God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2) by Rina Kent

Tears stream down her cheeks even as her holes open and close and stretch and beg against the toys. I bring up the intensity enjoying the sight of her cum all over the mattress. I’m going to make her drench the sheets on and on until she’s all spent.

I whip her in rhythm with the vibrator and she cries out as the orgasm is wrenched out of her.

“You didn’t deserve that, but I will torture you with it.” I hit her across the pussy and turn up the speed of the vibrator.

Every time an orgasm is dragged out of her, she breaks out in sobs, writhing and causing the binds to tighten against her porcelain skin.

Skin that’s filled with my marks, all red and angry and mine.

Her face is flushed, streaked with tears and sweat that rolls down her neck and coats her body.

With each orgasm, she grows lethargic, all pumped up to the brim with an overload of stimulation. Every time I think she can’t come anymore, she does, with a low moan and a jerking of her hips.

But not once does she beg me to stop. She takes it, every depraved part of it. Her eyes even shine with desire whenever I whip and force orgasms out of her.

This girl was made for me. Her submissiveness is everything I’ve ever yearned for. Everything I wanted.

But something about her eyes bothers me. They’ve gone back to that sad state, the absolutely dim and lifeless state.

I undo her bindings and she flinches every time my skin meets hers. Considering the number of orgasms I pulled out of her, any touch must feel like lightning.

Annika slumps on the bed, her lips parted and dry. She’s definitely dehydrated. Is that the reason she’s lifeless?

I turn off the toys and remove them from her.

She whimpers but doesn’t attempt to move, drowning in a puddle of her own arousal.

I planned to finish this by having her admit she’s wrong, and saying she’ll choose me this time, but something tells me this isn’t the right moment for that.

“Are you done?” she whispers in a hoarse, raw voice.

“I’m only getting started.”

“Stop this madness.”

“Beg.”

“Please.” She sniffles.

My muscles tighten and the healed bullet wound burns. “You’re begging for the wrong reasons. You’re begging for your family when you should be begging for me.”

“I can’t just cut myself off from them.”

“You can. I’ll make it happen.”

Her chin trembles and fresh tears stream down her cheeks. “This isn’t the Creighton I know. This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Her sadly delivered words and the anguish behind them wrap a noose around my neck.

She hates that she loves me—or loved me. And I want to bathe in the blood of whoever changed her mind.

Of whoever made her dig a knife, or more accurately, a bullet, into my chest.

“The Creighton you knew was shot dead by you.”

“Creigh…”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“But—”

“Shut up and listen well, Annika. You’ll never get rid of me unless you shoot me again. But this time, make sure you aim straight at the fucking heart.”

She cries harder.

I pretend her tears don’t affect me as I hydrate her, make her eat, bathe her, and let her fall asleep cocooned in my chest.

With a knife in the bedside table. A knife she can grab at any moment and use to kill me for real.

If she does, then so be it.

Because I meant it. Death is the only thing that will keep me away from her.





36





ANNIKA





A week has passed.

A whole week of being trapped on an island where it’s only the two of us.

A whole week of being tormented by Creighton, brought to my knees in submission, stuffed with toys, forced to orgasm. Denied orgasms.

All of it.

A whole week of me fighting and negotiating and pleading. I tried to reason with him, to tell him that not only are my parents worried sick but his must be, too.

I tried to knee him in the balls again and run, but that only got me whipped until I cried while I orgasmed, and then he fucked me.

He punished me and brought me to the edge, where the only thing I could do was moan his name and hate myself.

Fully. Thoroughly.

I hate myself because no matter how much I want to leave, I want to stay, too.

I want to sleep cocooned in his arms, I want to be fucked by him to the point of insanity. I want to wake up all deliciously achy and marked.

I want him to put those marks on me and then carefully slather them with ointment. He’d kiss them, too, making me shiver in both pleasure and self-loathing.

Because how can I enjoy the company of a man who vehemently refuses to let us start anew?

How can I find pleasure in this situation when my family is probably suffering because of this?

I had a nightmare about my mom’s mental issues declining last night and couldn’t go back to sleep.

After I tossed and turned, Creighton woke up and he fucked me back to sleep.

He’s been an insatiable beast since we got to the island. No matter what I do, he’d be breathing down my neck like a pervert with the stamina of a sex demon.

If I jog on the shore in the morning, he joins me and then fucks me on the nearest rock.

If I try to cook, he annoys the hell out of me, standing near like the Grim Reaper, and then after the meal, he eats me out on the kitchen table.