You sure about that?” “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to⁠—” “Of course I want to.”

It’s his way of soaking up the moment, as he told me once, and I’m strangely picking up the habit. I’d love to thread my fingers through his, but that’s not an option right now. One day, I’ll be able to hold his hand on the street. One day.

I whirl around, but I don’t have time to focus when Bran fists a hand in my hair and captures my lips in a violent kiss. His tongue invades my mouth and he feasts on me. I’m stunned for a second, but then I wrap my arms around his back and claim what’s fucking mine.

“No way in fuck am I letting you go after that. Buckle up, baby. Kolya would like to say hi.” I walk him to the bedroom as his laugh echoes in the air.

“You were sprawled all over the ground when I came in and I wanted to experience it like you do, see if it’s as comfortable as you make it look. The answer is a definite no.” He sits up and kneads his shoulders and neck. “Don’t do this again, Nikolai. It’s not good for you in the long run.” “I can only sleep in a bed when you’re there.” I sit behind him, extending my legs on either side of him, and massage his shoulders. “Be here and I won’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Deal.” He leans into my touch and releases a soft sigh. I’m ravenous for the way he lets me touch him outside of sex now. I know he wasn’t comfortable about the prospect in the beginning, but he now does it so naturally that I have to stop myself from devouring him whole and leaving no crumbs. How the hell is he able to get me worked up with a few sounds?

He doesn’t smile back as he fists my hair in a painful grip. “You belong to me, Nikolai. I do not share, are we clear?” “Fuck. I love it when you get all possessive.” “That’s not an answer. I don’t want to see you with girls or guys hanging onto your arm or sitting on your lap. I don’t want anyone to touch you, period.” “Only if you don’t let anyone touch you.” “I won’t.” “Are you going to delete that one picture with Clara on you IG?” “You went that far back?” “So what if I did? I’m going to need you to erase her existence from your life.” “I’ve already deleted that post a long time ago.”

“In that case…” Grinning, I take out my phone, go to the post, and type a comment. Nah, not your hunk. Delete this.

“By the way, I googled the meaning of Brandon, and it literally means prince or king. Don’t I get brownie points for calling you Prince Charming?” “More like stalkerish tendencies points. Who googles the meaning of other people’s names?” “I do because it’s you. I’m curious about everything that concerns you.”

“I am,” he says softly. “Are you going to google the meaning of my name?” “No need. It’s the Slavic version of Nicholas who was the Greek god of victory.” “I didn’t know that.” “Seriously?” “Yeah, I just know it’s a badass Russian name and means victory or something like that.”

“Tell me something in Russian.” I cup his chin and stare deep into those eyes that have become my undoing as I say the words Grandpa said Russians take seriously and literally. “Ya nee ma goo bees tee byah zhit.”

“What does that mean?” “You’re so cute,” I lie through my teeth. He frowns. “Don’t call me that.” I wrap my arm around his waist, trapping him in my grip. “Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows.” “What type of request is that?” “Just do it.”

“Not sure if no one else knows this, but you have a perfectly symmetrical face. Most people have an eye or ear that’s slightly bigger that the other. They have a good side because it’s proportionally better than the opposite one, but you look perfect from any side, because everything is well-balanced. Even your upper and lower lip are the same size. Actually, your entire body is perfectly symmetrical.”

“You’re an artist’s dream muse.” “Then make me yours.” He laughs. “Maybe you already are.” “Fuck yeah. That’s a good thing, right?” “Maybe.” He continues stroking my face. “Your turn.” “My turn to what?” “Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows.” “Hmm. You have eleven moles on your body.” “Okay…”

“I’m not done. You have two hundred seventeen lashes on your right eye and two hundred twelve lashes on your left one.” His lips part. “You…counted them?”

damn i’m jealous

“Almost every night since you stayed over. That’s last night’s count. Might change today. You tend to lose some on your left eye.” “But why would you count my lashes?” “I love them. They’re dark and long and so fucking pretty when you’re sleeping. Besides, no one but me can count them, so that’s a huge bonus.” He chuckles softly, the sound echoing around us like a lullaby. “You’re so weird.” “I’ve always been.” “That you have.” “The only difference is that you’re not running away anymore.” “No, I’m not.” He leans completely against my chest and closes his eyes. “Give me five and then I’m taking you to bed. From now on, you’re not allowed to sleep on the floor anymore.”