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

My lips tilt in a smirk. “Is that comment supposed to be about me or you? Last I checked, your cunt was all wet after I punished it.”

“You…damn sadistic pervert.”

“And that’s ten.” I open my eyes, cock my head in her direction, and extend my hand. “Come here.”

“If you think I’m stepping out in the middle of that rain, you’re crazy.”

“Isn’t craziness normal in this crazy world?”

“Nuh-uh. I spent two hours fixing my hair to look this gorgeous.”

“If you keep hiding from the rain, you’ll miss out.”

“I’d rather miss out than ruin my hair and clothes. Even all the food is destroyed.”

I lift my shoulder and close my eyes again.

Annika’s probably flying downstairs to dry her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a change of clothes lying around somewhere. She’s always prepared for these types of situations.

Always strives to look her best, as if anything less is a direct insult to her personality.

Slow classical music fills the air before a small hand slips into mine and the scent of soft violet fills my nostrils. “If I’m going to ruin my hair, you better dance with me.”

I open my eyes and stare down at her petite face that’s all soaked. Droplets of water slip across her cheeks and to her neck. Her white top has become transparent, molding against her strapless bra and revealing a hint of her round, perky tits.

I make a mental note to give her my hoodie before we go down so that no one gets to see her like this.

“I don’t dance,” I tell her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.” She places her hand on my shoulder and plants mine on her waist, then starts to move slowly to the rhythm of the music.

She feels so small and right in my arms.

The need to feast on her, devour her, eat her the fuck up pulses inside me like an urge.

On.

And on.

And fucking on.

She must see the animalistic need on my face, because her lips part. The air constricts, shifting with unbearable tension that’s been growing ever since I spanked her and she came from it.

Not only did she not mind the pain, but she was also turned on by it.

I wonder how far I can push her before eventually finding her limits.

I wonder if I’ll stop at such limits.

“Now you make me spin,” she whispers, her voice sounding too loud in the silence. Then she uses my hand to twirl her body with the grace of a feather.

I’m trapped by her elegance and how right she feels in my arms, how I want to keep her pressed up against me, so I pull her back and she crashes against my chest.

The moment she gasps, I lower my head and capture her lips with mine. Annika goes slack against me, her mouth slightly open, probably due to shock, and I use the chance to thrust my tongue inside.

I feast on her as if I’ve been starving for a taste, a sip.

A kiss.

My lips pressing into hers, my tongue confiscating hers, licking, sucking, biting and biting and biting.

She whimpers, her hands going limp on my shoulders, and that might as well be an invitation to eat her alive.

I kiss her like I’ve never kissed before, because I have never kissed before, never considered the act of any value—not until this wrecking ball bulldozed through my life.

My lips feast on hers with the energy of an unsatiated beast until she’s gasping, until her body molds against mine. Until I can no longer decipher where she starts and I end.

The rain beats down on us like a witness of this moment.

The moment I decide that Annika Volkov won’t be able to escape me.

Not even if she wants to.





15





ANNIKA





Two weeks have passed since the day my life was flipped upside down.

Since the day I danced with Creighton in the rain and then he kissed me.

Or more like swallowed me whole and feasted on the remains until I thought I would pass out.

I never knew kissing could be a life-or-death experience, but Creighton is obviously making it his mission to revoke each and every one of my convictions.

Before him, I thought I was too sensitive to pain, but with every punishment, every slap of his hand, I’m beginning to think maybe I enjoy this depravity. Maybe my sensitiveness is one more reason why I like it so much.

Or maybe I enjoy what comes after—the controlling touches, the earth-shattering orgasm.

Even the tears.

Before him, I thought crying was a weakness. Now, whenever I cry, Creighton’s intensity burns a notch higher and he devours me whole.

He’s a sadist like that.

But he’s my sadist.

Over the past two weeks, he’s been introducing me to concepts I didn’t know about. Like gagging my mouth with my panties or his fingers while he spanks me—he totally enjoyed that one a bit too much. Or making me beg for an orgasm, edging me on and on until I become a mess.

But he’s also taught me to embrace the pain, to stop fighting it, and the moment I do, pleasure comes a lot more easily.

Partly because I’m becoming accustomed to his ministrations.

Partly because he’s the one behind the pain. Not anyone else—Creighton.

Though I stopped idolizing him a long time ago. Not only is he an imperfect human, but I also dislike him sometimes. Especially when he goes into his tyrant mode and refuses basic requests.