God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(59)

Bright, dazzling, full-of-purple-and-violet life.

And my pitch-blackness has no business tarnishing that light, slowly but surely devouring it.

Once I’m done with her, there will be nothing left for others to pick up.

She’ll be too hollow. Too…lifeless.

The most logical choice is to let her go. I should’ve done that the first time I touched her. Preferably before. Because one taste is what started it all.

One taste is what tipped everything over the edge.

And yet, I fail to even contemplate the option where she’s out of my life.

She came in like a wrecking ball and now there’s a hole where the impact happened.

There’ll be a day when I’ll have to let her go. She’s so beautiful and I’m destined to destroy anything of beauty.

But that day isn’t today.

After turning on the faucet and letting water fill the tub, I grab a towel, wet it, and head back to the bedroom.

Annika passed out a while ago and is currently sleeping on her side, a slight crease furrowing her brow.

I push away the sheet that’s covering her middle and she winces, probably due to the welts.

My cock strains against my boxers at the view of the angry red marks blotching her pale skin on her neck, tits, and her hard pink nipples.

I flick one nipple and she moans, burying her face in the pillow.

Only Annika would find this extreme pleasure in pain. She says she doesn’t like it, but on the contrary, her body has become attuned to it.

The more I inflict pain, the harder she breaks apart.

She’s a natural masochist. She just didn’t know it.

Sitting on the mattress, I pull her legs apart and pause at the view of dried blood between her inner thighs.

She was a virgin.

A fucking virgin.

I should’ve suspected it, considering her sheltered upbringing, but on the other hand, she’s resourceful and cunning enough to have had sex if she’d wanted to.

Maybe she didn’t want to.

I reach a hand down to readjust my hard-on at the view of my cum that’s mixed with her blood. Then I proceed to wipe it off with steady, unhurried fingers.

Low moans spill from her and it takes me more time than needed to clean her pink cunt.

I stall on and on, engraving this visual of her in the deepest, darkest corners of my memory.

Once I’m done, I throw down the towel, then open my side drawer and fetch a tube of ointment. I’ve never done any type of play at home, but I planned to bring Annika here all along—though not this soon—which is why I bought everything necessary.

From the ropes to the toys and finishing up with the ointment.

I slide it over the welts, my fingers lingering a bit too long on each angry mark.

My marks.

My bruises.

I marked her, so she’s mine.

A sense of raging possessiveness grabs me in a chokehold as I inspect the map of welts I left. Or when I recall how she screamed and sobbed, then came apart while she took them.

Annika whimpers while I tend to her, but she shows no sign of waking up as she hides further in her pillow.

After finishing with the ointment, I carry her in my arms bridal style. Her head lolls and drops onto my chest, hair in disarray, lips parted, mascara running down her cheeks, but there’s still no hint of consciousness.

The scent of violets mixes with the smell of sex and me, choking me and sending a redo signal to my half-erect cock.

Too soon.

If I follow that instinct, I’ll just break her this time, and I don’t want that. As much I get off on hurting her, I don’t want to drive her to the point of no return.

I carry her to the bathroom, check the temperature of the water, and then I slowly lower her into it until her tits are partially covered.

If it were up to me, I’d keep her like this, with my dried cum between her legs and my scent on her skin.

But I’m not willing to sacrifice her discomfort for that.

If I expected her to wake up at the contact with the water, she doesn’t. Her head angles to the side, letting her hair cascade down her shoulders and into the tub.

“Annika.” I lift her chin. “Come on, wake up, little purple.”

“Mmm.”

Her tiny sounds of pleasure and her whines nearly have me coming in my boxers. Fuck. I feel her everywhere, in my bloodstream, on my flesh, and down to that forbidden nook in my heart.

I nudge her again, but an unintelligible sound is all I get. So I lean over and whisper in her ear, “What type of date do you want to go on next?”

That gets her attention, because her bright blue-gray eyes slowly open and she stares at the opposite wall, dumbfounded, almost without concentration. Then she focuses on her body that’s entirely hidden by the water.

Her expressive blue-gray gaze slides to me and some of the confusion automatically withers away.

It’s as if she…trusts me.

Big fucking mistake.

A sheep can never put its faith in the wolf. No matter what type of nice mask it wears.

Her fingers touch her neck, latching onto the necklace around her pale throat that I put there when she was asleep, and then she gathers the pendant in her palm, eyes growing in size.

“What is this…?” Her voice is a little bit hoarse, a little bit raw.

She’s effortlessly the most erotic thing I’ve ever encountered.