God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(27)

By the time I’m done, I think I’ll either cry or come again.

After changing into comfy pajamas, I grab my phone and lie on the bed on my stomach with my legs in the air.

I check my notifications, reply to Mom’s daily text and to a few others, then I open my Instagram.

After sending a few likes and typing some comments, I click on Remi’s profile.

Since Creighton is completely, absolutely, and irrevocably against having any sort of social media, Remi’s account is the closest thing to getting updates on him.

Considering Remi’s religious nature about posting updates, I’m sure there’ll be something there…

Sure enough, he shares a selfie where he’s in the middle of three guys. Two of them are the twins, Landon and Brandon. One is smirking, the other is smiling. The fourth is the mysterious Eli King, Creighton’s oldest brother and the reason Ava gets defensive whenever his name is mentioned.

In the background, Creighton sleeps while sitting on a chair.

I pinch the picture to zoom in on him. How can someone look criminally gorgeous even when he’s sleeping? I’ve always found Creighton hot, but that has long since bypassed the superficial beauty and reached new depths.

Dangerous depths.

He’s wearing the same clothes from earlier and since the picture was posted ten minutes ago, that means he got home.

Ava told me the five of them live in the mansion that’s dedicated to the Elites. They throw parties, too, or more like Remi does, but neither Ava, Cecily, nor Glyn ever wants to go there.

Not even when I told them I was curious about what their mansion looked like.

Seriously, they’re okay with tagging along with me to go to The King’s U, but when it’s their own club, they’re suddenly not interested.

I release the picture to read Remi’s caption.

Rare as fuck picture of these fuckers together. Thank me later, fangirls. Also, we’re so going to paint Creigh’s face with a permanent marker. Think he’ll look good with a mustache?

Smiling, I like the picture and comment.

annika-volkov: I’m sure he will. Share pictures.

It’s only fair after the map of handprints he left on my ass then went to sleep as if nothing had happened. How dare he?

Remi replies to my comment immediately.

lord-remington-astor: Your wish is my command, my lady. Stay tuned.

I smile and go back to scrolling through my IG feed, then switch to TikTok. I’m about to post one of my drafts when a text appears at the top of my screen.

My heart skips a beat at his name and I’m seriously wondering if this is even a logical reaction anymore?

The text is a photo of Remi. Sulking. Wearing an ugly mustache drawn with a marker.

Creighton: I heard you wanted pictures.

Annika: I didn’t suggest it, he did, and I only played along.

Creighton: Don’t play along next time.

Annika: Or what?

My heart beats in my ears as I type the words.

Creighton: Your arse knows the exact answer to that. Don’t be a brat.

Well, damn.

He has no right to sound so hot when telling me not to be a brat. I can even imagine his lowered tone if he were to say the words.

In an attempt to ease the ache that’s blossomed between my thighs, I slide onto the bed and retrieve the ointment, then take a picture and send it over.

Annika: Do you give these to everyone you spank?

Creighton: Only the brats.

My chest aches and I refuse to honor the feeling crawling inside me with a name. Or even my attention.

And no, I’m not going to think about how many women have experienced what I did. That what I consider an awakening of sorts is a normal occurrence for him.

I’m simply not going there.

Annika: I thought the whole purpose of punishment was me feeling pain.

Creighton: It is. But I don’t want it to bruise. Not for long, at least. That way, I can mark it again.

Annika: That started swoony and turned creepy real fast. Oh, and by the way, I’m better. Still sore as hell, but I’ll survive. Thanks for asking.

Creighton: Watch it.

Annika: So I’m just supposed to take it and shut up?

Creighton: Preferably.

Annika: Well, that’s not me.

Creighton: Don’t I know it.

Annika: And you’re okay with it?

Creighton: I’m not.

My chest aches again, that familiar pain becoming more potent than the one on my ass.

Annika: But you still insist on pursuing me.

Creighton: I wouldn’t call it pursuing.

Annika: Then what is it?

Creighton: I’m punishing you, little purple, and I’m getting off on every moment of putting my mark on your translucent skin.

I rub my foot again on my leg. Somehow, the throbbing between my legs has gotten worse and my ass feels like it’s on fire.

He’s a true sadist, isn’t he?

Then why am I not more scared? Hell, the least I can do is stop being intrigued.

Creighton: Is that smart mouth of yours finally speechless?

Annika: Not in this lifetime. I was just thinking.

Creighton: About?

Annika: One: Why do you call me little purple?

Creighton: Aren’t you obsessed with that color?

Annika: But you aren’t.

Creighton: In my mind, you are the personification of that color.