God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1) by Rina Kent

“You’re the only one I sleep with.”

“I’m talking about before.”

“Before is in the before. You don’t see me going around, hunting your kindergarten crush or high school sweetheart. I could, but I probably won’t.”

“Probably?” she says with enough incredulousness to write a book about it.

“Since I’m actually your first, I don’t hold a lot of grudge against them. I might find their names, slash their tires, and cause a little discomfort in their lives, like hiding their keys and busting their windows. Small-time felonies for small-dicked simpletons.”

“I’ll have you know that my secondary school boyfriend had a huge dick.”

“You said that to piss me off, didn’t you?”

She raises a brow. “Is it working?”

This little fucking witch is learning faster than should be allowed. I will go ahead and say that I fully expected her to run for the hills when I admitted that I liked to kill yesterday.

And I was ready to chase her the fuck down, tie her to my bed, and evidently cause her to add more hate to my dedicated section in her head.

So imagine my fucking surprise when she stayed. She was scared shitless, trembled with it, almost threw up because of it, but she stayed.

However, she did something a lot more interesting than staying.

Glyndon actually listened.

She asked questions, too, and was completely in the moment with me.

She wanted to know that side of me and refused the masks the whole world—my parents included—are comfortable with. Glyndon motherfucking King said she wanted the truth and meant it this time.

“Is it true?” I ask instead of answering her question. “Have you seen his presumptuously huge dick?”

“Yeah. I was a virgin, but not completely inexperienced. I fooled around.”

“Hmm. I’m gonna need a name.”

“Glyndon King.” She offers me her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I glare at her hand, then at her face. “Is this supposed to be sarcasm?”

“Are you supposed to be this rude?” She grabs my hand and shakes it. “There, see how easy it is to actually be nice?”

I pull her by my hold on her hand and she yelps as she crashes against the side of the car.

“Easy there, cowboy,” she says in a breathless voice.

“Don’t be a flirt, and don’t fuck with me, Glyndon. What’s the sorry fuck’s name?”

“Did you know that you have, like, beautiful flecks of black in your blue eyes? It’s a genetic masterpiece.”

“You’re stalling.”

“And you’re supposed to be gone. Two more minutes and the stern dorm director will come to chase you away with a broom.”

“A name. Last time I ask.”

“Just stop it, Killian.” She’s half-exasperated, half-resigned. “You can’t simply hunt down all the men from my past.”

“And your present and future combined. But we’ll start with the supposedly big dick guy. Sorry, I mean huge.”

“He took some time off to volunteer in human rights organizations in Africa.”

“You even keep up with his life. Go on, give me more reasons to engrave him on my shit list.”

She laughs a little. “You’re impossible. Do you know that?”

“Of course I do. That sentence is your everyday mantra.”

“You’re the one who said the past is in the past. I should be the one offended with your countless girlfriends, fuck buddies, and kinks, not the other way around.”

“I never had a girlfriend. Until you, of course. Though I prefer the terms my girl, my woman, mine that you still haven’t voiced, by the way.”

Her cheeks splash in red. “What about Cherry?”

“Cherry was a warm hole. Holes, to be more specific.”

“You’re disgusting.” She slips her hand from mine.

“She’s a cheater and an impulsive anarchist who’s addicted to more drugs than rock stars. Also, aren’t you jealous of her?”

“Whatever my feelings about her are, you shouldn’t speak that way about women. We’re more than just holes for your entertainment.”

“Aren’t you a little feminist?”

“Don’t put labels on me when you hate them yourself. Now, goodnight. Actually, no good night to you.”

She turns to leave, but I catch her wrist and tug her until she slams back against the door. “You don’t have to be difficult about everything, Glyndon. It’s starting to be tiresome, repetitive, and irritating.”

“Then let me go,” she deadpans, her eyes igniting with a challenge.

“You still on that? Guess I haven’t punished you enough.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, baby. You know that foul little mouth gets me hard.”

I expect her to throw out one of her tasteless prude comments, but all expressions vanish from her face as she leans over, levels her face with mine, and whispers, “Then stay hard.”

And then she swiftly pulls her hand away and walks to the door of her dorm with a seductive sway to her hips.

Did she just do that?

Yes, she fucking did, and I’m harder than earlier.

She probably didn’t think that I could climb up to her window and teach her a lesson or two.