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

At least I get to see the real him.

Like right now.

“Why I’m still with her is none of your business. I am none of your fucking business, Nikolai. What happened that night was because I was wasted. You said I could blame you, so this is me blaming you and telling you to leave me the hell alone.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Are you a fucking masochist?”

“Not usually, no. In fact, some might say I’m the exact opposite, but I’m ready to wait for you to come to your senses.”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said? I want nothing to do with you, damn it.”

“Say that again and mean it.” My mouth gets so close to his, I can smell the notes of musk and mint rushing from his lips in fractured breaths. “Unless…you can’t?”

He glares down at me, and there’s so much heat beneath that coral blue of his eyes, but he doesn’t push me.

Not even once.

Bran might lash out, but my mere nearness is causing him a shortage of breath. His chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm.

This must be why he was anal about keeping some distance between us when we were running. He knew that if I got close, it would be game over for him.

So I press my chest to his. Firm muscles glue to mine and the thud of his heartbeat slams and mixes with my own.

What the fuck is this man doing to me?

Why on earth can’t I keep my hands off him? Does he have witch blood? Is he made of fucking drugs?

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he mutters, his throat working beneath my fingers.

“Your nightmare.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“About you,” I whisper against his lips and claim them with a guttural moan.

He doesn’t push away. He certainly does not turn his face or look like he’s uncomfortable with the attention.

In fact, the exact opposite happens.

His lashes flutter over his cheeks as he groans, and I eat that sound the fuck up. I eat him the fuck up.

I swallow him whole, but most of all, I hurt him. Teeth clashing, tongues swirling, and lips chasing.

God-fucking-damn-it.

I’ve been fantasizing about his taste since last week. Every morning, noon, and night. Every goddamn second of every fucking day, all I wanted was to have a taste again.

But I didn’t want to freak him out or send him running for the hills. I sure as hell don’t give two flying fucks about that possibility right now, though.

I soak him all in, exploring, feasting, absolutely drowning in his fucking mouth.

He tastes of honey, mint, and pending fucking addiction.

I twirl my tongue against his and I’m rewarded with his hard nips. Lotus flower kisses me as thoroughly as I kiss him, his fingers tugging on the bottom of my T-shirt to keep me glued to his naked torso.

I roll his bottom lip between my teeth and nibble on the skin until he’s whimpering, shuddering, and fucking shaking against me.

Give me more.

More.

Fucking more.

I shove my raging erection against his shorts and sure enough, he’s hard.

For me.

Again.

Hello, Satan. Is this heaven in hell? Because I could stay here forever.

“You’re so fucking turned on for someone who claims he wants nothing to do with me,” I speak against his red, swollen lips. “You’re not drunk now, either.”

“Stop touching me…” he breathes out even as his mouth seems to chase mine. “I would’ve gotten this way for anyone. It’s called a physical reaction.”

This fucking asshole. I swear he’s asking to be sucker punched.

I slide my tongue down his neck and bite his Adam's apple, hard, then suck just as savagely, giving him back the hickey he hid for a whole week.

“Stop it…” He grunts, shoving his elbow against my chest.

Only, he puts no actual strength behind it.

And I’m not done.

I’m certainly not listening.

I trail a path of bites down to where his shoulder meets his neck, collarbone, and chest, then I scrape my teeth on his nipples.

He spits out the most erotic moan I ever heard, and I jam two of my fingers in his mouth, then spread them against his tongue.

I need him to stop fucking talking and ruining every moment with his damn mouth.

My tongue swirls around his light-brown areola, then I tug the nipple between my teeth, sucking and biting until all I hear are the muffled noises spilling from his stuffed mouth.

“You like this, don’t you?” I move to the other nipple, sucking the skin around it, leaving a huge hickey before I bite down on the little bud. “You look perfect marked by me. My own piece of fucking art.”

One of his hands is on my shoulder, pushing me away, but the other one is in my hair, pulling me close.

He’s a fucking conundrum, my lotus flower, and I can’t wait to break him into fucking pieces.

His body is flinching away from me, but his tongue swirls around my fingers, and his teeth bite down whenever I nibble on his nipple.

I’m so drunk on him and his taste. So addicted to how responsive he is.

I can’t get fucking enough.

Not after one lick or two or a thousand. I want to throw him down and feast on him properly. I want to watch him shudder and whine and moan as I kiss every inch of his gorgeous skin.