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

It looks like a copy of the one in the Heathens’ mansion, but there’s a full-length mirror on the opposite wall with some American football awards on each side.

I can’t help the urge to check that part of him. It’s strange how much I like discovering these things about him.

He once told me that football—American—helped him with his impulse control, but that’s about it.

Like everything in his life, he never cares about anything too deeply.

Even medicine seems like a stepping stone to him, but at least it’s one he actually enjoys.

Killian kicks the door shut behind him. “Good to know your sense of sarcasm could be upgraded. Also, I’m calling bullshit on the normal people part. If you were normal, you wouldn’t get off on being roughened up like a little dirty whore.”

My cheeks heat as I release an award and face him. “Killian!”

“What?”

“Can you not?”

“Not what?”

“Call me a whore outside of sex, you perverted prick.”

“Let’s get you naked first and then I’ll consider it.”

“I want to sketch something first.”

“Do it after.”

“No, I have grasp it now before it escapes me. I’ll sketch it real quick and redraw it later.”

“What is it?”

“I only have a feeling, so I won’t know for certain until I put it to paper.” I grin. “I’m weird and different like that.”

“Is it possibly a nude?”

“I don’t usually do those.”

“Usually?”

“I do them in class sometimes.”

“I need to have a word with your college so they’ll ban you from drawing naked people.”

“Stop it, you tyrant.” I can’t help but laugh. “You don’t see me moaning about you touching patients and seeing them naked.”

“That’s different. They’re patients.”

“And this is art.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Start convincing me then.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you say you want to sketch?” He retrieves a big stack of big white paper from the drawer and fishes out a mechanical pencil and tosses them on the rug opposite a huge mirror. “Sketch.”

I sit cross-legged on the floor and narrow my eyes on him. “Does that mean you’ll wait until I finish?”

“You know I’m not a patient man. At least, not when it comes to you.” He kneels behind me and meets my gaze in the mirror, his dark and harsh like the worst storm from the hurricane season. His finger grabs hold of the strap of my dress and slides it down my arm. “How about we both do our thing?”

“I’m not going to sketch while you’re touching me.” My voice becomes low, definitely laced with arousal.

“That wasn’t a request, Glyndon. Either we do this while you’re sketching or without it. Either would work with me.”

“You damn dictator.” I glare at him through the mirror. “I’m going to pretend you’re not there.”

A low chuckle fills the room. “By all means. I’d love to see you try.”

I smooth a page, fully intent on ignoring the hell out of him as I let the mechanical pencil slide over the page in continuous, condensed strokes.

In my peripheral vision, I catch Killian smirking at me in the mirror as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it to the side, then follows with his trousers and boxers.

My hand falters on the paper and his smirk widens as he stands in full view beside my body in front of the mirror.

“Like what you see, baby?”

The bastard knows how cruelly beautiful he is and doesn’t hesitate to use the fact as a weapon.

But I refuse to stare at or admire him right now. For once, he won’t have his way.

He reaches a hand to my hair and I think he’ll tug me back by it because he doesn’t like to be ignored, but he merely strokes it. “Did you know that the first time I saw you, I wanted to grab you by this hair as you choked on my cock?”

I purse my lips and continue sketching, not even knowing where I’m going with this.

He kneels behind me and slides a hand to my throat. “I also wanted to grab this delicate pulse and feel it beneath my fingers, knowing that I have the power to weaken and then eventually put it to halt…like right now.”

My heart comes to a thudding stop before it resurrects back to life as he squeezes. I meet his eyes in the mirror, mine bulging, his dark.

“Oh, look at that. I finally have your attention.” He relaxes his hold enough to allow me air as his other hand glides the other strap over my shoulder. “I also thought about ripping your clothes off and claiming you then and there.”

He bunches a fistful of my dress in his hand from behind and pulls with savage strength that rips it, letting it fall to shreds around us. “Like that.”

“K-Killian…”

“Shh, focus on sketching.”

My fingers twitch and I let the pencil bleed on the paper in a symphony of chaos that matches my insides.

He uses the chance to unclasp my bra, letting my aching breasts bounce free.

I brace myself for the pinch of my sensitive nipple, but he gently cups my breast, eliciting an erotic shudder from deep within my soul.