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

The thought that the sharp blade could nip at my skin keeps me still as he slashes my hoodie and my bra from behind like he’s cutting through butter.

The cold knife touches my back and I shudder. With my clothes falling off me in shreds, I’m fully exposed to him, his callous touch, and his merciless knife.

If I don’t do something, he might act on whatever murderous thoughts are in his cold-blooded brain.

The need to fight and run pulses through me and I use his loosened hold on my wrists to do so.

He releases me, but the moment I’m crawling away, something tears at my skull.

A tight fist grips my hair and drags me back onto the hard wood. I scream, and it’s heightened by the looming silence.

And yet I don’t stop fighting, flailing, scattering the remaining pieces of my jeans and hoodie.

I’ve never experienced this sort of demented survival mode before. I don’t want to escape, and I already agreed to be his prey by running instead of leaving, so I’m not sure why I’m doing this.

Maybe it’s to draw out the beast inside him, entice him, and turn him into a crazed being.

Jeremy effortlessly pushes me onto my back with his hold on my hair. The breath is knocked out of my lungs when I meet the solid deck.

But it’s not only due to the impact.

I freeze at the shadow hovering over me, chest rising and falling with terrifying calmness. I can make out the bulging of his muscles against the black shirt, the rippling of his ink, and the darkness of his eyes behind the mask.

There’s also the knife in his left hand.

“You look so innocent, but that head of yours is a fucked-up place, Lisichka. My fucked-up place.” He kneels between my legs and slides the blunt side of the blade against my pussy.

I shudder when he lifts it under the moonlight and I watch, entrapped, as it glistens with my arousal.

My rasping breaths start tumbling out of my mouth the longer he forces me to see the sick evidence of my tendencies. A tinge of shame settles at the bottom of my belly despite myself.

I’m lying here fully naked while he’s entirely dressed. And I don’t miss the inequality of the situation and how much power he holds.

“You’re so wet for my cock, so sensitive and horny. You act like a prude, but you’re nothing but a dirty little slut.”

My ears heat and I try to close my legs, but he digs his fingers in the tender flesh and slaps them apart.

He’s on me then, his fingers pinching my nipples, torturing, squeezing. An onslaught of emotion rushes through me as he touches me everywhere—my breasts, my throat, my stomach, my thighs.

I’m trembling beneath him, a leaf with nowhere to fall.

This is the feeling I’ve always yearned for; the abandon of losing control and allowing someone else to do everything.

To take.

And take.

And Jeremy is definitely the type who takes.

He gives me untold pleasure in return. A raw lash of his fingers and knife so that I become a vessel for his depravity.

I’m nothing more than a doll he molds into his plaything and manhandles any way he wishes, and all I can do is take it.

Or I can say the safe word.

Smoke.

But that would mean this whole thing would end.

As if hearing my thoughts, Jeremy lifts his head from the puffy flesh of my nipples and the air grows silent. He pants from beneath his mask, in sync with my heavy breaths.

It’s a silent communication.

An understanding.

I’m the beast and you’re my prey, his eyes tell me.

Don’t let me be a coward or allow me to escape, must be what I’m communicating back.

Still maintaining eye contact, he slides the blunt side of his knife through my folds. A sense of terror takes hold of me, but that slowly subsides when the rhythm becomes pleasurable.

He teases my clit in rough circles until I’m bucking, reaching, arching my back off the deck.

And then, all of a sudden, he pushes off me and unbuttons his jeans.

The moment his hard shaft is freed, I gasp. Yes, I saw it last night, but I was drunk and he didn’t fuck me. I still think it’s too big for sex.

A sense of apprehension rushes through me and I place a hand on his chest, shaking my head.

The neon mask camouflages his expression, but I can see his eyes through the holes, all dark and terrifying.

He’s going to hurt me. I can read it loud and clear.

Jeremy snatches both my wrists and slams them on the wood above my head. “Keep them there and stop touching me.”

My lips tremble and I whisper, “I…need more time.”

I can’t let him take my virginity like an animal, on a deck, in the midst of owls, crows, and ravens.

Something I should’ve thought about when he asked me to run.

Jeremy lifts his mask and throws it away, revealing his sharp, handsome features. I can’t see him clearly due to the lack of light, but the little I do see causes my heart to beat faster and my core clenches tighter.

He slides the knife from my pussy to my hip, up my stomach, and then grazes the tip against my nipple. A droplet of blood gathers on the tight bud, then rolls down the side of my breast that’s firm with arousal.

His hooded gaze watches the path of the blood, and I do, too, transfixed by the weirdly erotic sight.

But then an eruption happens.

His lips fall on me. He darts his tongue out and licks the droplet of blood, chases it and drinks it off my skin, and then bites my nipple. Hard.