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

Then wait some more.

But it doesn’t happen.

I step back to find Brandon pulling at the hairs at his nape. Otherwise, he’s completely still. Like a robot. Eyes staring at his feet.

Not blinking.

Not moving.

Okay, I’ve seen my fair share of fucked up, but this vacant look in his eyes is fucking disturbing.

What the fuck did I do now…?

Bran shakes his head and backs away, rocking on his feet, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s drunk on the alcohol or something else. His hand flops to his side as he swallows. “I…better go.”

“Sure thing, Prince Charming. Go back to your favorite hobby of running away. If you do that fast enough, you might reach your second favorite hobby—denial—in record time.”

His eyes shoot to mine. “Seriously, what the hell is your problem?”

“What’s your problem?” I invade his space again, my chest grazing his, and we both inhale at the same time. “Why the fuck do you act as if me calling you baby is the end of the world?”

“Because you’re not supposed to,” he whispers, his eyes blinking slowly, but he doesn’t stop running them over my face.

“You need to stop looking at me like that if you don’t want me to fucking devour you.”

He shakes his head once, but, surprisingly, no words come out of his antagonizing mouth.

But here’s the thing.

Brandon doesn’t look away and, instead, keeps staring, eyes hooded and lips slightly parted.

Fuck this asshole. He’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever gotten to know, but he’s still the only one who’s started a fire at the pit of my stomach, the flames so wild, they spread to my chest and fan my dick back to life.

I’m so hard, it’s fucking painful at this point, and I have to do something.

I’m back to that hopeless stage of wanting a taste.

A nip.

A lick.

Anything.

I’ll take anything he allows me to have. Even if small, I’ll fucking gobble it all down and store it in that nook inside me that’s disturbingly filled with him.

My hand bunches in his shirt and I growl as I tug and slam him against my chest.

I can feel that loud thump of his heartbeat as his eyes widen, panic glittering in their depths like wildfire, similar to mine.

But there’s something else a lot more potent.

Now that his control has wavered, I sense an avalanche of impulsiveness rushing to the surface.

And I just have to seize it. Trap it. Leave him no fucking way out.

Just once.

“D-don’t,” he stammers, both his hands landing on my chest as he searches our surroundings, which are full of drunk people, before he focuses on me again, his eyes a myriad of confusion. “Please.”

“Too late, baby.”

Using my hold on his shirt, I drag him into a tight alley and shove him against a grimy brick wall.

He releases the most delicious startled sound I’ve ever heard and I’m done for.

Finished.

Absolutely jumping off a cliff, rolling and cracking a few bones and not giving a flying fuck, because I have my prize at the bottom.

Him.

My hand slides to his throat and wraps around his chiseled jaw, my fingers digging into his smooth skin. Brandon’s eyes widen to a dark, hypnotizing blue, and he rewards me with another noise, low and fucking needy.

I slam my lips to his, devouring that sound and swallowing it deep inside me.

Fuck.

Fuck me.

Fucking fucker of all motherfucking fucks.

He tastes like sweet surrender, all wound up and ripe for the taking.

I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. I think I’ve found my new favorite drug in the form of his lips. I suck the lower one into my mouth, biting down on the cushion so he feels the pain as deep as I do.

Bran shakes against me, his fingers fisting in my shirt, and I’m not sure if he’s pulling me closer or pushing me away.

I don’t give a fuck.

Tonight, I’m taking what I should’ve stolen that night I met him at the initiation.

Whether his delusional brain likes it or not.





10





BRANDON





I’ve always prided myself on being in control.

Everything has gone according to a plan, a schedule and an end goal. Spontaneity and I fell out of each other’s favor years ago and I never reconciled that relationship.

And I was okay with it.

I am okay with it.

Losing control once threw my life in a loop of chaos and fucking destruction and I can’t do chaos.

Chaos is the source of all evil.

Chaos would push me over the edge I’ve been walking for as long as I can remember.

And yet, right now, I can hear the cracks in my wall. While small, their deafening sound resounds in my foggy head, and I watch with complete bewilderment as the control I’ve nursed for years collapses all around me.

Crashing, splintering, and leaving a Nikolai-shaped hole in the outer walls of my carefully curated self-preservation.

I’m trapped, ensnared, and being held captive. I can’t feel even a smidge of my autonomy or the logical thoughts that I usually wear like a badge.

There’s something else I do feel, though.

Or someone.

His bruising grip on my jaw keeps me in place as he strokes my lips with his, harsh and unforgiving.