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

I’m still not over the way he hugged me just now.

How can someone be so damn comfortable with touch? It’s not normal.

“I see,” he says without much emotion. “Is that why you covered the souvenirs I gave you last night?”

I storm forward and wrap my fingers around his neck. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you leave hickeys in plain sight?”

“Next time, I’ll leave them in a place that’s more discreet. Mmm. Seems that, like me, you’re also a fan of choking. I love it when you lose control, baby.”

I release him with a shove, cursing under my breath. I lost the steel-like command of my actions and emotions.

Again.

That’s not supposed to happen. Not after I released my pent-up energy in the sink this morning.

Not so soon.

Not this fast.

What the fuck am I supposed to do if even those drastic measures don’t work?

How will I be able to dispel the constant sense of overwhelming nausea?

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, then bite my lip so hard, I’m surprised no blood gushes out.

“We talked about this.” He steps into my space, blinding me with his broad, muscular build and the dark ink that ripples with each of his movements. “I pull off baby better than Clara. In fact, I think it’s safe to say I do a lot of things better than her, including but not exclusive to making you come. Speaking of which, when are you going to break up with her?”

I let my lips curve into a fake smile. “Clara is my girlfriend and I have no intention of breaking up with her.”

“You didn’t seem to think she was your girlfriend when you had your tongue down my throat or when you came all over my cock, baby.”

I want to drive my fist into his face just so he’ll stop talking, but I’ve had enough loss of control for one day, so I breathe in and out slowly.

Just why the hell did I have to collapse around this…this…fucking savage?

I flash him a condescending glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

One moment, he’s standing there, and the next, his fingers sink into the sides of my throat, immobilizing me as he growls against my skin, “Don’t fuck with me, Brandon. You and I both know you fell apart in my arms last night.”

“Nothing happened last night,” I say casually, keeping my eyes on his manic ones, and I almost believe my own words.

Almost.

“Lose the bimbo,” he threatens in hot, enraged words. “Or I’ll do it for you.”





11





NIKOLAI





So lotus flower didn’t lose the bimbo.

Sur-fucking-prise. Not.

It’s been a week since I gave him that ultimatum, but he’s not making any effort.

But then again, he’s a snob who likes to be in control. Bet he takes it with his afternoon tea instead of sugar. He does that with his friends. Afternoon tea.

Christ, he’s so very British.

My only option is to dismantle that control and shred it to pieces right in front of his mysterious eyes.

He obviously doesn’t like me anyway, so what’s the harm in making him hate me a bit more?

Anyway, Operation Eliminate Bimbo will soon take effect.

What I know about Clara is that she’s an attention whore since she likes to post all her pictures with lotus flower.

A gold digger. Since she’s all about the designer bags, shoes, and things he buys her.

Shit in bed—for obvious reasons.

I clearly brought him more pleasure than she ever has. He kissed me with his eyes closed.

In your fucking bimbo face.

I know because I made sure to watch him as I backed him against the wall and ate the shit out of his mouth. My Prince Charming melted, fucking melted even as he met me stroke for stroke.

He definitely was not fighting his goddamn demons like when he put on that show in front of me.

More importantly, he didn’t seem burdened. If anything, at times, he was a bit eager…as wound up as I was.

The nonnegotiable truth is that I can give him more than Clara ever will.

Yes, he’ll never admit it since he has a case of pathological denial and all that jazz, but I’m not leaving him alone until he does.

Love the way he hides and pretends he didn’t moan, groan, and get hard for me. And how he likes to forget that he came all over my hand and cock.

If Brandon is not gay, I’ll chuck myself down a fucking cliff.

Well, let’s also include bi, because…eh… I’m not in the mood to die before I get another taste of him.

Or a few.

Several is my preferred count.

Depends on how open he is to the prospect.

I’ve got to say, his case of denial runs pretty deep, and I’m not sure how to get him out of his own ass—something a lot more pleasurable needs to go there.

But I digress.

Seriously, Kolya. Thinking of fucking him won’t get you there faster. Let my brain solve this issue for once.

Short of getting him drunk again, I’m lost. I fucking love drunk Bran, by the way, would vote for him to be the official version in the next election.

I’m kidding. I’m never lost.

Sooner or later, I’ll wear him down.

I always do.

No one can resist my undivided attention and constant pushing and shoving and annoying the fucking bejesus out of them.