God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(61)

“Despite all the porn?”

“Despite that. And stop being so judgy. At least porn taught me things.”

“Such as?”

“That it’s different from real life.”

My fingers go back to the gentle rhythm of washing her hair. “How different?”

“Real life is more powerful, more intense, more…overwhelming.” She glares at me. “And it hurts.”

“Pain is a catalyst to pleasure.” I grab the showerhead and start to rinse the shampoo off her hair. “You could’ve stopped it if it got to be too much.”

“Nah.” She leans against my hand, rubbing herself on me like a kitten. “I like the pain, but only if you give me baths like this afterward.”

“Just so you know, I won’t be going easy on you.”

She blinks the water out of her eyes and rolls them. “Never expected you to, sadist.”

A smile twitches my lips.

“Look. You’re even being all happy about it.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “Did you know that you’re the most amicable after you inflict pain? Not sure if I should be glad or freaked out about that tidbit.”

“I vote for the second.”

“My Tchaikovsky. You’re so cutthroat.”

My good humor vanishes. “What the fuck did I say about worshiping that composer?”

Her eyes widen and she slams her fingers against her lips. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“Next time, I’ll put you on my lap.”

“Yes, sir,” she mocks.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t you guys like being called Sir or Master?”

“Not me, and not with you.”

“Good, because I prefer Creigh.” She grins, so widely, so happily, that I want to devour that smile.

And her.

I want to flog her, spank her, bend her on the edge and fuck her over and over until she’s screaming my name.

It takes all my control to get up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

A small hand catches mine, pulling me to a stop.

Her innocent expression fills my vision as she murmurs, “Do you have to go?”

“I can’t just stay and watch you.”

“You totally can.” She splashes the water in the opposite direction with her foot. “You can also join me.”

I revel in the sight of her victorious grin when I turn around. Those inquisitive eyes of hers watch me openly as I slide down my boxers and kick them away.

She studies my every move, and it’s no different than if she were digging her sharp nails and teeth into my flesh.

I’ve never been so proud of my physique as I am in this moment where Annika watches me as if I’m her custom-made god.

My cock hardens at her attention, demanding a second round of fucking her brains out.

I force myself to sit in the lukewarm water opposite her instead.

She stretches her legs so that they rest on my thighs. “I think the tub is too small for the two of us.”

“And you only now thought of that?”

“It just came to my attention.” She slides her foot up, stroking my side with her purple-polished toes.

The skin where she touches me sends an electric shock straight to my cock.

“Stop that unless you want to be fucked raw right here, right now.”

She bites her bottom lip like the little brat she is, but she lowers her foot so it rests on my thigh. “What does the spider tattoo mean?”

“Does it need to have a meaning?”

“No, but it’s unusual for someone to tattoo such a big spider on their skin, so I thought maybe there was a story behind it.”

I let my arms hang over the edges of the bathtub and lean my head back. “More like a tragedy.”

“A tragedy?” Her voice is barely a murmur.

Not sure if it’s because of that or the peaceful atmosphere, but the words tumble out of me with ease I’ve never experienced before. “There was a three-year-old boy whose father was powerful enough that he and his mother were treated differently because they were his family. Though the boy always thought they weren’t really a family. His parents fought daily, cheated on each other, and only acted like the perfect couple in public. But they both loved him, so he was okay with it. One day, he woke up to find his father had died after being caught in a scandal. One that shook their city. The boy and his mother were hounded by reporters, strangers, angry enemies, dissatisfied investors, powerful foes, and police. Lots of fucking police and other burly men. They all kept coming and coming and coming, like sewer rats. They questioned and demanded. They threatened and beat the boy and his mum’s up. They seized almost all their property—his mum included. A three-year-old shouldn’t have remembered it all, but he did. In vivid detail. He remembered hiding under the bed, behind the door, and in the wardrobe. Not only from the men, but also from his mother.”

The drip, drip, drip from the open faucet is the only sound that fills the bathroom.

It clashes against my thoughts, turning them absolutely vile.

When I remain silent, Annika’s low voice echoes around me. “Why did he have to hide from his mother?”

“Because she picked up drinking again and it was better if he didn’t get in her way when she had a bottle of tequila in hand. At first, she’d start crying, then…she’d expel that energy onto the boy. It went on and on until she no longer let him go outside and he was caught in her self-pitying violent circle, where she didn’t feed him, didn’t care for him, and left him to rot. Until she had the urge to beat him up again. The boy thought that his reality would never end, but then a groomed man came to announce that the bank would seize the last thing they had—the house. That night, the mother didn’t drink much. She even hugged the boy and said, ‘Do you miss your dad, sweetie?’ When he nodded, she smiled. ‘Mom misses him, too. It’s so hard without him. What do you say we go to him?’ The boy thought his dad was in heaven. How could they go to someone in heaven? He was sleepy and dizzy, probably because he hadn’t eaten in days. So he closed his eyes and listened to his mother tell him that everything was going to be okay. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a giant spider hanging from the ceiling. Or that’s what he chose to think of the sight as he crawled and fell down, then crawled again until he collapsed. Turns out, the mother planned for them to both die that night, her by hanging, him by gas.”