God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

Yellow Mask can only be Nikolai Sokolov.

If rumors are anything to go by—and in Nikolai’s case, they probably are—he’s capable of punching someone to death just because they had the audacity to piss him off.

I’ve never gotten that feeling from someone younger than me, and Nikolai is way younger. Nineteen, I think. A kid right out of secondary school—high school for Americans.

Only, he looks nothing like a kid.

If their weapon of choice touches you, you’ll be automatically eliminated. Bodily harm can and will happen. You are also allowed to inflict violence on the founding members—if you can. The only rule is not taking a life. Not intentionally, at least. No questions are allowed and no mercy shall be granted. We don’t want any weaklings in our ranks.”

I stare up, my eyes clashing with the yellow-stitch mask that’s marred with splashes of dark red. Blood. It’s everywhere—clinging to his mask, staining his dark shirt, forming rivulets on his neck, covering the tattoos on the backs of his hands like gloves, and sticking to strands of his jet-black hair that falls in waves to his shoulder blades.

Although he’s crouching, his height and broadness are unmistakable. At six-foot-three, I’m not short by any stretch of the imagination, but Nikolai has an inch or two on me, and he’s ridiculously pumped with more muscles than anyone needs.

An appreciative hum falls from somewhere in his throat. “Bossy. I like it. But you know what I like more? Your posh little accent. Question. Does it sound the same when you say crude things?”

Humiliation rushes through my bloodstream like poison as the feel of his body crushing mine registers faster than the lack of oxygen. His chest covers my back and his knee is jammed between my thighs. His entire weight spreads over me and he’s so damn heavy.

“Anyone ever tell you how fucking hot you feel when struggling for control? I could swallow you alive and leave no crumbs.” The last sentence is whispered against my earlobe and I nearly retch. Out of my skin. Out of my fucked-up brain.

Brutish hands land on my hips and I stifle whatever noise that’s trying to escape. A curse. It was definitely another curse. And it doesn’t matter that I actually don’t curse. Nikolai drags me down and my arse meets a hard surface. His thighs.

Grandpa doesn’t know I actually call my dick Kolya or I’d need to revoke my Russian card.

Kolya has become the sluttiest, most adventurous cock anyone would ever meet. He’s resourceful, to put it mildly, and a flat-out whore if we’re being fucking blunt.

Once, a girl was like, “Choke me, Daddy,” and I nearly killed her. In my defense, she didn’t specify how hard I should choke her, so I went with the flow—the flow being maximum violence.

Another guy sent me a text saying, “Are you looking for a doormat? Because you can step on me any day and I’d bend over and take it.” So I did just that and stepped on him. What? He asked for it and, I kid you not, he jizzed all over my room. Then he did bend over and took it. Fun times.

People should be thankful I wear pants. Fucking prude society could use a chill pill. I have a beautiful body and I would rather show it off instead of keeping it tucked away. The same applies to my monster cock.

He nearly bounced on my cock and he sat there so prettily while I was nursing an erection of epic proportions for a whole five minutes. Not that I was counting or anything.

He pushes his dark hair away from his face and narrows his eyes. “Niko, please tell me you weren’t talking to invisible people just now.” “Of course not. I was having a very frustrating conversation with my dick.”

“Why would you even talk to your dick?” Jeremy asks, looking half curious, half petrified. Which is pretty much the standard when it comes to me. “We’re having a difference of opinion. We’ll come to an agreement sooner or later.”

On a scale of straighter-than-straight Jer to fluid-as-lube Kill to confused-as-shit Gareth, I wonder where Brandon King falls. Not that I’m tempted to find out. That would be crazy.

In fact, the logical thing to do is turn around and leave. But then again, I was never much of a logical person. If I don’t stay, I’ll come back tomorrow. And if I leave tomorrow, I’ll return the day after.

Order. Habit. Control.

Lotus flower. You know, because you managed to bloom so beautifully while surrounded by the muddy swamp that is Landon. Isn’t that so fucking poetic?”

I step back and he steps forward, his chest still glued to mine, his heart thumping in an irregular rhythm. Or is that mine?

But that leads me to the realization that Nikolai is on top of me. Again.

“Whatever crawled up your ass better crawl right the fuck out,” he barks, all humor gone. “Call me disgusting again and I’ll pummel you against the nearest tree, then hang you by the balls so that everyone sees who’s the disgusting one. Got it?”

Kolya twitches in my shorts and I groan under my breath. “Fuck, dude.” I glare down at him. “Make up your mind. Are you easy or hard? Pun intended.” I get no answer. Naturally. He’s literally a dick.

I reach down and adjust my dick, then keep my hand there and clutch it through my shorts, showing him the damning effect he has on Kolya.

Just to fuck with him, I roll my bottom lip beneath my teeth, then mouth, “Wanna give me a hand?” His eyes spark a bright shade of blue as he jerks away from Clara almost violently.

He faces away from me, but not before I see the evidence in his shorts. My, my. Is that…a fucking erection?

have to physically force myself to turn away, because if I don’t, I might go over there and punch Clara. Or accidentally kill her. And we don’t want a dead bimbo on our hands.

Prince Charming better watch his fucking back.

“Talk dirty to me, baby.” He growls and I shove my face in his, erasing the few inches separating us. I could easily remove his arm, but I love the pressure. I love that he lost control enough to get physical. Up close and personal.

This is the hottest I’ve ever seen him, and I’ve always found him mouthwateringly sexy. Right now, though, I don’t think I can take it slow or easy. If I’m left to my own devices, I’ll fuck him all up for good. I’ll throw him down and have my way with him. There won’t be patience or diplomacy. There will be choking, grunting, fucking, fucking, and more fucking.

“Mmm. I love the sound of my name on your lips. Say it again, baby.”

“But you didn’t get hard for Clara, did you, baby?” I bite out, inching closer. I’m fucking intoxicated, struggling to stop myself from licking him like an ice cream cone. “I can always test it real quick.”

There are two things that scare the fuck out of me. My image in the mirror and Landon.