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

One who needs blood sacrifices.

Because that’s what he does. He leans down, pulls on one of my breasts, and bites down on the soft flesh so hard, it burns.

Blood coats his lips when he lifts his head and growls, “Say my name.”

I purse my lips.

“Cecily, say my fucking name.”

A tear slides down my cheek, and I turn my head to the side, refusing to give him what he wants.

“I said. Say my name.” Jeremy bites down again and I scream in pain, but I don’t say his name.

He fucks me more ruthlessly than before, pounding into me until I slide across the floor. He fucks me like he needs me to feel every savage thrust.

He fucks me like he’s on the edge and I can either save or push him down the cliff.

It’s raw and dangerous. Illicit and primal.

Intense and punishing.

Then, finally, I feel his seed coating my insides in a long rush.

I’m sniffling, still trying to get my bearings when Jeremy pulls out of me, uses some tissues to clean my thighs, then hauls me to my unstable feet by my arm.

I pull away from him and smooth my dress, wincing when I cover the bite mark. Still, I refuse to make a sound and use all my dignity to remain composed. He’s turned me into his whore, but that’s only during sex.

If he thinks I’ll be his plaything in real life, he has another thing coming.

I smooth my hair and dab beneath my eyes, thankful for waterproof mascara.

For the life of me, I can’t understand why a mere touch from other guys turn me into a mess, but Jeremy is able to fuck me up, splinter my world to pieces, and I don’t feel threatened.

Hell, I’ve never had a panic attack around him.

A large body steps into my line of vision, and when I ignore him, he lifts my chin with his thumb and index finger, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “What the fuck was that all about?”

“If you want someone to say your name, go to your Maya.” I flip my hair, then I walk out of there. I want to waltz out like a badass, but I have to move as slowly as possible because I’m sore.

That’s when I remember something very important.

Ava.





26





JEREMY





The need to pummel something into the ground reddens my vision.

My fist clenches, but I don’t act on the urges.

Or impulses.

In fact, I’m calculative to a fault and only take action once I’ve predicted all the possible outcomes of a certain situation.

Apparently, that principle doesn’t apply to the infuriating girl who just left the room.

I stay behind for a few minutes, not only to expel all impulsive thoughts, but also to put my cock to fucking sleep.

It doesn’t matter that I was inside her not ten minutes ago; there’s always this primal need to claw deep into her skin and never stop.

But either I calm the fuck down or I’ll permanently kidnap her to my lair, where no one will be able to find her, let alone see her.

Or touch her.

The image of those two fuckers putting their hands on her sends a new wave of rage—definitely not the image to have in my futile attempts to relax.

I’m not worried that she’ll get away. I’m acquainted with the club’s owner, a new guy trying to do business with the mafia, and he’ll give me access to security footage if I ask for it. Also, my most efficient guard, Ilya, has explicit orders to watch Cecily in case she turns off her phone like she did earlier or disappears without notice.

It’s how I knew she was here and I followed.

I dial his number, and he answers after two rings.

“Situation,” I say point-blank.

“Miss Knight is trying to carry her friend, who’s drunk enough to laugh while she’s sleeping.”

“Location.”

“The left side of the bar.”

“Shoo away any unwanted attention until I get there.”

“Got it, Boss.”

“What happened to the two from earlier?” I step out of the room, not feeling any calmer in the fucking slightest.

“I got them thrown out of the club.”

“Good.”

“Boss.”

“Yeah?”

“One of them, the blond, said something that made Miss Knight go pale.”

I pause, my finger sliding up and down the back of the phone. Now that I think about it, Cecily looked to be on the verge of her dissociating state. I thought it was because she was surrounded by two guys and might’ve felt threatened in the presence of the opposite sex.

It was a provocation when she said she’d sleep with someone else. I know she can’t, but it still pissed me the fuck off.

“What did he say?” I ask Ilya.

“Something about her being too beautiful to be hidden. As soon as he said those words, it was like something came over her.”

That could be part of her cautious character, but something tells me that’s not the case.

“He’s a student at our university, right?”

“Probably. He and his friend are American.”

“Find him.”

That’s when I’ll know if it’s only a small-time felony for daring to dance with her or something else. And who am I kidding? This might as well be an excuse to cut his dick off for having the audacity to touch her.

After hanging up, I stride to the bar area. Ilya stands on the opposite end, close enough to intervene if anyone pushes their luck, but far enough not to be noticed.