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

“Mmm. Never again, baby.” I speak against his throat, trailing my tongue and lips against his throbbing pulse and the faint scar from when I nearly lost him forever.

He’s come so far since then. Has gotten so much better at dealing with his emotions. Has learned to forgive himself and even smile at his image in the mirror.

That didn’t stop the control-freak tendencies, though. That’s a personality trait—one I love just like he secretly loves my reckless behavior sometimes.

He doesn’t try to change me and embraces me the way I am. He doesn’t care who I have to maim as long as I don’t get hurt in the process. That’s when he loses it.

I kid you not. Once, Kill threw a lighter at my head since he loves hitting me with random shit. Bran threw it back at his head and told him point-blank not to hit me anymore or he wouldn’t stand for it.

Did I fall in love with him a bit deeper after that? Possibly.

Bran shudders and his hands wrap around me, one gripping my waist and the other pulling my hair free as he throws his head against the wall with a throaty groan.

I inhale him into my lungs and keep him there—citrus and fucking mine.

“Bed. Now.” I growl against his fully marked neck, and the best part? He doesn’t hide my hickeys anymore. If anything, he loves leaving some of his own, too.

“Can’t have you running around and attracting unwanted attention. The world needs to know who you belong to,” is what he tells me every time.

“I have to show you something first.” He pants and leads me down the hall.

“Can’t it wait?” I wrap my arms around him from behind, matching his steps as I kiss his neck.

It’s awkward and definitely not fun to walk in this position, but Bran doesn’t complain and even gives me access to his throat, moaning when I nibble on his Adam’s apple.

“Baby…stop…” His voice trembles as he pushes the door open.

“You can’t call me baby and ask me to stop. I’m so going to devour the fuck out of you.”

“Nikolai…”

“Mmm?”

“Focus, please.”

“Give me a sec…”

“Nikolai!”

“What?” I lift my head, slightly annoyed that he’s stopping me when we’re both burning for this.

As if that’s not blasphemous enough, he pulls away and faces me.

That’s when I realize we’re inside his stupid home studio.

Not going to lie, ever since he nearly bled out on this floor, I’ve been kind of traumatized and would rather not come here unless it’s absolutely necessary. Good thing we live on the island, and whenever we visit his parents, he’s not in the mood to work.

Now, however, he thrusts me back into this ominous place, and even Kolya's legendary libido is shrinking as images of that day play in my head.

It was a long time ago, and we’ve come to terms with it. I even went to therapy with him for it, but no amount of therapy will erase the feeling of ‘I’m losing him’ that beat into my skull as I held his unresponsive body on the floor while his life essence poured out of him in sickening red.

But now, as he stands in front of me in his rumpled suit and with his glittery smile, those images slowly disappear.

He’s here.

He’ll always be fucking here.

He came back for me.

For us.

“What did you want to show me?” I ask with a note of sarcasm. “What’s so important that you chose violence, aka cock-blocking us both for it?”

He clears his throat. “I thought since now we’ll be starting the next chapter of our lives and moving to a new place, we’ll need a painting for it.”

“I already have my favorite painting of yours.” I pull out my phone and show him the lock screen. “This is going in the living room so that it’s the first thing everyone sees.”

A look of adoration crosses his features. “In that case, let’s put this one in the bedroom, then.”

He pulls on a sheet that’s covering a canvas, revealing a stunning piece of work. And it’s not about the sharp details or earth-shattering beauty of what his hands are capable of.

It’s the scene he chose to paint. Him sitting on my lap while I’m wearing the yellow-stitch mask. And he didn’t paint his own mask.

It’s from the first night we met.

The night after which I couldn’t purge him from my mind even if I wanted to.

His expression in the painting isn’t what I saw back then. I thought he was embarrassed or humiliated, but through his own eyes, he looks intrigued, confused, and most of all, aroused.

“Wow,” I breathe out, actually glad he showed me this before the fuck fest that will totally happen in a few. “This is…wow.”

“You like it?”

“I fucking love it, baby. Look at all those details.” I step closer to take a better look. “Definitely going in the bedroom. Don’t want anyone to see that expression on your face. It’s only for me.”

He chuckles, the sound light and contagious.

I smile back. “Why this scene, though?”

“It’s the night I developed a crush on you. I thought it came afterward, but no, I was definitely intrigued by you from the beginning. I wanted to keep that feeling alive forever through this painting.”