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

He ranks high on emotion and catastrophe control and would be a perfect candidate for a wanted murderer—famous but would never be caught.

However, that thought never has and never will come to fruition for a very simple reason. A moment of gratification isn’t worth the damage that could be inflicted throughout my lifetime in the 0.01 percent chance I’m caught.

Imagine—me behind bars? The blasphemy.

And yet right now, my beast is far from being rational, peaceful, or relaxed. I’ve been standing here for the past…fuck knows how long. An hour? Three? Five? It’s probably close to dawn and I haven’t been able to sleep a wink.

I sculpted a stroke of genius, then shoved it at the back of the other statues with the canvas that has Mia’s blood all over it.

Virginal blood.

Summoning Satan using that is a tempting idea, but I’m opting for something a lot more devilish.

Something that defies reality and puts everything I’ve done thus far to shame.

I light a cigarette and exhale a cloud of smoke under the shadows of early morning slipping through the window whose cracks I filled with clay after Mia was shivering a few weeks ago.

Sucking on my cigarette, I stroll to where Mia lies on the sofa, her small body wrapped in my shirt.

Only my shirt.

It’s become a habit now. Even when her dress is intact, she also puts on my clothes before she falls into slumber.

The fabric rides up her pale thighs, revealing my fading marks and the fresh ones I added today. Earlier, her inner thighs were smudged with proof of her innocence, but I smeared every drop on the canvas and licked the rest clean.

I needed to devour the evidence even when she looked mortified by the attention. I licked and nibbled on her soft core, then sucked on her thighs, stomach, and mound. Everywhere I could leave a hickey of ownership.

The whole time, she watched me with a bizarre fascination bordering on both lust and confusion.

Mia might act righteous, but she’s also harboring a beast. It’s different from mine and has irregular codes of conduct, but it’s a beast all the same.

I inhale the cancer stick into my lungs and release a trail of smoke in the air as I circle the sofa on and on as if that’ll make sense of the sheer chaos brewing inside me.

Mia was only supposed to be a temporary muse, an outlet through which my creativity climaxes—literally and figuratively.

But as I look at her soft features, lips slightly parted and thick lashes fanning her cheeks, I realize how sorely mistaken I’ve been.

A fuck has merely whet my appetite for more of her taste, more of marking her flesh and swallowing her into my kink-flavored world.

And I don’t fuck the same woman twice. Have never wanted one again as soon as I was done with her. Have never watched one while my beast concocts plans to have her writhing beneath me while her cunt milks my cock. Soon.

Now, even.

Her presence is starting to influence my thoughts and decision-making process. I need to put an end to this and sabotage the very marrow of her being before she becomes the bane of my existence.

Mia stirs as she usually does when she has her naps. For some reason, she sleeps a lot around me, something even she finds weird. The other day, she accidentally told me she doesn’t sleep much, even with the lights on.

What lines did the dark cross to turn you into this?

I narrow my eyes as I blow smoke in her face.

A part of me knows that I don’t care about people’s circumstances. Never have and never will. The only reason I’m having these thoughts is so that I can gather more information about her and use it to prey on her. I’d shatter her into minuscule pieces so that no one would be able to put her back together again.

Contrary to what I anticipated, Mia doesn’t wake up. She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her hands around them so that she’s lying in a fetal position.

Unintelligible shaky noises fall from her mouth. Sweat beads on her upper lip and forehead, and her disheveled blonde strands stick to her skin.

My hand wraps around the back of the sofa as I lean down to try and decipher the noises.

There’s a lot of whining, gasping, and moans of pain, but something else slips in between.

When I finally make out the sound, the cigarette falls from my hand and hits the floor, releasing a spark of orange light, then it dies out.

“No…”

That’s what she’s saying between trembling noises. It’s not much, but it’s without a doubt something she’s never said before.

A word.

I was right. She sounds nothing like the pretentious Maya. Her voice is lower, softer, and possibly the only voice I’d listen to on repeat.

Over and over.

I fetch my phone and hit record.

“No…” she repeats, a bit stronger, even though she’s still shaking like a bird caught in a storm.

All my blood rushes to between my legs. My cock bulges against my boxers at a speed I’ve never experienced before.

The sound of her voice explodes somewhere behind my rib cage and I find myself leaning farther down so that my ear is nearly glued to her luscious lips.

“No…please…”

Please.

Who is she begging if it’s not me?

She has no right to beg anyone but me.

More moans. Gasps. Whimpers of pure twisted pain.

I push back to stare at her anguished face, furrowed brow, and the tears that pool in the corners of her eyes and then cascade down her cheeks.