God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

And it’s not only because I couldn’t save him in time. I’m sorry about being a coward who can’t kiss him in public but hungers for him in private. I’m sorry that I retreated after he ended things when I should’ve fought for him. But most of all, I’m sorry that he even wants me.

The thought of others enjoying his beauty turns me murderous. But he’s had no one since me.

That thought makes me hum with pleasure against his abs. No one can touch him but me. His noises of desire are mine. His body is mine. He’s all mine

“Stop fucking around and put my cock in your mouth, baby.”

“Hey, Niko?” “Mmm? Why did you stop?” “I want you to fuck my throat.”

“You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

He takes and takes and gives me the most beautiful view in return. His face.

I didn’t realize how much I missed his shameless nudity until now. I’ve become so accustomed to the view and the feel of his marble-like, extensively tattooed body that everything felt colorless after him.

“That’s it. Good boy.” “I’m not a boy. I’m older than you.” “Age is a number, and you’re definitely my good boy, baby.”

“Stop talking and fuck me.” “Mmm. Talk dirty to me.” “I need your cock inside me.” “More.” “I want you to pound me until I’m screaming.” “Fucking more.” “Fuck me until you fill me with your cum.” “Oh fuck. Where did you learn to talk like that?” “From you.”

And the only reason I can suck air into my starved lungs is because he’s touching me again.

“No, it’s not. And stop that. Are you a dog?” “Woof.” He grabs my cheeks with wet fingers. “Let me lick your face.”

“Can I ask you something?” “Why do you need to request permission to ask me something?” “It’s the polite thing to do.” “Don’t do that with me. I don’t ask permission when I bombard you with questions.” “You don’t say.” “Hey! Was that sarcasm? The infamous passive-aggressiveness?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ask away, baby.” “Why do you sleep in weird places?” “I don’t like beds.” He sits on it. “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep in one, I just can’t.” “Is it because of something that happened?”

“Oh! Sorry, I got distracted by how fucking hot you look with your hair messy.” “Nikolai, focus.” He releases a sigh. “I started sleeping this way in my teens. It was around the time my episodes began.” My fingers pause in his hair. “What type of episodes?” “High energy. Racing thoughts. Uncontainable need for more, more, and fucking more. I had it that day when I fought Kill and beat him to a pulp while you were flirting with Eva.” “Her name is Ava and I was not flirting with her.”

“She was hugging you.” “We’re childhood friends.” “Still don’t like it.” He pouts like a fucking child and I have to stop myself from smiling at how adorable he looks. Jesus. He’s this big tattooed guy who’s larger than life and part of the mafia, but he still acts this way. Around me. Only me.

“Back to the subject at hand, do those episodes happen often?” “Not really. I have them under control.” “You didn’t look that much in control that day.” “That was because you were being an asshole.” “Me? What do I have to do with it?” He strokes his necklace. “Nothing.”

He stands up and wraps his arms around my waist, then glides his fingers beneath the shirt to stroke my skin. I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I missed his clinginess.

“I love that I’m the only one who sees you like this, all hot and bothered and fucking mine.” I sink my fingers in his silky strands and tug his head back so that I’m looking down on him. “You’re mine, not the other way around.” “It’s not a competition. I can be yours while you’re mine.” He grins. “Love these sudden bursts of possessiveness, baby. You better not have had them with others.”

“You named your dick?” “Everyone does.” “No, they don’t.” “Yes, they do.” “If you say so. Why Kolya?” “That’s the Russian diminutive form of my name. No one but my grandpa and my dad’s side of the family uses it, though.”

My exhales are fractured and choppy, and I’m forced to breathe in his body wash. I’m surrounded by his all-encompassing warmth, and it calms me down, for a very strange reason.

Honestly, I’m not complaining. It’s always a feast to look at him this way and know he’s all mine. This monster of a man belongs to me.

It’s the afternoon and guess what? He’s coming over to the penthouse this early. It’s been about a week since he agreed to stay overnight, and I’ve been the happiest fucking man alive.

He consumes me, but he also grounds me. I’ve never felt as mentally strong as when I’m with him. Even the most mundane things we do together—having meals, watching movies, listening to him read the boring morning newspapers—bring a huge smile to my face.

“What’s your name, motherfucker, and what’s your favorite way to die?”

“He’s my professor. Kayden Lockwood.” Gareth stands beside me, his expression closed off as he stares at the man. He narrows his eyes on me before he looks my cousin up and down. “We are not done, Carson. I expect you in my office tomorrow morning.”

“You need to quit the habit of stalking me.” “I thought I was being subtle.” “Subtle? I could sense your eyes digging a hole in the back of my head.” “More accurately, your ass, baby.” “You’re not even going to offer an excuse?”

“Stop looking at me like that.” “Like what?” “That. Whatever that is.” “Don’t think I can, baby. I have no self-control when it comes to you.”

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. My hand falls to his ass and I nudge him up. He doesn’t complain as he hops on and wraps his legs around my waist. God-fucking-damn-it. I love it when he lets me carry him. I’ve been doing it religiously since I first did it last week. Bran kisses me for what seems like hours, his fingers stroking my hair, his breaths and his entire fucking being fusing with mine. He pulls away and smiles against my mouth, then wipes something at the corner of my lips. “Fuck, baby.” I pant. “What was that for?” “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you.”

I’m on my back on the wood and Bran’s head rests on my shoulder, his body pressed up to my side.

I can’t believe I slept for so long and missed the chance to see my Bran. I demand a redo, now and fucking thank you.

“Uh, baby? Why are you sleeping on the floor?” “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.”

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.”

A smug smile curves Bran’s lips when he sees it and he nods with approval before he turns away and I resume massaging his shoulders.

He leans his head on my shoulder, and my movements come to a halt when his eyes meet mine and he flashes me a little smile. That feeling lurking in my stomach lurches up and I feel trapped, completely and utterly taken by him and his rare smiles.

Not in me, but in his feelings for me. I can sense myself falling deeper and harder, but he’s still a blank board most of the time, and that does shit to me.

“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,”

“Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows.” “What type of request is that?” “Just do it.” He lifts a hand and traces a line from my forehead over my nose. “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?” “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.”

“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.”

I’m completely and irrevocably in trouble because of Brandon King.

I could be imagining it or deep into my delusions, but he really has this peaceful expression when I fall asleep strangling him or when he wakes up stroking my jaw.

The other day, I ran into Simon at one of the coffee shops and he started being touchy as usual before I pushed him away. Turns out, Bran saw it and sent me this gem of a text.

You better remember who the fuck you belong to, Nikolai. Did I print that text and frame it? Possibly.

He’s mine and that’s all that matters. I'm the only one who knows he’s a noisy motherfucker during sex, and that’s all I care about.

“You usually have a hickey here. You can’t see it, but whenever you pull your hair up, it’s visible.” I touch the back of my neck. That sly fucking bastard. He’s been leaving hickeys all this time? And here I thought he just loved kissing me there.

“I can’t take this, he’s so fucking adorable.” “For leaving a hickey?” “For staking a claim and being sneaky about it while complaining that I leave too many.”

“I just want you to know that you deserve to be loved in the light, Niko. Just like everyone else.”

But I can’t take this anymore. I can’t watch him break in silence and do nothing.