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

The process is slow, but she’s determined to gain back control of her life.

If her persistence in getting my attention at the beginning is any indication, then that determination will pay off.

I slide my fingers through her hair and lay her head back on my shoulder.

It’s been a week since I fully claimed her as mine, and I’ve been having this urge to constantly touch her, her hair, beneath her jaw, over her shoulder.

Anywhere I can reach.

However, that proves to be a problem, considering we have different classes, don’t share the same living space, and she still has to hide from her brother’s watchful eye.

“Does that mean we can stay?” she murmurs, her voice hopeful and trusting.

“I didn’t say we have to leave.” Despite an annoying group at the back who’s focusing on eating and being a loud nuisance instead of watching the film.

“I just thought all the noise would bother you.” She stares up at me. “I want to go out with you all the time, but not if you’re uncomfortable.”

Would you look at that?

My Annika has been learning my patterns with a speed even I can’t fathom.

She’s considerate of my character, has developed a liking for dates in quiet places, and doesn’t push when I refuse to comment further about my past.

Instead of antagonizing me, she understands.

Instead of pressuring me, she steps back.

And I know that must take effort, considering her persistence traits.

I stroke her hair and can’t resist inhaling the scent of violets. It flows through my blood, slowly but surely becoming a part of me.

“I’m not uncomfortable when I’m with you, little purple.”

I don’t see her reaction to my words, but I feel it in the way she presses tighter into my side, wraps her arm around my middle, and even leans into my touch.

She’s a myriad of colors and a splash of energy. A very expressive person, whether through her fluid body movements or her words.

If I was told I would be into someone like Annika a few months ago, I would’ve considered the possibility insane.

But while that was a blasphemous idea at the time, the thought of reverting to the life I had before her fills me with inexplicable rage.

And emptiness.

I’ve never minded that emotion before. The bursts of hollowness have been a constant since I crawled out of death's clutches.

However, it’s not a welcome emotion now.

After the film ends, I wrap an arm around Annika’s waist as she chatters on and on about the plot, the characters, the actors, and the special effects.

Everything.

I’m more interested in how her tulle skirt swishes up her pale thighs with every move. Or how her top molds against her tits and stops right at the waist of her skirt.

I stroke the visible skin at her stomach, up and down in a torturous rhythm that’s affecting the state of my cock.

It doesn’t matter how many times I bind, spank, flog, or fuck her. The moment I’m done, I need more.

More.

And fucking more.

The worst part is that it’s not only about sex with Annika. It’s about her. It’s about the way she submits to my dominance, the way she’s a masochist to my sadism.

The need to feast on her is constant, intense, and infinite.

“Did you like it?” she asks on the way to the car park.

I press my thumb against her skin, then continue my rhythm. “Very.”

“And here I thought you weren’t a fan of the movies.”

“I wasn’t talking about the movie.”

Annika must notice the change in my inflection, because she pauses, her lips parting, and pink splashes across her cheeks and translucent neck.

“You…you…”

“Are you actually speechless?”

She releases a breath. “I swear I only become like this around you.”

I smile and pull her further into me when some kids run by us to their parents’ cars.

“What are you smiling about?” She pokes my side. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s entertaining.”

“Happy to be of entertainment.” She sulks, and it looks adorable as fuck.

So adorable that I teasingly flick her on the forehead.

She glares up at me. “No, nope, don’t even try to flirt with me.”

“Was that what I was doing?”

“Uh-huh. You’re just thinking of ways to strap me to your bed and make me beg.”

“Me?”

“Oh, please. I can see the sadism shining in your eyes, you know. Sigh. If someone says it’s hard to be your plaything, I would totally believe them.”

“You’re not my plaything.”

She freezes, that pink hue returning to her cheeks again. “Then what am I?”

“Mine.”

“Is there a difference?”

“I never wanted to keep my playthings.”

“Until me?”

“Until you.”

She pokes me again while biting the corner of her lip. “You’re saying and doing all the right things today. Not that you don’t on other days, but you’re not usually this…carefree.”

“I’m not carefree.”

“No one else would accuse you of that. But don’t worry, I’ll do the carefree part for both of us. I’ll take care of the things you can’t and vice versa.”