God of Wrath (Legacy of Gods #3) by Rina Kent

She always does.

She’s been my home, my peace, and the love of my life ever since we were children.

Not everyone gets to call their childhood friend the love of their life, but I do, and I’ll spend the rest of my days showing her exactly how lucky I am that she’s my Green.

Once upon a time, she picked me as her knight, and I chose her as my queen.





37





CECILY





I can’t sleep.

After what seems like hours of tossing and turning, I throw off the covers and jump out of bed.

My visit home has been entirely hijacked by Jeremy, and despite the initial shock, having him here, seeing him with my mum, and actually taking Papa’s non-subtle threats has made my heart so full.

I never thought things would go like this, but a part of me is rejoicing at the sudden turn of events. The part that’s been squeezed to death for missing him since I left him and only started breathing correctly when I saw him standing in our house.

Instead of going straight to the door, I smooth my sleeping shirt, pat my cheeks, and spray on some perfume from my vanity.

I stare at my face in the mirror, and for the first time in years, I don’t look away in disgust. I don’t see my reflection sulking back.

In fact, I feel pretty and I smile, and that appears soft under my side lamp’s light. My room is the inspiration for the one on Brighton Island. Manga pages cover the walls and the ceiling, torn in places from when Papa wasn’t careful. We didn’t have outside help when we decorated my room. One weekend, Mum and Papa wore their goofy overalls, posed at the door like wannabe decorators, and said we’d do this shit.

We spent the whole day rearranging and pasting pages. Mum giggled at some clichéd scenes and said I take loving romance stories after her. Papa frowned at some of my manga choices.

That’s one of my favorite memories.

After making sure I’m presentable enough, I head to my door. It’s late, so hopefully, Papa is asleep. If he’s not and is watching over Jeremy’s room, I’ll just pretend that I need something from the kitchen.

Jeez. Who knew sneaking about in your own home would be this nerve-racking?

I’m about to open the door when a dark shadow slips in from the open balcony. I’m frozen in place for a fraction of a second before I run toward the door.

I haven’t made it two steps when a large hand wraps around my mouth, and the familiar voice drops near my ear.

“Shh. Don’t fight me tonight. As much as I would love to chase the fuck out of you and make you scream as I tear through your pussy, your father wouldn’t appreciate it.”

I breathe him in for a minute, trying to calm the sudden spike of nerves.

His warmth envelops me as he slides his hand from my mouth to my middle. The weight of his presence surrounding mine coupled with his leather scent drives my body into hyperaware mode.

He licks my earlobe, and I shiver as his groan vibrates off my skin. “Did you put on perfume? You smell so good I could eat you up. Fucking water lilies.”

I’m glad I did spray some.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” says me, who was planning to sneak into his room not two seconds ago.

“I know.”

“You’re not even supposed to be in London.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve at least told me you were coming so I’d be mentally prepared.”

“I know.”

“Do you have anything to say aside from I know?”

“You’ll never be out of my sight again, Cecily.”

The possessive finality in his tone causes my mouth to go dry, and I swallow a few times. “What if I have to be out of your sight?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Hmm. That’s right. I had to see and touch you properly for all the times I couldn’t today.” His hand sneaks under my shirt, then stops over my bare pussy, and a gruff sound vibrates off his vocal cords. “Fuck, you’re ready and soaking wet for me. Such a good girl, my Cecily.”

My head falls back against his chest as he slides two fingers inside me. His touch is firm and he easily finds my sensitive spot and strokes it with command.

His other hand glides beneath my shirt, over my stomach, and then grabs a breast and pinches my engorged nipples. “I love your tits, so round, perky, and they fit perfectly in my palm.”

He rolls the nipple between his fingers, pinching, stimulating, torturing. He adds another finger to my pussy, pushing, curling, thrusting, and matching the rhythm on my breasts.

I can’t control the moans that slip out of my mouth, and it’s not for lack of trying. My parents’ bedroom is down the hall, and they could come to check on me any second, but that seems to be the least of my worries right now.

Jeremy has always been intense during sex. The type of intense that has you begging and coming back for more. But this is the first time he’s taken it slow, as if meaning to drive me insane with the rhythm alone.

“Tell me, Lisichka, do you always sleep with nothing beneath your shirt in your house?” He accentuates his words by pumping his fingers against my G-spot.

“N-no…”

“Then why did you today?”

“I…felt hot.”