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

“I wasn’t asking, Cecily, and this isn’t a fucking negotiation. Beg me to ram my cock inside you and fuck you like you want—rough and out of control.”

I can’t stop staring at the gun shoved up against his head. There’s a fifty percent chance that he’s going to get himself killed.

That might seem like a good percentage, but it’s not. Far from it. One can be lucky for only so long before he vanishes, just like that.

“Please,” I murmur.

He jerks himself up and down in a brutal rhythm that makes my mouth dry. “Please what?”

“Please take me.”

“It’s fuck, not take. Say it properly.”

I bite my lower lip. “Please fuck me.”

The word is barely out when he digs his fingers into the flesh of my outer thigh, lifts my leg, and drives inside me.

My whole body convulses as I fall into his chest, my heart pounding while his remains the same—eternal, unaffected, absolutely cold.

It’s been some time since he was inside me, and I feel his size with every motion and every thrust.

“You’re mine, not anyone else’s, fucking mine. Now, beg and say my name.”

“Please, Jeremy, please.”

He drives into me in a brutal rhythm that triggers the primal part of me. Unable to stand on one leg, I grip his shoulder for balance.

The position, the fact that I’m entirely naked, covered with blood, and he’s fully clothed is a clear translation of the power imbalance between us. Of how much he owns a hidden part of me.

The part that’s yearning to let go and let him ravage me until there’s nothing left.

The part that’s been hoping, pining, and being absolutely ashamed of this side of myself.

There’s no shame when I’m in Jeremy’s arms. He doesn’t judge me. He wants me to own that part of me.

And most importantly, he fucks me like he craves me, like he can’t keep his hands off me.

Like if he stops fucking me, he won’t be the same.

I hold on to those emotions as I beg and call his name. The more I beg to be fucked, the harder he goes, the deeper he delves, the crazier he becomes.

He bites my neck, my breasts, my earlobe—anywhere his teeth can reach.

It’s a claim, a territorial declaration of ownership, and I have to bear his marks.

With each thrust, he hits my G-spot, once, twice, until I’m unable to stand.

The stimulation builds inside me and then explodes all at once. I hug his shoulder as the orgasm racks through me with stupefying strength.

“Ask me a question.” His voice barely reaches my hazy brain.

Only when I open my eyes do I realize that he still has the gun to his temple. The twisted pleasure comes to a slow halt.

“Jeremy, please stop.”

He drives into me, ruthlessly, not looking close to being done. “Ask. Me.”

“What do you want?” I whisper, quivering against him.

His thrusts grow in intensity and length. Jeremy is a sight to behold when he’s orgasming. His muscles stiffen and harden beneath my fingers, and he slightly bites the corner of his lip. But most importantly, his grip on me tightens like he refuses to ever let me go as warmth spills inside me.

“You,” he says, then pulls the trigger.

I scream.





21





JEREMY





Cecily stands unmoving under the shower.

Water cascades down her neck, over the slope of her creamy tits, and down her swollen, pink pussy.

My blood and cum swirl into the drain and disappear.

I lean against the counter, facing the glass shower, legs crossed at the ankles and my hands gripping the sink behind me. It’s a hopeless attempt to stop myself from lunging in her direction and messing her all up with my blood and cum again.

Dirty her.

Mark her.

My cock jumps, straining against my jeans at the thought of ramming into her tight heat, throwing her up against the nearest surface, and pinning her down.

I’d chase, catch, and fuck her until she’s crying.

No—sobbing. She begged me to fuck her, but she still cried and whimpered.

Whether she did it because it was too much or something else, I’m not sure.

There are a lot of things I can’t pinpoint when it comes to Cecily Knight.

Such as why I’m watching her take a shower, and why the fuck it’s taking superhuman effort to not join her. All while trying to figure how to get rid of the shell-shocked expression on her face.

It’s been there ever since I carried her into the house and planted her beneath the shower.

The moment I pulled the trigger against my temple, she cried the hardest. It was no different than witnessing a breakdown. A person’s disintegration into another universe.

But the tears have come to a halt and she’s crossing into different territory.

Fucking decimation.

She’s not fully into the catatonic state, but if I leave her alone, she’ll definitely reach that point.

“Cecily,” I call with a calm I don’t feel.

She flinches, and I can see the life rushing back to her bright green eyes before she whips her head in my direction. “Huh?”

It takes all my control not to study every nook in her body, every cavity, and every slope. I can still feel her flesh trembling against mine when I fucked her like an animal earlier.