God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

“I’ll take that as the former. Mmm. You feel so good, baby. So fucking perfect.”

“Do you feel how hard I am for you?” Kiss. “How ravenous I turn when it comes to you?” Kiss. “I’ll devour you fucking whole, my beautiful lotus flower.” Kiss. “I’ll make you forget about anyone who came before me, namely fucking Clara.”

And it’s fucking terrifying. “Don’t make me do this,” I whisper when he doesn’t make a move to remove his hand. “Too late.” “I’m…drunk.” My chest rises and falls so hard, it grazes his with every movement, every breath, and I’m intoxicated, completely out of my damn mind. “Then blame it on me, baby.” He pushes

I just watch. In complete, utter fascination.

“Why, hello, Straight Brandon’s dick. You look pretty gay to me.”

IM CRYING

“No… Fuck you…” I can’t hold on to my lies anymore. They sound needy to my own ears. “Correction. I’m the one fucking you.”

Black ink covers my features, turning it faceless. What stares back at me is unrecognizable. A monster. My heart hammers and I storm toward the mirror, then drive my fist into it. The surface cracks but doesn’t splinter, and I have to look at six distorted versions of my face. “Fuck you,” I whisper to all of them as blood drips from my knuckles, my fingers, and then splashes the white sink in red. I want to punch the mirror again—this time, erase myself completely, but I don’t, because this is also messing with my fucking control.

The ticking invades my brain until it’s the only thing I can hear. Tick. You’re useless. Tick. You’re nothing. Tick. Weak. Weak. Weak. I strike the side of my head with my bloodied fist until I think I’ll knock myself out.

I grab a piece of the mirror and press on it. Blood pours out of my fingers, and with it, the ink rushes out of my bloodstream and dissipates from around me. I let the glass fall to the sink and exhale harshly. Streaks of red line the white porcelain and drops of blood follow in quick succession. I let my life essence pour out of me as I look at my reflection—hair glued to my temples and my eyes glassy. Dead. It’s done. I’m calm. I’m back to being in control.

I wish I didn’t remember much after the colossal lack of judgment on my part, but I do. Painfully so. He removed his shirt, which I’m sure he didn’t want to be wearing in the first place, and used it to clean us up before he dragged me to where he’d parked his motorbike. Me on a motorbike? Not in this lifetime.

Nikolai was grinning like an idiot when I hopped off on unsteady feet and swayed on my way to the mansion, muttering a thanks that I’m not sure he heard. I certainly heard his “Sweet dreams, lotus flower.” Sweet. Like fuck they were.

Strong arms envelop my waist, and I can feel the rumble of his chest against mine as he chuckles. “Morning to you as well, lotus flower. I didn’t realize you missed me so much in such a short time.” “I…did not.” I step away from him. “Hey, you were the one who hugged me just now.” “I fell.” “Tomayto, tomahto.” He grins in the same way he did yesterday as he watched me tuck my tail between my legs and walk up to my place. In a trance. Lost. But that’s not me today.

“You might not want one, but you need one…” he trails off and snatches my bandaged hand in both of his, flipping it left and right. “What happened?” The wounds tingle, turning hotter with every passing second he touches me, and I tug my hand with more force than needed. “None of your business.”

He reaches a hand in my direction and I flinch back, putting distance between us. If he touches me again, it’ll crack my newly found control. I’m still not over the way he hugged me just now. How can someone be so damn comfortable with touch? It’s not normal.

“Next time, I’ll leave them in a place that’s more discreet. Mmm. Seems that, like me, you’re also a fan of choking. I love it when you lose control, baby.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Brandon. You and I both know you fell apart in my arms last night.”

I clearly brought him more pleasure than she ever has. He kissed me with his eyes closed. In your fucking bimbo face.

know because I made sure to watch him as I backed him against the wall and ate the shit out of his mouth. My Prince Charming melted, fucking melted even as he met me stroke for stroke. He definitely was not fighting his goddamn demons like when he put on that show in front of me.

over my hand and cock. If Brandon is not gay, I’ll chuck myself down a fucking cliff. Well, let’s also include bi, because…eh… I’m not in the mood to die before I get another taste of him. Or a few. Several is my preferred count. Depends on how open he is to the prospect.

Well, fuck me. I’ve always seen him in shorts and T-shirts, but it’s different in the royal-blue lacrosse uniform, a bit tighter, maybe. Those shorts are definitely framing his ass better than the running ones. Not that I’m staring or anything.

Okay, I totally fucking am.

On second thought, I’m not complaining about the way he’s bent over, ass on display. Maybe lacrosse isn’t so bad, after all.

Number ten, the one and only lotus flower, gets stifling attention from the other team’s defenders, who try to block him with every move. One of them pushes him and he falls as the referee announces a foul. I jump to my feet. “Fuck that guy! Suck my dick.” “Niko!” Jeremy clutches my arm and tries to shove me down. That’s when I realize most of the people surrounding us are watching me as if I’m the personification of Lucifer himself. A lot of pearl-clutching happens, too. I roll my eyes and sit down.

