God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(23)

And he does get half naked a lot. If I didn’t know he was aloof to a fault, I would swear he’s doing it on purpose.

If it were up to me, I’d kick him out of the shelter so that we can get our peaceful atmosphere back. However, if I do voice that thought, I’ll be stoned to death by the fanatics.

Even Dr. Stephanie appreciates all the helping hands.

I play with Tiger for a bit, exchange some small talk with the other volunteers, and then I get busy list-checking the stock in the storage room.

Since no one usually comes in here, I put my Tchaikovsky on speaker and twirl as I move from one aisle to the other.

My feet tingle and burst with inexplicable energy. I’ve always loved dancing, to the point that Mom had no choice but to teach me and enroll me in ballet classes when I was four years old.

Sometimes, it feels like I’m putting that talent to waste by choosing to go to college. Other times, I remember that I love ballet for ballet, for moments like these where it allows me to purge negative energy. It’s not for stardom or for people to watch me.

Yes, I’m a people person, but not in that sense.

As the music reaches a crescendo, I open my arms and twirl on pointe across the aisle.

Then, in that moment of excitement, I slam into a wall.

No, not a physical wall—a wall of muscle.

The music starts a slow descent, completely at odds with the chaos brewing inside me.

A merciless hand grabs my elbow to stop me from toppling over. I stare up at his ethereally gorgeous face, at the lips that rest in a line, completely devoid of emotion.

He’s a cold god whose only language is disapproval.

A predator whose sole purpose is trapping prey.

That’s currently me.

My breasts are smashed against the hard muscles of his chest. Our bodies have collided in a mesh of strength against softness.

In this position, the difference in size is too great to ignore. I’m so small compared to him that he could easily break and stomp all over me.

Leave me absolutely wrecked.

The skin where his fingers are touching my elbow sparks in a million fires, expanding all the way to my chest.

I’ve always heard about overwhelming tension, the type that lingers like a weight at the back of one’s throat and robs them any semblance of sanity and logical thinking.

But I never imagined it would be this…frightening.

This powerful.

And I need out of his orbit. Now.

I try to pull my elbow free, but it might as well be caught in a trap.

So I force my lips into a smile that probably looks awkward at best. “Oh, hi. I didn’t know you were coming today. You should probably go out and greet the fangirls and fanboy, Harry. They’ve been dejected thinking you wouldn’t be here—”

“Shut up.”

My lips slam shut in an attempt to actually stay quiet. Just two words are enough to stiffen my spine. All the anxiety from tossing and turning and staring at my balcony last night crashes back into me.

“You truly fucked up, Annika.” He pushes me backward with his commanding hold on my elbow. “I told you to give up on the fake boyfriend idea, but you went ahead and provoked me. You. Fucked. Up. You’re lucky I didn’t jump through your window and turn your skin red.”

A gasp echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine as my back hits one of the shelves. Creighton still has my elbow hostage, his body pressed against mine.

I’m sure he can feel my heaving chest and hear my choked breaths that rise over the sound of the music.

This is the first time I’ve witnessed this side of him, and it’s eliciting all sorts of emotions—fear, dread, but also thrill and anticipation.

The type I’ve never experienced before.

“What did I say would happen if you didn’t do as you were told?” His deep voice floats in the air and lands on my constricting chest.

I gulp the saliva that’s gathered in my mouth. For the first time, he’s the talkative one and I’m speechless, grappling for words and finding nothing.

“What the fuck did I say, Annika?”

I flinch at the whip of his commanding words and blurt, “That you would acquaint me with pain.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when he spins me around. A yelp escapes me as he grabs hold of my ponytail and shoves my head against a plastic bag of dog food.

That’s when I realize that I’m bent over, ass in the air, with him right behind me.

Strong fingers lift the skirt of my dress to my waist and a gust of air hits my bottom. Goosebumps erupt on my skin in terrifying succession and my temperature rises until I’m boiling.

“You should’ve listened, little purple. You really shouldn’t have provoked me.” He strokes his hand across my ass cheek and over my lace panties. His touch is sure, dominant, disallowing even an ounce of resistance.

I try to stare back, wanting—no, needing—to see his expression. The grip on my hair tightens, letting me know who’s in complete control here.

“You’ve been wiggling this little arse for weeks and it’s time to discipline it.” His chest covers my back—heavy, hot, and powerful. Then his whisper follows in my ear, “And you.”

“Creigh…” His name comes out like a haunted whisper. “Please.”

I don’t know what I’m begging for. For him to stop? To take this a step further? Test my limits to the point where I won’t be able to come back from this?