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

A psycho artist with a taste for everything forbidden and wrong.

The truth remains, I’ve never felt so stimulated as when he takes me unapologetically, uses me thoroughly, and manhandles me.

I’ve never been as thrilled as when he chases me and lets me think I’ve gotten away with it, just so he can tackle me to the ground and hate-fuck me.

It’s an aphrodisiac. A hit better than any drug.

The worst part is that I feel safe in his company. Two weeks ago, after he woke me up from a nightmare in the most pleasurable—and sick—way ever, I didn’t feel violated. Not in the least.

In fact, I was thankful that he was able to wrench me out of that loop. He’s done it again a few times since—I’m pulled right out of a horrific nightmare to find myself in blissful pleasure.

I never told him this, but yes, considering I’ve experienced an explosive orgasm every time he’s done that, I’d say somnophilia is safely one of my kinks as well.

Perhaps the reason I’m so addicted to Landon is either the sense of gratefulness or the rawness of emotions he triggers in me. Maybe it’s the ease with which he slid into the middle of my life. Even though we usually meet at the house, he still challenges me to the occasional epic chess game at the club, and because he spends so much time with me, the other members are gradually warming up to me.

Whenever we get together, he has my Frappuccino waiting for me, just the way I like it. He also helps with my presentations sometimes, even though we have completely different majors. In his words, “I think we already established that I have a superior IQ and school projects are child’s play to me. Besides, I’ll eventually study business so I can take over my family’s company.”

Every night, after he fucks me to within an inch of my life, he makes sure I’m well-fed and hydrated. He also has a surprisingly consistent aftercare routine where he wipes me clean and even massages my whole body as I fall into a deep sleep.

Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have disclosed bits of my past to him.

Landon might be in lust with me, but that’s the extent of his attention. None of his caresses and fake grins can fool me. He’s still a narcissist through and through and he’ll use my weaknesses against me when the time comes.

If I want to survive him, then I need to bubble-wrap my fragile, amateur heart that keeps being touched by his calculated gestures. The moment I comment or even show a bit of discomfort about something, he gets it done.

First, he installed new lights in the house so that it no longer looks dark and grimy. He replaced the cracked glass in the windows, ordered new furniture to replace the old pieces, and he’s been buying me gardening equipment.

He also employed a landscaping company to clear the premises of any fallen branches and hazardous objects. I asked him about the reason behind that and his answer was amazingly simple.

“I can’t have my muse injuring herself when she’s running,” he said while lifting my chin with his index finger. “The marks on your body can only be inflicted by me.”

He’s cutthroat and viciously emotionless, but maybe that’s all I need. I’m not in this game for feelings, after all. When push comes to shove, I’d still side with my people.

It’s much better this way. At least I don’t feel guilty spying on an unfeeling monster.

And yet as I stare at my face in the mirror that’s in the middle of the guest room in the Heathens’ mansion, I painfully realize that I put on more makeup than I usually do. My cheeks are rosy, matching the pink color on my lips.

I’m not dolling up for him, right? It’s for myself because I feel beautiful—

My phone vibrates in my dress pocket and I pull it out.

Landon has attached a picture of bags of fertilizer in the cleaned-up gazebo in the middle of the garden.

Devil Lord: Will these satisfy your green-thumb kink?

I smile. He’s been calling me an amateur gardener with an unlikely hobby. Truth is, I always loved tending to the garden back home. Neither Mom nor Dad liked the task, but I take after Aunt Reina—Kill and Gaz’s mother—in that regard.

We each have a beautiful little garden on our bedroom balcony that we often compare notes about. Let’s just say Aunt is winning, so the dead garden at the haunted house is my practice until I can go back to New York and personally greet my plants.

Lan always busies himself with his unfinished statues as soon as he’s cleaned me up and thrown his shirt or hoodie at me. And while I’m thankful for the downtime, he can literally go on sculpting for hours—once, it was over five hours.

So I’ve started bringing my homework, but I finish that in no time. We play chess, but that’s normally a bet on what kink he’s going to indulge in for the day. I usually lose and when I win, it’s only for a harmless bet on his side.

Therefore, I came up with the compromise that I’d plant my flowers and he could watch me from the tall windows of his studio. That way, we can both be productive.

I sit on the edge of the bed and type my reply.

Mia: They’ll do. Have you gotten me the seeds I asked for?

He sends another picture of a bag of seeds.

Devil Lord: At your service, my lady. I am, after all, your favorite gentleman.

Mia: You’re the furthest thing from a gentleman. Don’t be delusional.

Devil Lord: Don’t be ungrateful.