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

I don’t. Instead, I wrap my hands around his cock. And yes, I need both of them to be able to take all of him.

After two jerks, I slowly slide it into my mouth. I’m completely relying on instinct here, having no clue what the hell I’m doing.

I’ve never found the prospect of sucking cock appealing, but I do want to give him the feeling he gave me that day.

I hope he’s as confused and mind-blown as I was. I hope he thinks about me for days to come.

Darting my tongue, I take tentative licks. He tastes the same way he smells—like an edge of danger and forbidden fantasies.

He groans, the sound sexually raw. I clench my thighs as if his vocal cords are vibrating against my most intimate part. Landon is the only person I know who oozes such powerful erotic energy without even trying.

“I knew you were a creature of the dark.” He slides his fingers over my hair. “Just like me.”

I’m in no way like him.

“But enough foreplay.” He pulls on the ribbon, releasing my hair just so he can grip it in a merciless hold. “This is about my kink, after all.”

Keeping my head in place, he thrusts all the way in. It’s sudden and brutally mesmerizing.

Everything about Landon is enchantingly dark and effortlessly gripping.

His rhythm escalates until I can hardly keep up. All I can do is let go and feel his feral strength. I’m like a doll, an object he uses to get off without caring whether he hurts me or not.

And for some demented reason, I’m entirely captivated.

“Your mouth is made to be fucked.” He thrusts all the way in and I gag. Tears fill my eyes and I gasp, grappling for nonexistent air.

Does that stop Landon? Deter him?

Not even a little.

Not even close.

If anything, he goes harder, faster, as if he’s on a high and I’m a mere vessel to get him there.

Once I think I’ll faint, he pulls out. His sadistic eyes remain on mine as I suck much-needed air into my starved lungs. Barely a few seconds pass before he grabs my chin and thrusts in again. “That’s it. Choke on my cock. Show me how much you love this.”

His grip on my hair sends throbs of pain to my skull. Not to mention the manhandling that should revolt me to the core, and yet my clit throbs and my panties are soaking wet.

If I could just touch myself for a second…

My thoughts come to a halt when he thrusts with unprecedented intensity. I grab on to his thighs for dear life as he—there’s no other expression for it—uses me to get off.

It’s fast, ferocious, and completely vicious.

I’ve never been this turned on in my whole life.

Finally, he slides his dick out of my achy mouth and I feel a warm liquid on my face. Did this asshole just come on my face?

I’m still reeling from the throat-fucking and delirious with my own arousal, so my reaction is delayed and all I can do is watch.

Landon smears his cum on my face, massaging it on my lips before he whispers, “My own piece of art.”

I blink, still unable to believe the sight in front of me. He definitely looks elated, but there’s also a dangerous purse in his lips.

“You really shouldn’t have caught my interest. Now, I’ll have to swallow you alive, little muse.”





13





LANDON





I have ninety-nine problems, but popularity isn’t one of them.

Due to my charming personality, mouthwatering looks, and genius skills, I happen to attract a lot of attention.

But not all attention is good.

As is pointed out by my vice president of sorts in the Elites. Nila. And by vice president, I mean the one who does my bidding. I only gave her a title so I could manipulate her to the fullest. Like all the other members, her role is to be used as a dutiful pawn.

She’s short, packs more of a punch with her words than her fists, and likes to believe she has a spot on my small list of prodigies.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Nila was probably a good fuck, which is why I remember it happened, although it’s been a few years, and she’s the only one I’ve fucked more than once—as in, once and a half because I couldn’t be bothered to finish the second time around. But that’s about it.

She’s standing at the entrance of my college art studio, wearing a camisole that’s only held up by a flimsy thread around her neck.

Her brown hair falls to her naked shoulders and she likes to consume chewing gum more than air. There’s nothing I want to do more than dump her and her cheap habits into the dirtiest part of the Thames.

However, she’s relaying important information and it’s in my best interest to listen to her. The brilliant Thames idea has to be unfortunately postponed.

I abandon the piece of clay I’ve been working on, stub my cigarette in the ashtray, and lean against the wall opposite her.

“You were saying? And make it quick, because my tolerance for people in my space is below zero.”

She bats her fake eyelashes. “Including me?”

“Especially you.”

She juts her lips in an immature pout but quickly recovers. “So yeah. Apparently, you pissed off the wrong people. The Heathens and the Serpents are, contrary to your plans, speaking together and possibly plotting against you.”

“More fun. Who cares?”

“Uh, I don’t know. The rest of us who will be caught in the aftermath? We’re not trained mafia men like those guys.”