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

It’s another story when different images play in my head, though.

I had to be a caveman and jerk off alone while picturing that blotch of red creeping up Bran’s neck when I growled in his ear or the goosebumps covering his skin when I locked him in place with a hand on his nape.

He didn’t fight. Again. He just lay there begging to be fucking used.

Though he’d tell you otherwise.

He’s kind of an asshole, that guy. While I’ve been having a blast running with him the past couple of days, I have a feeling it’s not…mutual.

I’ve been only greeted with the narrowing of his eyes, his death glares, and the occasional puff of air from his luscious lips.

Not to mention his monosyllabic replies and continued orders.

Back off.

Step away from me.

Do not touch me.

Remove your unpleasant presence from my vicinity.

He speaks like royalty. Not complaining, though. There’s something about ruining a good boy that does shit to me.

Which is why I’m back for round three.

I wait by the Elites’ mansion entrance, jogging in place and punching the air. I can’t stay still.

Not when the mere thought of Bran in his shorts and fitted T-shirt sends blood rushing to my groin.

I’d like to point out that I tried to remain calm, but then again, calm and I have been at odds since I was born, and I can’t possibly be expected to leave him alone. He’s turning into this sweet addiction that adds meaning to my days.

Solution? Try to wear him down.

Creep beneath his skin.

Wreak havoc on his heart in the process.

He’s just so fun to mess with. He’s usually expressionless, unless he’s faking this creepy smile that looks like a psycho’s, so whenever I catch him off guard, he has this deer caught in the headlights expression. A flaring of nostrils here, a bobbing of his gorgeous Adam's apple there.

I’m living for that shit. Literally.

For two days, I’ve only been thinking about bugging the fuck out of him. Five thirty in the morning is my favorite time of the day until further notice.

Sooner or later, he’ll fall at my feet like everyone else. Or, more accurately, to his knees.

I like to think I’m making progress in some way. Yesterday, he didn’t try to run away from me, though he did attempt to use the stupid AirPods that you can bet I removed and kept hostage until the end of the run.

He did pretend I wasn’t there while I asked him a shitload of questions. I can’t remember many of them, but they were mostly things like, what does he do after a run? What’s his favorite food? Movie? Color? Hobbies? Clothes? Hair products? Cologne?

Does he like the fight club? Violence? The crunching of people’s bones?

Was that a bit pushy? Who the fuck cares, to be honest?

He wouldn’t have answered anything even if they weren’t pushy.

He’s not exactly cooperative and lets my questions wash off him as if he never heard them until he runs back to his big castle.

But then again, I’m nothing short of persistent and fucking love a challenge.

Mom and Jeremy say I’m like a bull who doesn’t stop until I get what I want, so…off I go again, I guess.

I have all the time in the world now that Kolya is going through a fucking abstinence period.

Though he doesn’t seem all that uninterested when a certain brown-haired Prince Charming is in his vicinity, which boggles my mind.

Well-groomed, posh men like Bran are not my type. At all.

But something about him—

My movements abruptly stop when the gate creaks open and lotus flower steps outside dressed in black shorts and a royal-blue tee that stretches over his broad shoulders, expanded chest muscles, and lean waist.

He’s not in your face, but he definitely has a superior build. He’s toned in a lean way, hard and firm everywhere.

Kolya twitches in my shorts and I groan under my breath.

“Fuck, dude.” I glare down at him. “Make up your mind. Are you easy or hard? Pun intended.”

I get no answer. Naturally. He’s literally a dick.

Lotus flower takes his picture of the day and posts it on Instagram. I’ll peek at it later after he escapes to his prince's mansion. For now, I’d rather get my fill of him. Add new material for my daily jerk-off session and all that.

He marches with sure, slightly forced movements down the road. His gaze flits sideways, probably searching for me, but I’m well hidden behind the trees.

Can’t have their cameras catching me and reporting back to the major douchebag Landon. Not that I’m opposed to pummeling that bitch to the ground and cracking his skull in two, but I’d rather not trigger any complications when I’m trying to get into his brother’s pants.

Or ass.

Anyway, lotus flower keeps searching his surroundings and I remain hidden just to fuck with him.

Yesterday, I jumped to his side as soon as he rounded the corner and he was far away from the mansion’s cameras. He looked at me with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, and even though that expression lasted for a fraction of a second, you can bet I added it to my mental catalog full of everything Brandon King.

Today, I’m using a different strategy. Can’t let him get used to my modus operandi and quit showing me those special responses.

I want him to get as close as possible. Until I smell him. Until—