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

Seriously, what’s with these wankers saying they’re nice when they’re exhibiting antisocial behavior?

Still, I keep my chin up. “Whether Ava chooses to be a social butterfly or not is her business. She didn’t overstep your or anyone’s boundaries by doing that, so you have no right to judge her. And Cecily isn’t bland. She’s the purest, most selfless soul to ever exist.”

“A synonym for bland,” he shoots back, and I’m ready to claw his eyes out.

And it’s okay if I get myself killed in the meantime.

I might not care if insults are thrown my way, but I’d cut a bitch for my friends.

The moment I open my mouth to let whatever word vomit spill, Nikolai advances closer in front of me so that he’s on the same step as me.

Any words I had to say die in my throat as I stare up at him. He’s so tall, my neck almost snaps back from the angle. His bare chest nearly grazes mine and I can see the pores in his skin.

“I say, there are some similarities. Think I can draw a kitten by using another kitten?” He reaches an open palm to my face as if he intends to cover it and slam me against the nearest object.

Before I can try to duck, something hits Nikolai’s forehead. His skull swings backward and he flies toward the ground.

He falls on his back with a loud, haunting thud, and the weapon of the crime, an American football, rolls beside him.

“And he scores,” Jeremy says with unveiled amusement.

A sudden chill trickles down my spine, but I don’t get the chance to look behind me.

I don’t get a chance to move.

A larger-than-life presence appears by my side. I hate the warmth that accompanies the woodsy and amber scent. It’s a smokescreen that there’s a person beneath it all, when I’ve seen firsthand that that’s not the case.

I catch a glimpse of his bare chest, the haunting tattoos, and the unnaturally bulging muscles. It’s as if he’s suppressing something.

Or maybe he’s not bothering to camouflage his true nature.

But hey, at least he put on some pants.

I don’t dare look at him, and instead, remain focused on Nikolai, who jumps up as if he wasn’t knocked out.

“The actual fucking fuck, Satan’s heir? What’s with throwing motherfucking objects at me lately? Did you get fucking tired of living?”

Killian grabs me by the throat and I yelp as he pushes my back against the railing and captures my lips with his own.

Then he uses my bewilderment state to thrust his tongue inside. He dominates mine, makes me complete and utter putty in his hands.

I’m helpless, but I still try to fight. I put my hands on his chest to push him away, but that only causes his roughness to reach new, exhilarating levels.

His fingers spread on my neck and he kisses me with feverish control. He kisses like he’s fucking me, like he’s having his way with me again, and I have no choice but to take it.

But I’m not his plaything.

I bite his lip and he bites my tongue, harder, until a metallic taste explodes in my mouth.

Whether it’s his or mine, I have no clue.

What I’m sure about is that the war of tongues, lips, and teeth only gets more potent with each passing second until I’m sure my head will explode.

His other hand wraps possessively around my hip and he slams me against the front of his body.

My curves are crushed by his ruthless harshness, and in hindsight, no amount of forts I could build would be able to resist the war that is Killian Carson.

He was always meant to break me to pieces and force me to enjoy every minute of it.

Maybe it’s useless to fight.

Maybe I should’ve cut my losses at the beginning. Because obviously, my resistance is what got him interested in me in the first place.

Like an animal with sharp instincts, Killian must feel the dissipation of my fight, because he delves deeper, his tongue ravaging mine until I whimper from the fierce power.

His kiss is damnation in its purest form, and while I thought he wasn’t what I wanted, maybe this monster is exactly what I need.

Once he feels like he driven his point home, Killian steps back, his lips leaving mine puffy, swollen, and definitely with a cut that burns.

Then he slowly unclasps his fingers from around my throat and tugs me to his side by a firm grip on my hip, making us face the others.

My face feels like a sauna as I realize the earlier show happened in front of his friends.

Shit.

Is it too late to dissolve into nothing?

Gareth’s brows are creasing. Jeremy is smiling, and Nikolai’s mouth is open.

“She’s mine and, therefore, off-limits,” Killian announces in a calm, threatening voice, staring between his brother and cousin. “Off-fucking-limits.”

And then he throws me over his shoulder like a damn caveman and carries me back upstairs.

I push at his back as blood rushes to my head. “What are you doing? Let me down!”

“No can do. You obviously thought sneaking out of my bed like a fucking thief was a good idea and we have to prove otherwise.”

I try to kick my legs in the air.


Slap.

I freeze as the sting registers in my arse. Did he just spank me?

My eyes widen, and I hang there, stupefied, as he kicks the door to his room open and throws me on the bed.

I don’t focus on the soreness or the ache when I glare up at him. “You should pick up being a caveman as a hobby.”