God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods #4) by Rina Kent

“Even with the kinks?”

“Even with the kinks. You’re the only one I’ve reached a mental climax with.”

“In some time?”

“In ever.”

Her lips curl in a proud smirk. “Guess that means we’re each other’s firsts after all.”

“Don’t get smug Miss Prude Virgin Until Fairly Recently.”

“Virgin or not, I managed to offer the great Landon King something no one else has.” She ruffles my hair, seeming so happy with herself.

I grin in return. “You find me great?”

“Get over yourself.”

“Impossible.”

She shakes her head, but the smile still paints her lips. “What were you working on?”

“Nothing satisfying.”

“Ever thought that you’re too hard on yourself?”

“Not hard—selective. I don’t vibe well with mediocrity.”

“Nothing you make is mediocre.” She points at her statue. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but you can’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my property, like you, little muse.”

She frowns. “I’m not a thing.”

“No, you’re not. But you’re still mine.”

“Well, are you mine, then?”

“If you want.”

She bites the corner of her lip and releases it, then clears her throat and looks around for another way to change the topic.

That’s fine. If she’s this rattled by me, it means I’m drawing her deeper into my world. Sooner or later, she’ll have no choice but to let her guard down and completely belong to me.

After a few seconds, she signs, “How come you’re not smoking and making your lungs as black as your soul?”

“I quit.”

“Really?”

“Cigarettes were always an indulgence I could walk away from. I don’t get addicted.” Except for when it comes to you.

It’s not only obsession or limerence at this point. And it’s definitely a lot more addictive. The fact that my demons immediately calmed down the moment she appeared is both fascinating and alarming.

And yet I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Good. It’s not good for your health.”

“And your health.”

“And the plants!” She smiles. “Thank you for taking care of them. They’re alive and pretty.”

“I was bored.”

“You’re never bored enough to take care of plants, so just take the thank-you without being so sarcastic about it.” She hops off my lap before I can stop her. “I have to go check on them. It’s best to water them this early in the morning.”

“Are you seriously exchanging my godly company with some flowers?”

“You can join me,” she offers over her shoulder with a flirtatious smile and then she’s out the front door.

I’d rather crash and burn in my McLaren as it falls off a cliff.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and my wellies as I make my way to the small garden Mia created.

What? I was bored. Besides, I’m not in the mood to be trapped by my own creativity again.

Mia looks up from her crouched position and lifts her gloved hand to shield her eyes from the rising sun. I stand in its path and slide a hand into my pocket. “I’m gracing you with my presence. I accept worship in the form of blowjobs.”

She laughs and shakes her head, then signs, “Don’t just stand there. Make yourself useful and get me the fertilizer spikes.”

The blasphemy. How dare she treat me like a servant for the demon flowers that she’s giving more attention than me. I should’ve squashed them to death when I had the chance and chalked the whole thing up to an unfortunate flower death. Happens every day in many flower shops and wouldn’t be frowned upon by any stretch of the imagination.

Since that option is currently out of the question, I go fetch the fertilizer and even put on gloves. Then I, Landon King, the legendary genius of contemporary art, help water the little flower fuckers.

My logic is simple. The sooner she’s done with this tedious chore, the faster I can get her to round two. Maybe this time, I’ll paint her pretty little body as I fuck her on all fours on the canvas. Or maybe I’ll sketch something on her back while I fuck her senseless. I’m nothing less than versatile when it comes to fucking and art. Combine the two together and you get a recipe for guaranteed success.

“You’re not supposed to try to stab them, Landon.” Mia laughs and catches my hand to show me how.

So I make mistakes on purpose so she can ‘correct’ my actions further. Now, this I can deal with, unlike entitled flowers that have no business getting between me and my muse.

After I get over my childish, immature feelings about literal plants, I focus more on Mia. I love the carefree, happy expression on her face as she strokes and even signs to the flowers as if they’re pets.

“You could make a career out of this,” I say when she keeps inspecting the seeds.

“Oh, I will,” she signs. “I’m going to be a badass businesswoman who will make the world a better place for plants.”

“Pretty sure you’re confusing business with activism.”