God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1)(83)

“It’s the only one you’ll get.”

She releases a frustrated sound then remains silent, probably thinking of methods to get what she wants or piss me off. She seems to have a knack for those.

After a while of complete silence, she reaches a hand to my side. It’s hesitant at first before she becomes bolder and slides her fingers over my skin.

“Why did you get ravens as tattoos?”

“They’re crows, not ravens.”

“There’s not much of a difference.”

“On the contrary. Ravens are all about bad omens and ill-fatea terminology I don’t believe in.”

“Don’t crows have the same symbolism?”

“No. Crows are all about death—more spiritual than physical. I got these tattoos after I killed the impulsive, low on self-control, blatantly violent Killian. He was a disgrace to the balanced me from the present.”

“Or he just wanted to be understood.” Her soft murmur echoes in the air, then she purses her lips as if regretting what she said.

My body goes rigid. That’s the first fucking time someone ever said that about my less sophisticated version.

And I don’t know whether or not I should strangle her for it.

I wrap my arms around her middle and lift her up with me as I rise to my feet.

She gasps and automatically holds on to me as I step to the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take care of your pesky soreness before I fuck you again.”





23





GLYNDON





“I expected betrayal from anyone in the world, but not from you, Glyn. Are you really abandoning me?”

My eyes snap open and a guttural noise echoes in the air. It’s my breathing, I realize, as I swallow the drool that’s gathered in my mouth.

I attempt to stand up, but a weight pins me in place.

Killian.

Or more like, his huge body.

I blink the sleep from my eyes at the feel of his bare skin on mine. I’m still on top of his chest, my softness draped over his hardness. I feel so small in his arms, but also…so protected.

I didn’t even think about his monster nature when I fell asleep cocooned by him after the bath.

What started as a cure to my soreness ended up with me fucked at the edge of the bathtub with my arse in the air and my fingers holding on to the wall for dear life. Literally.

Although I came twice, Killian took his sweet time, even more than the first time, and I honestly thought I would pass out from all the stimulation slashing through me.

When he finally finished, he kissed my forehead like some adoring lover and left me to soak in the water, half-dazed, sorer than the first time, but so utterly elated.

Then he left the bathroom and came back to help me rinse, then carried me to the bed whose sheets had been changed.

When I wanted to put on my clothes, he pushed my hand away. “Don’t. I want access to my pussy during the night.”

“Not unless you’re in the mood to drive me to the A&E in the morning.”

He merely chuckled, muttered, “Adorable,” then held me on top of him as if that was the most natural position in the world.

I’m the type who barely sleeps in unknown places. It’s a defense mechanism so that I can flee whenever possible.

So how could I sleep in the devil’s arms?

Though he’s a gorgeous devil with a body of steel. Even as he sleeps, I feel the hardness of his stomach and chest against my breasts and belly and his…dick between my legs. It’s definitely semi-hard and ready for more.

Does he ever get enough?

Actually, no. I don’t want to know the answer to that.

I lift my head to stare at his face. It’s almost as if he’s awake—the same eternal expression, the blankness in it, the hard edges of his features that belong to a model.

His attractive looks have always been a weapon in his games of destruction, so I tried to pay them no mind, but he’s so handsome. So cruelly beautiful. I could stare at him all day.

And I’m beginning to glamorize the bastard.

Which is dangerous.

Reaching behind me, I pull on his hand that’s spread across my back and slowly let it drop to the mattress.

I wait for a second, holding my breath, in case he moves.

When he doesn’t, I plant my palms on either side of his face and lift myself up. His dick slides from between my thighs and a low grunt leaves his lips.

I freeze, expecting to be pinned down by his lethal eyes and massive weight, but he remains in place.

Phew.

God, I could kill him right now. Maybe suffocate him while he sleeps and rid the world of his brand of evil.

But even as I entertain the thought, it’s just not who I am.

With huge discomfort and bursts of pain, I finally manage to stumble out of the bed. It takes me a few tries with lots of panting and internal cursing to put on my clothes—without underwear because I can’t find it.

It’s probably ruined anyway.

After fetching my phone from the floor, I wince at the dozen texts from my friends, then slip it in my bra and pause when I realize I smell like him. Woodsy like his shower gel that he lathered me with, but I also smell of sex.

That I’m beginning to only associate with him.