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

I do tentative thrusts between his fingers and quicken my rhythm. The more he releases pleasure sounds, the harder I go. My head turns dizzy from the overstimulation, and my thighs become so wet that I wish I could reach a hand down to touch myself.

Creighton pulls his fingers from between my lips and from around my hand. “Put my cock in your mouth.”

My lips wrap around his length, his authoritativeness adding heat and tension to the act. But my mouth is so small that I struggle. And he enjoys that, judging by the light sparkling in his ocean blue eyes.

I do as he taught me with his fingers, though they don’t compare to his monster cock. I breathe deeply, trying not to gag, and I lick the sides over and over.

He groans and my pulse picks up. Is it normal that I’m soaking my panties at the thought of his arousal?

That I want to deepen that look in his eyes, to trap it, and make sure I’m the only one he gives it to?

Creighton slides his fingers in my hair, fists it and wraps it around his hand, then stands.

I stare up at him as his other hand strokes my face with a sinister edge. “So beautiful and innocent, my little purple. So…breakable.”

My body goes rigid, but I still try to lick, to prove that I can give him pleasure the same as he can give me.

“I’m going to fuck your face until you choke on my cock. This might hurt.”

He thrusts his length all the way in and I gag, for real this time. I’m not ready for the onslaught of his power, for the way he’s using me like I’m a fuckable hole.

Tears sting my eyes and I’m not sure if it’s because of that realization, the suffocation, or the wetness smearing my thighs.

He uses his merciless hold on my hair as he thrusts in and out of my mouth. I choke and splutter, tears, drool, and precum trickling down my chin.

The erotic sound of his in-and-out mixes with the violent waves and crashes against my rib cage.

Creighton can’t feel pleasure without inflicting pain, so the more I gag and cry, the deeper he groans.

The harder he goes.

The more twisted he becomes.

This is so screwed up, but I must be as deviant as he is, because the further he takes it, the more brutal he gets, and the wetter I become.

He goes on and on, each of his thrusts like a direct stimulation to my starved core. Then when I think I’ll come from being deep-throated, a salty taste explodes all over my tongue.

Creighton pulls out and stuffs his fingers into my mouth, authority dripping from his every move. “Swallow.”

I have no choice but to do so. He gathers the cum that streams down my chin and thrusts it between my lips, forcing me to lick every drop.

When he finishes, he lifts me up by the hair and slams my body against his as he kisses me.

No, he devours me.

He licks every last bit of cum off my lips, my tongue, and then some. He ravages me, eats me, detonates me from the inside out.

I try to kiss him back, but he’s like a beast. There’s no way I could match his intensity. So I let him feast on me, and I sink into the perverse, erotic way he drinks his taste off my lips.

When we finally break apart, I sway back and his hand wraps around my waist, keeping me standing.

His nose rubs over my hair and an appreciative groan spills from his lips. “Good girl.”

The hairs on my body stand on end and I’m surprised I don’t melt in his embrace.

Damn it. Are those two words supposed to be such a turn-on?

“You owe me at least three dates for that,” I grumble.

My body goes still when something I’ve never witnessed before happens.

Creighton throws his head back and laughs.

It’s heartfelt and happy and causes my toes to curl.

And I think maybe, just maybe, I’m in too deep with this beast.

I’m in so deep that I will try everything in my power to understand him.

Even if he doesn’t like it.





17





CREIGHTON





“Are you ghosting me?”

The question is accompanied by a kick to my side, a poke, and a subtle shove, tumbling me out of bed.

I fall to the ground with a thud and I groan as I sit up, then glare at my deranged cousin.

Landon grins and makes a rectangle with his thumbs and forefingers. “Perfect expression. You’re art material, Cray Cray. How about you model for me?”

“How about you give up asking me that?”

“Not when you could change your mind.” He sits on my bed—the one he kicked me out of—and stares down his nose at me. “You didn’t answer my question. I sense ghosting vibes.”

“Shouldn’t it be me who senses those?” I stand, punch him out of my bed, watch as he falls down, then sit so that I’m the one staring down at him. “You’ve been stalling for the information we agreed on.”

“Not the face, you bloody sod,” he curses while smiling. “And I wasn’t stalling, I was just piecing the puzzle together to form the bigger picture. I can’t reveal anything until all the pieces are where they’re supposed to be.”

Ever since we were kids, Landon and Eli have been obsessed with chess and have done everything under the sun to win. They’ve gone as far as challenging Dad, Uncle, and Grandpa Jonathan. As in, the strongest chess players we know.

They each managed to win against both Uncle and Grandpa—the latter, I think, because he let them.