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

And then he’s on me.

His veiny hand wraps around my thigh, making it look so small as he dives between my legs. His stubbled jaw scratches my sensitive inner flesh when his teeth nibble on my pussy through my panties, then he all but tears them from my core.

My body trembles, but it goes into a full shock when he thrusts his sharp tongue inside my opening.

I arch off the table, jerking, but his hold brings me back down.

Holy. Hell.

It takes everything in me to not move too much. I try to clench my legs together for some friction. Something, anything, but his ruthless grip on my thigh forbids me to.

My head rolls back as sparks of pleasure spread from my core and across my whole body.

He expertly rolls my clit between his thumb and forefinger at the same insane pace that he tongue-fucks me.

My hips jerk forward and I only realize it once the frantic rhythm of his tongue nearly unravels me. I lift my hands to grab onto his hair and I basically ride his face as stars dance across my vision.

A powerful orgasm washes over me.

It’s more desperate this time, so absolutely unhinged in its strength that I’m surprised I don’t pass out.

My lids lower, camouflaged by my lashes as I attempt to muffle my shameless moans.

Creighton’s head peeks from between my legs and he slaps my pussy so ruthlessly that I yelp.

Pleasure mixes with pain and I have no clue if the tears clinging to my eyes are due to the former or the latter.

“Did I say that you could remove your hand from the table?”

I shake my head and he glares.

“No,” I murmur as my sweaty palm falls back on the table.

“And what did I say your punishment would be?”

“Oh.”

“Oh isn’t an answer.”

“Ten.”

Frightening excitement covers his features at the promise of punishing me. He gets off on the knowledge that he’ll inflict pain, that my flesh will bear a map of his making.

“Start counting.” His hand comes down on my pussy again and I flinch, gasping.

The pain of his slaps mounts with each one, offering a minimal amount of pleasure, enough to make me want to come yet not enough to allow me to.

He’s savage, absolutely merciless, in the delivery of his punishment. He doesn’t stop when I yelp, scream, or sob.

Especially not when I sob.

My tears deepen that sadistic glint in his eyes, the need for more, more, and so much…more.

A beast.

That’s what he is right now with his sharp features, set jaw, and thinned lips.

And control.

He drips with it. Every time my legs falter or fall, he straightens them back up so that I’m in the right position.

So I’m at his disposal to do with as he wishes.

By the time he’s finished, I’m crying my eyes out. My pussy feels like it’s on fire, even as arousal coats my inner thighs.

Creighton pushes off his chair and towers over me. My legs are still bent, my whole body shakes, and tears cover my cheeks. However, I don’t dare to wipe them in case that’ll get me in more trouble.

I’m still not sure how this works, but I know that despite the pain and the discomfort, I’m drawn to it in inexplicable ways.

His hand reaches to my face, colder than my heated cheek, bigger and…safe.

He strokes his thumb beneath my lids, gliding the tears over my skin as I sniffle silently.

Pure sadism shines in his ocean eyes, seeming to eradicate any noble feelings he could have. “I love the sight of your tears.”

My breath catches as a shudder rips through me. “That…sounds sick.”

“I am sick. You should’ve stayed away while you had the chance.”

He slides his thumb all over my face again, the darkness shifting, morphing, and simmering on the surface.

I watch it with keen interest.

Just like the other time, it seems that whenever he punishes me, something inside him claws to the surface.

Fighting.

Biting.

Hitting.

It’s like he’s…warring for control. But against whom? And for what?

As if validating my thoughts, he shoves his hand in his pocket and steps back.

He’s leaving.

Again.

I can’t help feeling the tinge of emptiness at the dysfunctionality of it all.

But I won’t have him throw me away like this. I wanted the way out he offered, but he didn’t let me take it.

The least he can do is treat me like I matter.

I let my legs fall and swing from the table. “Will I find an ointment for a sore pussy in my mailbox this time?”

He stops a few steps away from the door and spins around, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Don’t be a jerk. I’m not a sex doll that you use and discard.”

“No, you’re not. I haven’t fucked you yet.”

My neck and cheeks heat, but I carry on, “Either give me the respect I deserve or let me go.”

“I told you it’s too late to let you go.”

“The answer is simple then.”

He raises a brow.

“I mean it, Creighton. If you think I’m bluffing, try me. I’ll go fake date Brandon. Just make sure you don’t regret it afterward, because there’s a trope in romance novels that’s called fake dating and it always becomes the real thing.”