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

“Don’t even think about it.”

My wide eyes land on Jeremy, who’s casually sitting on his bike and watching my every move.

“How do you know what I’m thinking about?”

“You’re a lot more obvious than you realize.” He strokes his index finger on the clutch, back and forth, as if he’s performing some sort of a ritual. “If you want to run, go for it. But you should know that I’ll chase you, and I can’t guarantee what I’ll do to you the moment I catch you, so if that’s an option you’re willing to gamble on, by all means, go ahead and run. If not, I suggest you hop on, peacefully.”

A whole-body tremor goes through me, and it’s due not only to his calmly spoken threats, but also to his words.

The innuendo behind them. The deepening in his inflection when he said them.

He wants to chase me.

I can see it in his dark, ash-gray eyes that he wants me to run.

No, he’s wishing for it. He’s hoping I’ll run so he can get off on chasing me.

Like in that forest.

He’ll pin me down, rip my clothes off, and have his way with me. He’ll unleash the animal inside him and devour me.

My legs shake and a crazy part of me yearns to actually run and hide. Run and be chased.

I internally drive the idea out of my foggy brain. Just what the hell is wrong with me?

Head trauma.

That’s the only explanation. I must’ve hit my head when he shoved me to the ground that night. That explains all the craziness I’ve been thinking about since then.

Or the last words he said to me.

Come back when you’re ready to be fucked properly.

A sling of heat ripples through me and I force those thoughts away.

Jeremy doesn’t break eye contact, his soulless eyes singlehandedly attempting to barge into my soul.

Looking at his face for even a few seconds is the most draining thing I’ve ever done.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even blink. Just stares.

I break eye contact first and climb onto the bike.

I try to, anyway.

The thing is huge and I’m not used to it. My foot slips and I grab onto his leather jacket at the last second.

Jeremy clutches my elbow, the same elbow that he held on to for dear life earlier, then jerks me behind him in one go.

“That’s what I thought.” He speaks with a mocking edge, as if he wouldn’t expect anything less from me.

Before I can respond, his bigger hand envelops mine and then plants my palm on his lower abs. My arm is all wrapped around his hard, sculpted waist and my fingers tremble slightly over his jacket.

“Hold on.”

“I can grab the back of the bike.” Or his shoulders. Why the hell is he making me touch him?

A slight twitch of his lips is all the answer he offers as he revs the bike forward.

My whole body vibrates from the force of the engine and my breasts glue to his back.

His rigid, muscular back.

I wrap my other hand around his waist, feeling like I’ll fall off if I don’t.

The power of the bike is nothing less than that of being on a roller coaster.

My fingers dig into his jacket, his T-shirt, anywhere I’m sure he won’t throw me off for fun.

The vibration of the engine shakes my whole body as he speeds down the streets. It’s like he’s in a competition against the wind. Due to which I might fall off on my arse.

The trees, streets, and people blur in my peripheral vision, or maybe I’m just about to black out.

These high-adrenaline activities are just not for me.

How the hell does he manage to remain calm through it? Is he a damn unfeeling robot?

I’m on the verge of a panic attack and he just navigates the streets as if they’re his kingdom. It doesn’t help that my body is all glued to his.

The pressure of the wind forbids me from putting any distance between us. Every time I try to pull away, I’m flung forward harder so that my breasts are crushed against his back.

I think he goes faster on purpose whenever I do that, so I stop trying. Either that or the crazy psycho will land us in an accident.

My attempts to alternate between breathing through my nose and mouth are futile, too. It’s just not possible when my whole body is under attack and I have no control over the situation.

It’s sensory overload, a dead end, and a bleak reality.

I’m surprised I haven’t thrown up by the time he stops. My nails continue digging into his abs while I scan my surroundings.

What if the crazy bastard starts the engine again and I fall on my face?

He brings me to a hidden alley that’s dimly lit. Several luxurious cars are parked to one side, and Jeremy has placed his bike near one of them.

We’re away from the main street, so I can’t exactly walk there unless I’m planning to run for about half an hour.

“Will you be holding on to me for long? Not that I mind, but we have somewhere to be.”

I carefully release him, my cheeks probably looking red again. Just why the hell do I keep getting caught in compromising positions by him?

Jeremy hops off the bike and I remove the helmet and give it to him.

“This doesn’t look like the dorm,” I start as we walk down the street.

“I never said I was giving you a ride home.”

“Can I go home?”

“I told you, not yet.”