He’s just so elegant. So fucking beautiful. The definition of second-best male beauty. The first is me.

“Because he’s Landon’s brother. Need to keep an eye on the enemy or some shit.” “You don’t look at him like he’s an enemy.”

I’m going to hate-fuck him so that’s considered on the list.

“Shush, Jer. You’re like an annoying buzzing bee that won’t go away.” “Jeez, thanks...

sound. He’s not your man. Definitely not your fucking babe. “Niko.” Jeremy places a hand on my arm. “Whatever you’re currently thinking about, don’t do it.” “But she’d look so pretty in a fucking casket.”

Fuck. Me. I’ve always thought he had a firm, toned body, with all the feeling up I’ve practiced like a religion whenever he’s within arm’s reach. But I didn’t think I’d be fucking foaming at the mouth just because I’m seeing him wearing only shorts. He’s lean, but well-fucking-built. A smooth plane of chest muscles and protruding abs that end in a delicious V-line that’s unfortunately half hidden by the shorts.

Bran turns his head at the last second and her lips touch his cheek. I can’t describe the level of satisfaction that rushes through me at the sight. He doesn’t want her to kiss him. His so-called girlfriend can’t even kiss him.

Lotus flower releases an exasperated sound and turns to go back to the locker room. But before he takes another step, my hand shoots out and I grab him by the throat, slamming him against the wall.

“You can’t what? You can’t have him see you being crowded into a corner by another guy? Does that scare you, almighty King?” “Fuck you,” he sneers, the words rolling off my skin like an aphrodisiac. “You know it turns me on when you talk like that.”

“Why I’m still with her is none of your business. I am none of your fucking business, Nikolai. What happened that night was because I was wasted. You said I could blame you, so this is me blaming you and telling you to leave me the hell alone.” “But I don’t want to.” “Are you a fucking masochist?”

“Say that again and mean it.” My mouth gets so close to his, I can smell the notes of musk and mint rushing from his lips in fractured breaths. “Unless…you can’t?” He glares down at me, and there’s so much heat beneath that coral blue of his eyes, but he doesn’t push me. Not even once.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he mutters, his throat working beneath my fingers. “Your nightmare.” “I hate you.” “I don’t.” “You’re fucking crazy.” “About you,” I whisper against his lips and claim them with a guttural moan.

His lashes flutter over his cheeks as he groans, and I eat that sound the fuck up. I eat him the fuck up.

Hello, Satan. Is this heaven in hell? Because I could stay here forever.

“You like this, don’t you?” I move to the other nipple, sucking the skin around it, leaving a huge hickey before I bite down on the little bud. “You look perfect marked by me. My own piece of fucking art.”

One of his hands is on my shoulder, pushing me away, but the other one is in my hair, pulling me close.

He’s a fucking conundrum, my lotus flower, and I can’t wait to break hi...

I crash my lips against his. “Shut.” Kiss. “The.” Lick. “Fuck.” Bite. “Up.”

What the fuck… “Hey.” I tap his cheek with the back of my fingers and he blinks up at me. “What’s wrong?” “I… I…” “Hey…breathe.”

He doesn’t seem to be doing that at all as he sputters and stares at me as if I’m an alien. The commotion gets closer and he seems to be on the verge of a meltdown. It’s then I realize he’s probably freaking out about the prospect of being found in this position. I step back and he stares at me with wretched eyes that make me want to grab his hand and drag him the fuck out of here. But that would probably make him lose it. My eyes skim over the multiple hickeys I left on his torso and collarbone, then I lift my shirt over my head and throw it at him. I seem to be taking off my shirt for this guy more often than not. Whenever I’m wearing one, at least.

He’s always expressing his gratitude whenever I do the most benign gestures, like dropping him off at home, handing him his AirPods, or when I tell him to watch out for traffic. I like to think that’s his way to make up for all the shit his mouth spouts on a regular

This was supposed to be a little game, but I don’t think I’m playing anymore. The worst part is that I feel like I’m already losing.

place when she tries to kiss my mouth. It’s illogical and makes no bloody sense, but I haven’t kissed her or allowed her to kiss me since that damn night I lost all control a week ago. And earlier today.

I breathe her flowery perfume and try not to gag. I’ve never liked the smell. That’s because you prefer something more masculine. The memory of bergamot and mint floods my nose and I tighten my muscles. No.

She moans and I hate how soft it sounds. She grinds against me and I loathe how tender she feels. Her breasts rub and slide against my chest, but all I can think about are hard muscles. You’re hard for me, not her.

“We’re breaking up, Clara.”

FUCKING FINALLY

“Congrats on kicking the bitch to the curb. For the love of Satan, don’t get back together with her. She’s not for you.”

fucking period