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

I stumble from the lack of his touch, catching myself before I hit the wall. He remains in place, arms crossed, and his chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm.

His outside demeanor doesn’t fool me, though.

If anything, my muscles lock, and every fiber of my being rises to the surface at the promise of being chased.

Of being thrown down and taken.

I’m absolutely sick in the head, but as he stares at me with a fire that matches my own, I don’t care.

I run to the only other place available—the bathroom.

The moment I fling the door open, he’s behind me, the sound of his steps barely audible compared to my raging heartbeat and the roaring in my ears.

I throw something at him, a towel, but he merely ducks, letting a cruel smirk paint his sinful lips.

“You’re trapped, Lisichka, so how about you give up?”

I run behind the bathtub, grabbing my breasts to stop their jiggling, but my plan to go back to the room is put to an abrupt halt when I find him standing at the door.

My harsh breathing fills the bathroom as I stare at his dispassionate eyes, at the promise of pain behind them. I make the snap decision to go right.

He goes left, meeting me in the middle.

I squeal when he reaches out to catch me, but I manage to duck, then sprint forward.

Before I can celebrate escaping him, a strong hand sinks into my hair, wraps around my nape, and knocks me against the shower glass. My whole body glues to the cold surface, and my eyes zero in on the mirror opposite us.

Jeremy looks like a giant beast behind me, his muscular tanned thighs visible on each side of my pale ones as he pins me in place. The tattoos undulate and revolt on his abs, biceps, and chest with each intake of air.

I try to fight and push against him, but he pulls me back and slams me against the glass again, knocking my breath out of my lungs.

“Shhh. I’m going to need you to be real quiet for me when I fuck your ass.” He slides his hand to my stomach and exerts force so that my arse cheeks press against his groin.

A low grunt rips from him, and I don’t know if it’s due to the friction or the fact that I’m downright shaking against him.

He glides his fingers from my pussy to my back hole. “Mmm. Such a dirty little slut. The chase made you so wet, you’re dripping with it.”

He does it again, smearing my wetness over my back hole, but this time, he thrusts a finger inside and I gasp. He’s often played around with it, even drove a knife handle in it once, and I had an intense orgasm.

But this is the first time that he’s actually fucking me here.

He adds another finger, filling me until I’m unable to breathe. I glue myself against the glass door as if that will be able to save me from the clutches of his man.

No, not a man.

He’s a beast now.

He fucks me with his fingers in a savage rhythm, but when I start to adapt, he seamlessly removes them and spits on my back hole. I go up on my tiptoes at the sudden act and how erotic it feels.

Just when I think I’ll come because of it alone, he thrusts his cock inside. My palms slam against the glass door for balance. Only the crown is in, but it’s so tight that it burns and hurts.

Despite the chase, arousal, and the spit just now, I don’t think I can do this.

He slaps my arse cheek, and I gasp, so he does it again.

And again.

“You can take me.” He adds another inch, more easily this time. “Don’t push me out. Swallow my cock like you’re asking for it.”

Another inch. Another agonizing moan coated by a ripple of painful pleasure.

His hand wraps around my hair, holding it in a ponytail, and he pulls my head up, making me stare at us in the mirror.

I don’t recognize myself.

Tears stream down my cheeks, sweat coats my neck and breasts, and an angry hickey from earlier decorates my collarbone.

My body is flushed, my hands are quivering, but my hard nipples are stabbing the glass, and my arousal is dirtying it all up as my hips rock back and forth the more he thrusts his length inside me.

Jeremy’s face is tight with both pleasure and his beastly need. I’m looking at the beast of a man who’s claiming the last bit of me right now.

Once he’s fully sheathed inside me, he doesn’t give me time to adjust, doesn’t take it easy on me, and he certainly isn’t gentle.

His speed picks up and he fucks me like my custom-made animal. Roughly, violently, like we both want it.

He fucks me like he hates me, wants me, and is obsessed with me. He fucks me with long, harsh strokes, so deep and firm that I bump against the glass with each one.

His eyes never leave mine through the mirror, maintaining a connection so primal and raw that it eviscerates me.

The look in his eyes burns me alive more than his unforgiving touch.

When I attempt to lower my head, he forces it up with his grip on my hair. “Don’t hide. Look at your face when I fuck you like an animal. That’s what you look like when you’re being ripped apart by my cock, Cecily. When you’re milking me and taking all of me like a good girl. You look so ecstatic and pleased, you look like fucking mine.”

He accentuates his words with ruthless thrusts that trigger my pleasure. I’m panting, crying, and begging all at once.

A sharp sensation tightens the bottom of my belly. My muscles clench and my pussy contracts as the orgasm washes over me.