God of Fury (Legacy of Gods #5) by Rina Kent

If he’s in the mood, he definitely makes it known either by attacking me as soon as I walk inside the apartment or with his constant texts that mimic my clingy nature.

He can also be surprisingly possessive—though not as unhinged as I am since I literally threaten to break the arm of anyone who touches him. The other day, I ran into Simon at one of the coffee shops and he started being touchy as usual before I pushed him away.

Turns out, Bran saw it and sent me this gem of a text.

You better remember who the fuck you belong to, Nikolai.

Did I print that text and frame it? Possibly.

I fucking love that he’s been more forward lately. Not to the point of talking to me in public—God forbid anyone knows about us. But he’s getting there.

I don’t mind. Much. I love that I’m his secret. I love that he’s aloof and in complete control when in public, but he falls apart on my tongue, fingers, and cock in private.

I love that he steals glances at me when everyone is looking, then whispers how much he needs me to fuck the daylights out of him when it’s only the two of us.

He’s mine and that’s all that matters.

I'm the only one who knows he’s a noisy motherfucker during sex, and that’s all I care about. Still, I make sure to decorate his skin with hickeys so others know he’s owned. I take my time turning them deep purple until he’s whining and add new ones every night. The earful he gives me afterward is worth it.

There’ll be a day when he’ll come out. I know it. I feel it in his eyes when we’re in public. I see it in his body language when he angles himself in my direction as if he wants to walk to me, hug me, and kiss me. He stops himself every time, but that’s looking more painful for him lately.

He’ll break one day and I’ll be there to pick him up with open arms and an open mouth.

I’m wearing him down and he’s totally falling for me.

Okay, I’m being delusional again. While he doesn’t actually love me, he cares.

Sometimes more than necessary.

So here’s the thing, Bran despises the fights and makes that known every time as he patches me up and puts ointment on the bruises.

He also hates how chaotically beautiful I am—though he probably wouldn’t call it that. He can’t stop nagging about all the shit I leave lying around or the dishes in the bathroom—what? I had a snack while soaking in the Jacuzzi—or whenever I shake my wet head. I only do that so he’ll dry it for me. Some would argue I also fight so he’ll be so adorably worried about me.

Most importantly, he replies to my ridiculous texts that go the line of:

Me



Did you know there are like so MANY Greek Gods?





Bran



Is that so?





Yeah. How am I supposed to keep up? Why are there so many?





How dare they?





Right? Speak some sense into them, especially that dick Zeus. He needs to stop having so many children and raping women left and right. Father of gods, my ass.





I’ll have a very stern conversation with him.





Do you really think of me as him? I’m wounded.





My sincerest apologies. It was bad form to even make that comparison.





You’re going to have to repeat that apology with your lips wrapped around Kolya. You know, since he’s sulking and shit.





You could’ve said you wanted me to suck your cock instead of starting a whole drama.





No, no, it’s not about that. Kolya is REALLY hurt.





I’ll make it up to you.





Now?





I seriously can’t with you.





Is that a yes?





See you in an hour.





I jump down through the ropes after I’ve pummeled someone to near death, ignoring all the screams and the roaring crowd as I drink from a bottle of water Jeremy passes me.

“You okay?” he asks.

I pour water on my head and shake it, then smile—imagining Bran pinching the bridge of his nose and saying, “I seriously can’t with you.”

“Niko?” Jeremy watches me closely. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about another fight?”

“Nope. One is enough.” I shove the bottle against his chest. “Laters, Jer.”

“Wait.” He falls in step beside me as we walk down the tunnel and throws an arm over my shoulder. “What’s up with you lately? You barely come back to the mansion and you’re acting suspicious.”

“Busy, busy.”

“With what? Or more accurately, with whom?”

I pause, coming to a stop in front of the locker room, then face Jer. Hmm. He’s my best friend, and usually, I’d tell him all about the fuck fests and the weird adventures. Even though he couldn’t care less for the details, he listens without judging. Except for telling me that I’m crazy sometimes, which is true.

The point is, I’m starting to feel a little bit restless about this secret. I love having Bran all to myself, but I don’t like that no one knows. Sometimes, Kill looks at me weird as if he figured everything out, but he always has that psycho look and I definitely don’t trust him not to broadcast everything to the world if I tell him anything.