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

22





ANNIKA





I think I’m in trouble.

When I first took interest in Creighton, I never thought things would get so…out of control.

In the best way.

Or maybe in the worst way.

It’s been two weeks since he took my virginity and must’ve put some voodoo spell on me, because I haven’t been able to stay away since.

It doesn’t matter that the girls gave me shit about having gone on dates and not telling them—especially Ava.

I’ve even started to slack off on the excuses I offer my brother—that he somehow believes.

Or he’s probably too busy with the clubs’ war to pay me attention. An opportunity I’ve used to the fullest in order to spend as much time as possible with Creighton.

I don’t have to bug him about dates anymore since he willingly takes me out like that time in the cinema a week ago. Otherwise, Creighton’s idea of a fun date is going somewhere where we’re secluded from the world so that he can have me all for himself. And fuck me whenever he wishes.

That man has the stamina of a porn star, I swear.

When I grumbled that he only takes me to secluded places because he wants to have access to my pussy, he merely said, “People have no place in what we have. I’m out for you, not for them.”

And it’s true. If it were up to Creighton, he wouldn’t get out, but he does. For me. He even takes me to the movies because he knows how much I love them.

He steps out of his comfort zone for me.

He treats me like a princess in public and his custom-made whore in private. He fucks and punishes and pushes me to lengths I didn’t realize were physically possible.

My favorite parts are right after he unties me, gathers me in his strong arms, and kisses me. It’s the little things, like how he washes me, tends to the marks—that he left, but semantics—or how he cuddles me to sleep because he knows how much I need that connection after the intense sex.

Creighton gives the best aftercare in the world, and that alone makes me fall deeper into his web. I’ve never felt so safe, happy, and free as when I’m in his arms.

Sometimes, I feel so special but other times, I’m not actually sure if he’s interested in me or in simply dominating me.

Maybe he likes my perseverance and my willingness to get immersed in his kinky, fetish-filled world?

When I asked him what he liked about me, he just flicked my forehead.

It wasn’t antagonistic, but it wasn’t an answer either.

So I will keep on asking until I get a reply.

Maybe after tonight ends.

We’re at a pub with our friends to celebrate Remi’s basketball team’s accomplishment. They won against TKU, so it should be a conflict of interest to even be here, but anyway.

These people are the only real friends I’ve had in my eighteen years of life.

Ever since Jeremy gave me freedom, I’ve never gone back to the Heathens’ compound. I do text back and forth with my brother, though.

As much as I love him, I realize how monstrous Jeremy can get under certain circumstances.

I’m lucky that he’s too busy to focus on me much.

It’s how I get to come to this pub.

It’s cozy with wood-themed decor, not too big, not too small, and definitely the least rowdy compared to all the clubs I’ve gone to on the island. I used to call it a club, but I’ve been informed that everyone here calls it a pub, so who am I to go against the flow?

Soft indie rock music plays in the background and the smell of alcohol permeates the air. Our group is seated around a large table in the middle of the room.

Cecily and Ava keep whispering to each other. Bran is showing something to Glyn on his phone and she’s laughing. This is one of the few times she hasn’t ghosted us for Killian. Usually, he’d barge in uninvited, but apparently, the Heathens have a club event this evening.

Creighton and I are seated beside each other. I take a sip from my martini while he watches me openly.

Like, no kidding.

He leans his elbow on the table, supports his head on his palm, and never breaks eye contact or stops eating my face with his hungry gaze.

It’s like I’m the only one he’s interested in around here, and he’s not the least bit discreet in showing it.

While I like his attention, it does put us in an awkward position whenever we’re with people.

“Stop it,” I whisper.

“I’m not doing anything,” he murmurs back, voice rough.

“You’re looking at me like…like that.”

“That?”

“Like you want to punish and fuck me, probably in that order.” My voice lowers further so no one hears.

“Then maybe we should’ve gone with my plan and stayed in my room.”

“No,” I whisper-yell. “You promised we could have this.”

“Never promised.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Remi stands at the head of the table and raises his glass. “This is a toast to the man of the hour, the basketball god, the unattainable star, Lord Remington Astor!”

I start to raise my glass but stop when Creighton gives me a look. Or more like a glare.

It’s totally unfair that he gets to communicate so much with a mere glance.

“Hey, bitches, why aren’t you raising your glasses for my lordship’s toast?”