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

I push the door open to be greeted by Clara kneeling between Nikolai’s legs, her hands wrapped around his dick.

He sits on the bed, leaning back on his palms, and he’s only in his boxer briefs that Clara pulled down to free his cock.

Now she’s fisting him, watching, marveling, and admiring.

His gaze shoots to mine as soon as I stand in the doorway, his eyes darkening in an instant as his lips lift in a cruel smirk. “Call me babe, Clara.”

“I can’t wait for you to get this huge cock in me, babe.”

The snap happens in a fraction of a second.

A red haze crawls into my vision until I can only see that fucking color.

On the way here, I thought the raging anger was because Clara was being Clara again.

I thought it was because Nikolai was touching her.

But it’s not until this very moment that the depressing truth crashes into me.

I never gave two flying fucks about Clara. Zilch. Nada.

What’s driving me to the edge of myself isn’t her. It’s her touching Nikolai.

It’s not about her. It’s about him.

Bloody fucking hell.

I shoulder through the door and grab her by a fistful of hair and haul her to her feet. She shrieks and stumbles, finally getting her claws off him.

“What the—” She cuts herself off when I jerk her to a standing position, eyes widening when they meet mine. “Bran…it’s not what you think. I was just lonely and hurt by your rejection and…and…”

“Shut it.” My voice is steady but firm, and her lips form an O.

I’ve never spoken to Clara in this tone. Not when she cheated. Not when everyone called her a gold-digging bitch.

All this time, I didn’t hate her.

I didn’t feel anything for her to hate her.

Now, I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and watch as the life leaves her sleazy eyes.

“Leave,” I say, still speaking so calmly despite the pent-up chaos brewing inside me.

“Baby, please—”

“Nuh-uh,” Nikolai cuts her off this time as he yanks her from my grip and pushes her toward the door. “He’s not your fucking baby.”

He’s dressed now, if boxer briefs can be considered that, and I drag my gaze away from him.

If I don’t, I’ll be tempted to punch him, and I don’t fucking do that.

Clara stares between us, brow furrowing, and I fix my eyes on her, hands jammed in my pockets, without saying a word.

“Off you go,” Nikolai barks and throws the Chanel bag at her. “Don’t let me see you again.”

She wants to say something else, but Nikolai’s glare seems to scare her to the bone, because she jogs out of the room as if she’s being chased.

Soon after, I hear the ding of the lift, but her smell doesn’t disappear.

Fucking flowers.

It lingers in the room and on the man behind me like a ghost.

Fuck him.

Refusing to face him, I start toward the door. “Well, good night, then.”

“Fuck no.” He slams the door shut with a palm on the side of my head. His chest presses to my back, jamming me against the wood as his hot breaths whisper in my ear, “You’re not going anywhere, lotus flower.”





13





NIKOLAI





I can taste the flames of hesitation and the warring conflict rolling off my lotus flower in waves, and I want to dart my tongue out and consume it.

Suck it between my lips.

Crunch it beneath my teeth.

Bran’s back muscles stiffen underneath my chest like whenever he’s trying to fight, escape, or reject whatever lurks in his scornful head. I’ve given up trying to understand how his mind works, give him space, or be logical about these emotions sweeping me away.

I suck at that.

My modus operandi has always been to act first and think of consequences later. There’s no reason why that should change now.

Besides, he obviously wants me. I can see it in his mystic eyes that often conceal his feelings, but when the mask drops, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in that coral blue, surrounded by a halo of lust.

Sure, there’s also hate and disregard as well. There’s confusion and self-preservation. But who gives a fuck about those irrelevant emotions?

Certainly not me.

Tension rolls and crackles whenever we’re in the same space. It doesn’t matter whether it’s in public or in the confinement of my bedroom. If he’s here, I’m soaring and riding on the high of his presence.

The beast in me wants to drag out the hidden beast in him and play.

I want to shatter his control, wreak havoc on his golden-boy image, and disrupt his life.

I want to sink my teeth into his skin and feed on the lust that radiates from his unsaid words.

Until I drain him.

Until there’s nothing left of him. Or me.

I inch even closer so that I’m covering him entirely and my raging erection presses against his firm ass.

Needless to say, I’ve been as hard as a rock since he shoved Clara away from me. I like to think he didn’t want her to touch me, not the other way around.

Because he told her to leave and he didn’t follow.

Call me delusional, but I choose to believe the calm anger he displayed was due to being possessive of me.

He squirms, his ass brushing accidentally—or not so accidentally—against my cock and I groan.