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

His brows dip and his eyes taper as his cold voice rings in the air. “There will be no dating Brandon, fake or not.”

“Then give me what I want.”

“And what do you want, little purple?”

I hop from the table and, dammit, I totally overestimated my abilities, because my pussy throbs like crazy.

Creighton must see the change on my face, too, because his darkened gaze slides to my now covered pussy before his eyes finally meet mine.

Waiting.

Intimidating.

I step toward him. “Take me on a date and I’ll tell you what I want.”

“I don’t do dates.”

My face must look monstrous with all the tears, but I still flip my hair. “In that case, I guess you’ll have to start.”

Then I brush past him with my head held high.





14





CREIGHTON





“Is this your idea of a date?” I run my gaze over the picnic-like setting on the roof of the shelter.

When Annika demanded a date yesterday, I was ready to ignore her.

But that’s the thing about this infuriating girl. She’s impossible to ignore.

Every time I pretend she’s not there, she barges in with her colorful, chatty, and absolutely bratty presence.

Today, she came to volunteer with a huge carryall bag slung over her shoulder. Now, I see what it was for.

A checkered purple sheet lies on the ground and on top of it rests countless dishes. Pasta, meatballs, three types of salad, fish and chips, and a basket of fruits.

Annika is on her knees pouring what looks like apple juice into a glittery cup with an even more glittery straw.

I try but fail not to focus on her position. I’m almost sure she doesn’t mean to be a cocktease, but that’s exactly what happens when she naturally gets into these submissive positions and looks downright elegant while doing it.

Heat rushes to below my belt, and my cock slowly but surely awakens. It thickens at the thought of stretching and tearing her tiny cunt from the inside out.

Too soon.

She’s not used to pain.

Fuck, she didn’t even know pain before I came along. I have to remind myself that I can’t break her…yet.

Her fashion today doesn’t help, though. She’s wearing a ruffled skirt that stops above her knees and an off-the-shoulder crop top that reveals her belly button. With the way I’m looking down at her, she appears so small that I could ruin her with a flogging.

No, mere biting would do.

Her translucent skin would become red, then purple—like her favorite fucking color.

“Unfortunately, I’m like the first daughter and have to be watched at all times, so this is the only type of date we can have until further notice.” She smiles up at me, the blue-gray of her eyes sparkling under the hint of sun. “Are you going to just stand there all day?”

With a sigh, I lower myself onto the edge of the blanket and grab some utensils. “Do you have to make everything so…purple?”

“Do you have to be grumpy about everything? Besides, purple is superior. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

I stare at her, and usually, she’d break eye contact or try to talk her way out of the situation, but this time, she simply shakes her head as if I’m the one being unreasonable.

Then she pushes the fish and chips in my direction. “Look, I made your favorite. Totally had to beg Ces to teach me how to cook it over FaceTime, and it wasn’t really that hard. Also, people say I’m a horrible cook, and by people, I mean my family is included. Ava also says I should stick to salad, so I totally understand if you don’t want to eat it.”

Should’ve said that before she gave me that cursed lunch box. I opened the container and took a bite of food and basically swallowed it without chewing. I’m the number one non-picky eater on the planet. As long as it’s food, I’ll devour it, but Annika is a certified food terrorizer.

She should be banned from the kitchen.

I’m surprised my expression doesn’t change as the salty thing rolls down my throat. I take another bite before the first one is gone.

When I grab a bottle of water, I realize she’s watching me with big eyes and parted lips.

“How is it?”

“Not bad.” An overstatement. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever consumed and that’s saying something, considering Mum isn’t that great of a cook either.

But just like my mum, Annika made the effort for me. So that’s a positive, I think.

Her face falls and she toys with the straw in her cup. “Oh.”

Is it normal that I hate that type of expression on her face? It’s even more noticeable when it drastically changes from all bright and fucking glittery to complete dejection.

“It’s good.” I continue eating. “Just a little bit excessive on salt.”

Another understatement.

“Really?” She reaches a hand out but then stops. “Can I try it?”

“No.”

“Stop being so stingy. I just want to see how bad the salt is.”

“Still a no.”

She stabs the fork in her salad and stuffs her face with it, glaring at me from beneath her lashes.

I resist the urge to smile at her absolutely comical expression and open my water. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone with their emotions so out there that it’s become a bit intoxicating.