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

He downright flinches when his back hits the opposite wall, his slightly flushed skin looking like goddamn art against the dark-red wallpaper.

His arm remains against my throat, but he lost the battle, my Prince Charming, all wound up and staring with those wide fucking eyes.

My chest presses to his and I can feel his heartbeat thundering against mine—thud, thud, and fucking thud—as I wrap my fingers around his throat.

He swallows, chest galloping and goosebumps erupting on the backs of his hands.

Bran would hit me if I were to say this out loud, but he’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

There’s a note of innocence beneath his grouchy, standoffish edge, and I want to latch on to it, suck it dry.

Destroy him through it.

I inch my lips close to the corner of his as I whisper, “You want to know what I think, lotus flower? I think you were fighting your goddamn demons to kiss her. The deeper you went, the more forced it looked. The longer you had your mouth against hers, the more burdened you looked, so it’s safe to say you weren’t hard because of her.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he says and tries to push me with his other hand.

I snatch his wrist and slam it on the wall above his head.

His throat works and he shivers against me. Goddamn shivers. I’m going to devour him fucking whole and leave no crumbs.

“Your bossiness turns me the fuck on, baby,” I murmur, my lips an inch away from his jaw.

I inhale his scent deep into my greedy lungs—clover, citrus, and fucking damnation.

“Only Clara calls me that,” he mutters, seeming to fight, dig, and sink his claws into that control he loves so much.

“But you didn’t get hard for Clara, did you, baby?” I bite out, inching closer. I’m fucking intoxicated, struggling to stop myself from licking him like an ice cream cone. “I can always test it real quick.”

My fingers slide from his throat to cup his jaw, my eyes zeroing in on his luscious, tempting lips.

He shudders and drops his arm from my neck to shove it against my chest.

Only, it’s trembling.

Like the rest of him.

And he’s not pushing.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Don’t you dare.”

“Or what, baby?”

“Nikolai, if you don’t stop, so help me God, I will…”

“What? You’re leaving me in suspense again, baby.”

He swallows again, and this time, I can’t help it. I’m a fucking masochist who’s hung up on this dick.

Figuratively, of course.

I dart my tongue out and lick along his jaw, all shaven and clean like the rest of him. He tastes of goddamn citrus and I want to drown in it even if it stings.

I was never good with self-preservation anyway.

He shivers again, like a leaf, his hand remaining on my pec, but now, he’s digging his fingers in my skin and I’m not sure if he realizes he’s doing it.

It’s not enough. This is far from fucking enough.

I need more and more and everything.

I trail my tongue down the hollow of his throat and bite on his Adam's apple like I’ve fantasized. And fuck me, it tastes better than any fantasy.

He tastes like my own downfall and I’m ready to drown in it.

A groan rips from Brandon’s lips and I pause, my chest expanding and my dick thickening against my shorts until I’m sure I’ll burst.

More.

Give me fucking more.

I slide my tongue back up to his chin, his cut jawline, and stop near his lips, mine hovering, my nostrils flaring, and my breaths coming out heavy and deep.

His exhales match my own, distorted and chopped off. Unorganized and completely out of fucking control.

Just the way I want him.

I’m going to swallow those lips and feast on his tongue until he forgets all traces of Clara.

His eyes widen as if he can see the intention and he pushes me so hard, I stumble back.

I’m forced to release him, my body starving and needing more.

More.

More.

Fucking more.

His jaw tics and his muscles tighten. And just like that, he slips back to the uptight asshole with serious issues. “I told you not to touch me, you disgusting prick.”

Aaaand he fucking ruined it.

I swing my fist back and then drive it into the side of his face. He stumbles, only held up by the wall, and I tackle him, watching in pure satisfaction as he topples to the floor, all haze leaving his face and replaced with pure confusion.

“I told you I’d beat you the fuck up if you said that again. Get the fuck out of my face, hypocrite.”

Instead of waiting for him to leave, I turn around and stalk to my room.

My nerves pound, my dick hard as fuck, and my mind jittering with thoughts to go back there and pummel him.

Fuck him right the fuck off.

Straight crush is officially over.





7





BRANDON





“I’m fine, Mum. Seriously.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I stare at the canvas filled with sharp yellow while holding the phone to my ear.

“Then let me see your face, hon,” Mum says softly, almost pleadingly.

She’s always pleading with me, my mum, imploring, asking, probing, and disturbing my routine.

I exhale a long breath.

I sound like a damn twat to the mother who only ever treated me with care, love, and understanding.