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

He’s the one who stays a bit longer every night, as if he’s finding it harder to leave. He comes up with excuses about cleaning up and cooking or finishing the late-night murder mystery, but I know it’s because he loves me and wants to be with me more.

Okay, he doesn’t exactly love me. But I’m totally growing on him.

I catch him smiling at my antics, and he does that more now. Smiling, I mean.

He also tolerates my flirting more and replies to my texts in a timely manner. I think he even likes filthy texts now. He’s become a fan of the dick pics as well, though he often tells me to stop sending them.

Sometimes, I find him looking at me with this cryptic expression when I’m watching his boring movies.

Other times, however, he looks at me as if I’m an alien, which is usually my cue that he’ll leave. Other times, he locks himself in the bathroom for more than half an hour and comes out distraught, his real expression hidden behind the disturbing control that he wields so well.

It doesn’t help that whenever I ask him if everything is okay, he lies through his teeth with that fake smile and says the word that I hate the most now. Fine.

He’s anything but fine, but I don’t know how to get him to talk. That is, if I’m supposed to do that when we’re not in a relationship.

Bran is a vault. No matter how much I bang on the surface, it never cracks. He always, without a doubt, slips behind the steel walls and closes himself off.

A tap on my shoulder brings me back to the present and I find my cousin staring at me. “Are you thinking about them? A man? A woman? Both?”

“Fuck off, Kill.”

“Honestly, I can’t imagine you in a relationship.”

“Why the fuck not?” I snap.

He pauses, raising an eyebrow. “You’re too volatile. Besides, you said you don’t want a partner. Ever. Since you’re a free soul and refuse to be tied down.”

Right. I did say that.

Fuck. I completely forgot that I actually used to think that way not too long ago. What is it about Bran that makes me want to fucking tie him to me?

It’s the conquest, right?

Just because I have his body, I don’t have his soul, and I’m on the edge because I want his everything.

Once he hands that over, I’ll discard him.

Right?

“So?” Kill shoves my shoulder with his. “Who changed your precious set of anti-monogamy rules? You can tell me. Must be killing you to keep it all to yourself.”

“You really want to know?”

He nods.

I beckon him with one finger. “Come here. It’s a secret.”

He inches close and I smack him on the nape. “Mind your fucking business and stop being nosy.”

My cousin massages the assaulted spot. “You’ll regret that.”

“Take it as payback for all the times you throw shit at me.” I break out in evil laughter and continue strolling down the street.

Kill grabs me by the arm and pushes me in the opposite direction. “Let’s grab a coffee first.”

“And croissants.” I stroke my stomach. “You think they have macarons?”

“Don’t think so.” He watches me. “Since when do you like macarons?”

“I always have.”

“No, you haven’t. Your sweet tooth usually ends at donuts.”

I hum but say nothing. I might have started indulging in them since Bran bought some once. I finished the whole box in one night and had a mini sugar coma.

He’s started hiding them from me since then and only leaves two pieces out like a stingy asshole.

“Kill!”

My grouchy cousin’s face breaks into a rare genuine smile at the sound of his girlfriend’s voice.

She’s waving us over to her table with… My, my.

My lips curl into an automatic grin when my eyes meet those stunning blues. For a fraction of a second, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights, his fingers loosening from around his cup.

It’s a bit similar to his expression last night when I pressed him against the wall as soon as he was out of the elevator and fucked him there until he couldn’t stand up straight.

Chill, Kolya. Jesus, man. We’re in public.

Does he understand that logic? No, because he’s twitching against my pants in pure dick fashion.

I know Bran is allergic to being labeled beautiful, but he so is. He’s also so elegant and well-groomed. The collar of his shirt is perfectly folded, his cuffs are symmetrically rolled, and every strand of his hair falls into the right place.

He’s always dressed in refined fashion and he carries himself with silent charisma. He might bottom and enjoy it, but he’s the control freak outside the bedroom. Hot-headed, too, to the point of madness. Bet no one looks at his fancy manners and can guess he loves it rough.

While Glyn and Killian are busy sucking each other’s faces off, I slide a chair over and sit beside him. I purposefully sit with my thighs so wide apart; my jeans touch his pants.

He continues watching me as if I’m a world wonder, his lips slightly parted.

The need to devour those lips beats inside me like an urge, but I force it down and whisper, “You’re drooling. Am I that hot?”

He swallows and quickly diverts his gaze, choosing to focus on the absurd PDA across from us.

Typical Bran. To be honest, I don’t know why I keep hoping he’ll one day come out in epic fashion and kiss me in front of the world like he loves to do in private.