Filthy Gods (American Gods 0.5)(9)

Because that was what he wanted.

“Afraid you won’t be able to keep up? To handle me?”

My pulse jumped and I glared up at him, ignoring his full mouth smirking at me.

Sex wasn’t something that could be learned from books. It had to be an experience and I was sure he had more than me. But I wouldn’t falter. I wouldn’t let him scare me away or make me feel like I wasn’t good enough.

“Stop talking,” I said, lowly, staring up at him through my lashes.

His smirk faded and his jaw muscles flexed.

His fingers spread along my cheek and settled on the edge of my jaw. Slowly, he tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck to him. I visibly swallowed and the longer he stared, the more I knew he could see my pulse jump under my skin. He was dissecting me, slowly, carefully—in a way no man had ever done.

Exposed wasn’t the right word for how I felt.

Naked.

Vulnerable.

To my enemy.

His finger pressed into my jaw and I shifted, clenching my legs together as my center throbbed in need.

His thumb touched the edge of my bottom lip and I watched as his eyes grew dark and hard. “I’ve always loved imagining this smart, elegant mouth wrapped around my cock.”

My spine straightened, even as the trembles took over. I breathed out, hating how heavy my chest felt.

“On your knees,” he whispered, his eyes flicking to mine. When I stayed stiff before him, a challenge burnt in them.

I wanted to snap back, I wanted to curse him, but I couldn’t help the excitement building in my core. Flutters filled my stomach.

Instead of just fury, I felt aroused by his tone, by his commanding voice and touch.

Months ago, hell, hours ago, I would have slapped myself for admitting that.

But before him, trapped in his gaze, I couldn’t deny it.

I had fixated on Nathaniel Radcliffe as my enemy. He became a force that pushed me further, made a powerful energy thrive inside of me to meet him for every challenge.

I’d never thought of him as a… lover.

“You’re a conceited son of a bitch, Nathaniel Radcliffe,” I hissed out as I lowered myself, the skin of my knees meeting the cool marble slabs.

“I know.” He gave me an amiable smile, standing in front of me, his crotch level with my face, hands stuffed into his pockets in a relaxed posture. One I was accustomed to. “A prick. An asshole. But you like that about me.”

I gritted my teeth, meeting his eyes so far above me but shaking under his gaze. I knew he could see down my blouse, see the tops of my breasts heave under my harsh, quick breaths.

“I don’t like anything about you,” I said, wanting to sound cold, but I only sounded breathless.

A corner of his mouth twitched. The beginning of a rare smile. “Yet here you are, on your knees in front of me, for an entirely different reason than last time, Juliette. Didn’t you say it would never happen again?”

My eyes narrowed as I shut my mouth. I couldn’t argue with that.

“People are malleable, sweetheart. Predictable,” he said, his gaze scanning my features. His eyes narrowed as he paused. Like he was searching for something, something he knew I’d willingly give to him. “But you surprise me.”

I stayed perfectly still, but I couldn’t help the little bit of pride filling me. I also doubted it. With every word Nathaniel spoke, he had a hidden agenda, a hidden meaning that only he knew and again, I felt left in the dark as he laughed at me.

“Stand up and lean against the couch. Facing away from me,” he ordered and I frowned but stood. Had he just wanted to see me on my knees again?

Son of a—

I walked to the upholstered white leather couch, too perfect to even touch, and gripped the back of it.

“Bend over, Juliette.” His husky voice echoed in the room. “Experto crede.”

Trust the expert.





My throat grew dry and slowly, I leaned forward. I knew as soon as I did, he would see my ass cheeks and the plain white panties I was wearing. He’d see the wet spot between my legs.

“I don’t have any fancy undergarments,” I said, mortified that he’d see me in plain underwear.

“I don’t care about your clothes, sweetheart; I care about what’s underneath them,” he said, his voice full of confidence that made me even wetter.

He didn’t move for a moment, but I heard him humming to himself.

“You’re wet for me, Juliette, and I haven’t even touched you,” he whispered and I jerked when I felt his pant legs brush against the back of mine. Too close. I groaned, twisting my head to try and catch his expression. “Don’t move.”

I froze, gritting my teeth.

“Did you get aroused by us talking? By kneeling for me?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my thighs wanting to shut and stop the throb between them.

“Juliette,” he whispered. His body shifted closer and I felt a large, warm hand travel from the back of my neck, down the expanse of my back, over my skirt, and to my bare legs. “Answer the question.”

“Yes,” I gasped out.

His palm ran up along my bare leg, fingertips caressing me over my panties for a brief second before he flipped up my skirt. I bit my lip, stopping a moan before it could escape.

“You always wore skirts when you worked at the library. Flimsy, black skirts that danced around your thighs. Such a tease, always such a tease,” he tsked, his voice low and rumbling in his chest as his fingers edged closer to my aching core once more. When they traced along my underwear line, I arched back against him, feeling his large erection against my ass.