God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(65)

“Which is?”

“Tiger! How could you not tell me you adopted him? You know how much I love that cat.”

“He was supposed to be your second birthday present.”

I grin. “You can be so sweet when you’re not an asshole.”

He narrows his eyes and I blurt, “I meant, thank you.”

“Kneel in front of the bed, chest on the mattress and legs wide apart.”

That familiar tingle erupts all over my body and ends at my core. I bite the corner of my lip. “Can I get a little break? I’m happy to go again, but I’m sore all over.”

“I won’t fuck you. Don’t be a brat and do as you’re told.”

Every time he tells me not to be a brat, that’s exactly what I want to be. But to prevent any unwanted punishments, I kneel in front of the bed and do as he said.

“Lift the sweatshirt up. Let me see my pussy.”

My fingers tremble as I glide the hem of the hoodie to my middle.

“Mmm. Good girl.” He gives my ass a slap that feels like a reward and I jerk, then suppress a moan.

With my ass in the air, both of my holes are his for the viewing and I have no idea why that’s such a turn-on.

The sound of a drawer opening and closing nearly deafens my ears.

I swallow. “Hey…I didn’t do anything to be punished for. I don’t think? Can we talk about this?”

“Shut up or I will give you a reason to be punished.”

My lips purse together when I feel him behind me. He places something violet on my lips.

“Suck.”

A toy, I realize. No, a butt plug.

My eyes widen and I shake my head.

“You know what this is?”

“Duh. And we are not doing anal.”

“Not yet, but I will eventually claim your arse like I claimed your pussy. Mark my words, you will milk my cock and beg me to decorate your skin with my cum. Now, open.”

My core throbs when it has no business to.

“Violet is not purple, you know. You should’ve at least picked an aesthetic color—”

My words are interrupted when he shoves the plug in my mouth, glides it against my tongue as if it’s his cock, and then wrenches it out.

I’m panting when he kneels behind me and grabs my ass cheek in a hand.

“Relax.”

“Easier said than done,” I mumble, but I try my best not to stiffen.

“Do you trust me?”

“Not all the time.”

A dark chuckle surrounds me like a fucked-up symphony.

“Smart little brat.” He pours something cold over my backside—probably lube—and slides the plug against my back hole.

I tense up no matter how much I convince myself not to.

“Don’t.” He spanks my ass and I yelp. “The more you fight this, the harder it’ll be.”

His fingers stroke my clit in that expert way only he is capable of. I tried to mimic it when I was on my own, but there’s no way I’d be able to touch myself the way Creighton touches me.

My muscles relax as moans slip past my lips. My pussy apparently hasn’t caught on to the fact that I’m sore.

Creighton uses the chance to push the plug in little by little. My heart hammers as I’m filled to the brim.

But I focus on the bursts of pleasure exploding in my core. By the time he shoves the plug all the way in, I’m coming.

My lips part and I let the wave wash over me.

“You’re so sensitive, little purple.” He spanks my ass for good measure. “I love how you’re so attuned to my touch.”

I love it, too. But damn. That was fast.

Please don’t tell me I also need the pain to have strong releases.

Is he corrupting me?

Probably.

Definitely.

Creighton jostles the plug in my ass, making me whimper, then straps something from the plug against my clit.

“You’ll wear this two hours a day.”

“W-what? You expect me to wear this every day?”

“Yes, and I will check.”

“How will you be able to do that?”

“You’ll figure it out.” He pulls me to a standing position and gives me a box, probably for housing his latest torture device. “If you don’t wear it, you’ll be punished.”

I shift and release an erotic sound despite myself. “It feels weird.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Is this another birthday present?”

A beautiful smile stretches his lips. “One of many.”

“Any others I should know about?”

“The cake that Remi butchered.”

I laugh. “Is that what you guys were doing? Baking?”

“Attempting to.”

“Pretty sure I can salvage it.”

“Doubt it.”

“I’ll show you.”

We go downstairs after Creighton demands I put on a pair of his sweatpants that I have to roll several times before tying them against my waist.

I don’t have to salvage the cake since Eli threw it away and Remi ordered one. The five of us sit for breakfast in the midst of Remi’s antics and the others’ sarcasm.

Creighton doesn’t speak much, but he’s attuned to each and every one of them.