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

I’m sure he can feel my heaving chest and hear my choked breaths that rise over the sound of the music.

This is the first time I’ve witnessed this side of him, and it’s eliciting all sorts of emotions—fear, dread, but also thrill and anticipation.

The type I’ve never experienced before.

“What did I say would happen if you didn’t do as you were told?” His deep voice floats in the air and lands on my constricting chest.

I gulp the saliva that’s gathered in my mouth. For the first time, he’s the talkative one and I’m speechless, grappling for words and finding nothing.

“What the fuck did I say, Annika?”

I flinch at the whip of his commanding words and blurt, “That you would acquaint me with pain.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when he spins me around. A yelp escapes me as he grabs hold of my ponytail and shoves my head against a plastic bag of dog food.

That’s when I realize that I’m bent over, ass in the air, with him right behind me.

Strong fingers lift the skirt of my dress to my waist and a gust of air hits my bottom. Goosebumps erupt on my skin in terrifying succession and my temperature rises until I’m boiling.

“You should’ve listened, little purple. You really shouldn’t have provoked me.” He strokes his hand across my ass cheek and over my lace panties. His touch is sure, dominant, disallowing even an ounce of resistance.

I try to stare back, wanting—no, needing—to see his expression. The grip on my hair tightens, letting me know who’s in complete control here.

“You’ve been wiggling this little arse for weeks and it’s time to discipline it.” His chest covers my back—heavy, hot, and powerful. Then his whisper follows in my ear, “And you.”

“Creigh…” His name comes out like a haunted whisper. “Please.”

I don’t know what I’m begging for. For him to stop? To take this a step further? Test my limits to the point where I won’t be able to come back from this?

What exactly?

He pushes off me, his body heat leaving mine, but his merciless grip remains on my ponytail. “I didn’t ask you to beg yet. When I do, it’ll be much worse than this.”

What—

My thoughts are interrupted by his firm command, “Now, count to ten or we’ll start from scratch.”

A slap echoes in the air and my mouth opens in a wordless gasp. Pain erupts on my ass cheek, hot and fierce. But I don’t even focus on that when his hand meets my flesh again, harder than the first time.

So hard that my front bumps against the shelves and my legs shake.

“I don’t hear you counting.” His voice has darkened, becoming shadowy and rich with dominance. “We’ll go again.”

The slap collides with the mounting music and I whimper, “One.”

He smacks my ass again and a sob tears from my throat, mixed with the crescendo of the song and my raw breathing.

“T-two.”

The air is weighed down with a cloak of depravity and twisted emotions. I never imagined I would be in this position, held down, ass in the air, being spanked.

But maybe this is exactly what I’ve been yearning to learn ever since he warned me away.

Ever since he told me about his deviant tastes.

Maybe this is why I provoked him. I didn’t do it on purpose, but deep down, in the black corners of my mind, I wanted to see him…snap.

I just had no idea that it’d be this brutal. Or that I would have this foggy reaction to it.

His hand comes down on my flesh again with the ruthlessness of a whip.

“From now on, when I tell you to do something, you do it.” Slap. “If I warn you, you don’t ignore me.” Slap. “You’ll listen to fucking orders.” Slap. “You will obey me.” Slap.

“Three, f-four, five, six.” I grab onto the shelves with a death grip. My nails dig into the metal as sweat trickles down my back.

My pretty purple dress is all crumpled and squashed by his overwhelming ruthlessness, but that’s the least of my worries.

Tears sting my eyes, and it’s not only because of the pain.

Tchaikovsky almighty. I really hope it’s only due to the throbbing of my assaulted ass.

My thighs clench and my core aches, pulsating with an animalistic need. When he slaps me three times in a row again, I rock forward, bumping my clit against the shelf below.

Bursts of pleasure knot the base of my stomach and I close my eyes, my voice turning deeper, erotic. “Seven, eight, nine.”

My breaths form condensation on the metal and I welcome the small reprieve and the break from pain.

He slaps my ass, and I haven’t even finished whispering "Ten” when he shoves my thighs apart in one motion. His fingers dig into my skull and he yanks me back with his grip on my hair, forcing my eyes to shoot open.

The back of my head rests on his hard chest as he whispers in my ear with chill-inducing intensity, “You haven’t earned the right to come.”

I twist my head the slightest bit, and for the first time since he started his ‘punishment,’ I’m able to see his face.

And I’m not ready for the scene.

It’s like I’m looking at an entirely different person. His breaths are ragged, causing his chest to inflate and deflate in a rapid rhythm that still simmers with calm, and his face—damn his stone-cold face that’s caught in eternal blankness and oozes control to the brim.