Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)(16)

Because of me.

All my anger transformed and I surged forward, catching his mouth in a brutal kiss.

He didn’t stop me, only wrapped a hand around my neck and jerked me forward, his erection hard and hot through his dress pants.

His other hand gripped my ass cheek, forcing my leg to wrap around his hip.

He shoved me into the shelves and let go of my neck, struggling to undo his pant zipper. When I heard the sound of it, I sighed in relief and then groaned when his blunt head edged into my pulsing core.

With one stroke, he was deep inside of me.

“Fuck,” he breathed out slowly, eyes closed. “I was inside you just hours ago, yet it feels like an eternity has gone by.” His eyes snapped open, lust and need and anger swirling in their depth. “Tell me you’re mine, Juliette. Tell me who owns this pussy for the summer.”

When I refused to answer, he ceased all movements and I fought a frustrated moan. My hand shot between us to press down on my clit. His gaze seemed to darken as it lowered to my hand. His lips parted, teeth sinking into the plump flesh of his bottom lip.

If the bastard didn’t give me what I want, I’d damn well take it myself.

“Tell me, Juliette,” he repeated on a grunt. Eyes glued to my filthy hand circling my clit with intent. When my fingers brushed the base of his cock, I pretended it was an accident and smirked at the low hiss he let out.

“I’m yours,” I said, because my hand wasn’t enough. I needed him to move and I needed him to do it now. I brought my hand to his parted lips, brushing the tips to his bottom lip, spreading my taste there. Branding him. Branding his mouth as mine and mine alone. “And you’re mine.”

His only answer was to withdraw completely until the head of his cock flirted with my entrance. Then, he slammed back in with a powerful thrust that had us both clench our jaws painfully to silence our moans.

We fought for our release and he continued to kiss every part of me he could reach.

I was so close, so close to the edge, and then someone knocked at the door.

“Juliette?”

Mandy’s voice.

My heart froze, but Nathaniel didn’t stop. His fingers bit into my jaw as he forced me to look away from the door and back at him.

The door knob jiggled.

“Juliette?”

“Fuck,” I groaned when Nathaniel’s strokes grew fast and hard, his thumb finding my clit and rolling his thumb along it.

Mandy knocked again, but I couldn’t hear her. Not when my own breathing grew vicious and fast.

I leaned forward and bit into Nathaniel’s shoulder as the orgasm overcame me.

Nathaniel hissed and jolted against me, thrust deep. His warmth erupted inside of me and we both wilted against each other.

“Why the fuck is this locked?” Mandy groaned from the other side of the door.

I swore under my breath and let go of Nathaniel, fixing my skirt.

I heard the key turning and quickly opened it, slipping through and shutting it behind me.

Mandy’s brow lifted in shock and then it lowered. “What are you doing?”

I swallowed, trying to catch my breath. “Just cleaning the room up. It was a mess.”

Mandy pressed her mouth into a thin line. “I heard you talking to someone.”

Panic seized me. “I was talking to myself.”

Mandy gave me a look and my cheeks burnt. But I’d live with it. If she found out who was behind the door, who had just come inside of me, she would hate me.

“Okay… Well. I’m going to go for a lunch break. I’ll see you later,” she said and turned, glancing back at me once.

My shoulders sagged and I turned around, stepping back into the room.

Nathaniel stood there, pants still unbuttoned.

“We can’t keep sneaking around,” I said, pressing a hand to my forehead. “Someone’s going to catch us. And you won’t get in trouble, but I will. This job is important to me.”

He stared back at me, his head slightly tilted as if examining an animal that fascinated him more than scared him.

“I have a place that no one would interrupt us,” he said, moving closer. “A place for just you and I.”





A month had passed since Nathaniel and I made our deal. We met usually after eleven PM. In the mornings when I went for a jog, Nathaniel would meet me, early before the sun rose. I raced him, trying to outdo him, but he only chuckled breathlessly at me and stretched out his toned legs farther. The new place he had found us was a cottage being renovated on the estate, a private house for couples or families that wanted more privacy and wanted a hefty price for it. A white brick cottage like the others, ivy growing up its structure and dangling at the dark wood roof. It was off the path, hidden by willow trees and raspberry bushes, allowing Nathaniel and I the privacy we required.

Barely any furniture existed in the house besides the iron frame bed and a few pillows he’d brought here from his own suite. It was a blank canvas.

In here, I could cry out without fear of being heard and Nathaniel came undone, grunting as he found pleasure between my thighs.

Sometimes, we spent hours debating, wrapped in sheets.

Tonight, in the dark cottage, I lay beside him, glaring at the bastard.

“You think the Romanovs deserved to die?” I cocked a brow at him.

He huffed, his dark head resting on his arm behind him. “In the case of Tsar, yes. He was weak. He had no form of leadership and was destroying the Russian’s economy.”