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

“That’s nothing.”

“That’s interest, bitch. And believe me, Creigh never shows that in anything that isn’t food.” She caresses my arm again. “Not sure if gaining his interest is a good or a bad thing. Scratch that, totally bad. He’s a King, after all, and they kind of have a twisted family aura, except for Glyn and Bran.”

The handprints on my ass tingle in pain as if agreeing with Ava’s words.

“Good luck. You’re totally going to need it.” She steps away from me and grins. “Be right back. I’ll go convince Cecily to let us order in tonight.”

As she jogs to our friend’s room, I disappear into mine and close the door behind me. I let my bag fall to the ground and stand facing the full-length mirror with a neon purple frame.

I lift the skirt of my dress and wince when the fabric rubs against my sore bottom. Turning sideways, I inspect the angry red handprints Creighton left on my ass and my upper thighs.

My fingers subconsciously ghost over them and I wince again when my cold skin makes contact. I continue to touch them, gently poke at them, reveling in the small bursts of pain and the memories they trigger.

I can still smell him, that spiciness and clean scent. I can feel his weight, his sheer size, and the absolute dominance he held over me.

My core pulses back to life, recalling the methodical way he brought me pleasure I’ve never experienced before.

Hell, I didn’t know that type of carnal claiming even existed.

I flinch when I touch an especially painful spot. It’ll hurt like a mother to sit or sleep on my backside for days to come.

And yet, for some reason, I’m looking forward to it.

The ache will bring back those fresh memories that somehow refuse to leave my subconscious.

I stare at the tube in my palm, open it, and apply some ointment on my ass. The pain becomes too much sometimes and I get on my tiptoes, inhale deeply, and then continue.

By the time I’m done, I think I’ll either cry or come again.

After changing into comfy pajamas, I grab my phone and lie on the bed on my stomach with my legs in the air.

I check my notifications, reply to Mom’s daily text and to a few others, then I open my Instagram.

After sending a few likes and typing some comments, I click on Remi’s profile.

Since Creighton is completely, absolutely, and irrevocably against having any sort of social media, Remi’s account is the closest thing to getting updates on him.

Considering Remi’s religious nature about posting updates, I’m sure there’ll be something there…

Sure enough, he shares a selfie where he’s in the middle of three guys. Two of them are the twins, Landon and Brandon. One is smirking, the other is smiling. The fourth is the mysterious Eli King, Creighton’s oldest brother and the reason Ava gets defensive whenever his name is mentioned.

In the background, Creighton sleeps while sitting on a chair.

I pinch the picture to zoom in on him. How can someone look criminally gorgeous even when he’s sleeping? I’ve always found Creighton hot, but that has long since bypassed the superficial beauty and reached new depths.

Dangerous depths.

He’s wearing the same clothes from earlier and since the picture was posted ten minutes ago, that means he got home.

Ava told me the five of them live in the mansion that’s dedicated to the Elites. They throw parties, too, or more like Remi does, but neither Ava, Cecily, nor Glyn ever wants to go there.

Not even when I told them I was curious about what their mansion looked like.

Seriously, they’re okay with tagging along with me to go to The King’s U, but when it’s their own club, they’re suddenly not interested.

I release the picture to read Remi’s caption.

Rare as fuck picture of these fuckers together. Thank me later, fangirls. Also, we’re so going to paint Creigh’s face with a permanent marker. Think he’ll look good with a mustache?

Smiling, I like the picture and comment.

annika-volkov: I’m sure he will. Share pictures.

It’s only fair after the map of handprints he left on my ass then went to sleep as if nothing had happened. How dare he?

Remi replies to my comment immediately.

lord-remington-astor: Your wish is my command, my lady. Stay tuned.

I smile and go back to scrolling through my IG feed, then switch to TikTok. I’m about to post one of my drafts when a text appears at the top of my screen.

My heart skips a beat at his name and I’m seriously wondering if this is even a logical reaction anymore?

The text is a photo of Remi. Sulking. Wearing an ugly mustache drawn with a marker.

Creighton: I heard you wanted pictures.

Annika: I didn’t suggest it, he did, and I only played along.

Creighton: Don’t play along next time.

Annika: Or what?

My heart beats in my ears as I type the words.

Creighton: Your arse knows the exact answer to that. Don’t be a brat.

Well, damn.

He has no right to sound so hot when telling me not to be a brat. I can even imagine his lowered tone if he were to say the words.

In an attempt to ease the ache that’s blossomed between my thighs, I slide onto the bed and retrieve the ointment, then take a picture and send it over.

Annika: Do you give these to everyone you spank?

Creighton: Only the brats.

My chest aches and I refuse to honor the feeling crawling inside me with a name. Or even my attention.