God of Pain: A Grumpy Sunshine College Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 2)

The longer I stare into Creighton’s eyes, the more my breathing shatters and splinters into pieces.

Harsh eyes.

Completely-devoid-of-emotions eyes.

I’ve always seen him as detached, with ice in his veins instead of blood, but this is the first time I’ve witnessed it firsthand.

And that iciness? It’s currently seeping underneath my skin and hooking against my darkest part.

“Are we fucking clear, Annika?” The lethal sound of his voice hits my skin like a whip.

I can’t help the slight jump in my shoulders or the dryness in my throat, despite my attempts to stand strong.

Swallowing, I nod slowly.

“You have a voice. Use it.”

Tchaikovsky.

Come have a word with this guy because he has no business sounding so infuriatingly hot when he’s bossy and controlling.

“Yeah,” I murmur and attempt to smile. “Can you let me go now?”

“Quit that fucking habit of smiling when you’re uncomfortable. You’re not a bloody doll.”

How…the hell does he know that?

I’ve perfected my fake smile so well that no one can read through it, so why can he?

The act has become so subconscious that I don’t pay it any attention anymore.

So why does he?

A cloud of disapproval cloaks around him like a second skin as he presses closer, the length of his body crushing against mine. “Tell me, Annika. Why haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts?”

My chest saturates with a carnal urge that even I can’t put a name to, and I have to clear my throat to be able to speak. “You know, it was crazy after the fire, and Jeremy kind of confiscated my freedom.”

“He didn’t confiscate your phone, which you used to talk to everyone else but me just fine.”

Shit.

Considering his nature, I was so sure that he wouldn’t focus on that detail, so I didn’t pay attention to that angle.

Apparently, that was a mistake.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my wrists and the rich timbre of his voice lowers further. “Answer me.”

“Feels bad to be left on Read, doesn’t it?” I deflect, grabbing onto my composure with bloodied fingers.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“What? I didn’t realize you were the only one with Read privileges. I thought I’d try and see how it feels, and it’s safe to say, your reaction kind of sucks. Might keep it up if I’m in the mood. Also, can you speak without touching me?”

He grips me tighter, not only disregarding my last request, but also doing the exact opposite. I’m assaulted by his otherworldly presence, striking warmth, and addictive scent all while trying to remain unaffected.

Chances of actually succeeding? In the negative.

“What are you playing now, little purple?”

My heart and mind war for an appropriate reaction to his words. A part of me wants to pull out of this charade, save everyone the trouble and bury myself in my bubble.

But the other part, the part that falters at the little purple nickname, claws and bangs, demanding to be set free.

“Can you remove the little before purple?”

“You are little.” His fingers flex on my flesh and the air shimmers with his assertive intensity.

“I’m going to be eighteen soon, you know.”

“It’s not about your age.”

“Then…what is it about?”

His eyes shift, growing hot as he rakes them over my face and heaving chest. “You’re so small and breakable that I’m always craving to bite, bruise, mark, and pound the fuck out of your tiny cunt while you cry because you can’t take it anymore.”

I should be a lot of things right now, including horrified, petrified, creeped out, but standing here so shamelessly hot and embarrassingly wet is definitely not one of them.

Damn him and his surprisingly dirty mouth. It’s like I’m getting to know a completely different Creighton.

“I’m asking you for the final time. What are you playing at, Annika?”

“No games,” I murmur. “I’ve just been thinking about your warnings and decided to take them seriously. I won’t bother you anymore. I swear on Tchaikovsky’s grave, cross my heart and hope to die.”

His expression remains the same, short of a slight tic in his jaw. “Too late.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting you go.”

My heartbeat skyrockets and my whole body seems to mold into his hold. “But—”

“Shut up.”

“Shouldn’t you want me gone? That’s what you’ve been campaigning for since we met.”

“Shut the fuck up, Annika.”

My lips purse and I tighten my thighs. This controlling side of him affects me in ways I refuse to admit and rushes to places I refuse to name.

He releases my hands and steps back. My stomach sinks as I consider that maybe he thought things through and decided it’s not worth it, after all.

But Creighton doesn’t leave.

Instead, he shoves a hand in his pocket, and I realize he does that when it seems like he’s stopping himself from doing something.

Like a storm that comes to an abrupt ending.

“Sit on the table.”

My gaze flicks to the only table in the space—my small desk that’s pushed against the wall with a stack of paperwork on top.

“W-why?”

“Quit asking questions. When I say sit on the table, you sit on the fucking table.”

I startle, hating and loving the tightening between my legs. It’s impossible to be in control of my body when he’s around, not when he confiscates and incinerates that control as if it’s his birth right.

After a futile attempt at calming myself, I climb onto the table. Once I’m sitting, he tuts.

“Open your legs as wide as you can. Feet and palms on the table.”

My cheeks heat and I can feel the thudding pulse in my neck. A part of me wants to fight this, but I’m unable to under his scrutinizing gaze, so I lift my legs and get into the position he asked.

My dress pushes back to my middle, revealing my bare thighs and the lace of my panties.

Panties that Creighton sees as soon as he walks in front of me. He remains there, as still as a statue, while I tremble and feel completely out of my element.

I start to close my legs, but a mere stern look from him is enough to make me abort the idea.

Damn it.

Why does he look like a completely different person right now and why am I reacting this strongly to it?

“That’s one.” He pulls the chair from my desk and throws his weight on it, sitting at eye level with my pussy. “Disobey me again, and it’ll be ten.”

This close, I’m drowning in his intoxicating scent while his dark eyes devour what’s between my legs.

“You said you were taking my warnings seriously, no?”

I nod, trying and failing not to focus on the angle he’s seeing me from. This is so intimate, the type of intimacy that leaves my lungs heaving for air.

His hand shoots up between my legs and I gasp when he cups me through my panties, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh.

“So how come you’re soaking wet, little purple?”

My palms turn sweaty as I purse my lips.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” He tugs on my panties so the seam rubs against my folds. “Or is that only saved for spouting lies?”

The friction from the taut fabric on my overstimulated folds is both pleasurable and painful. I’m starting to think maybe those two sensations go hand in hand with Creighton.

“You’re such a cocktease, walking around with your little skirts and lace panties, begging to be disciplined.” His hand comes down on my pussy. Hard. “But you can’t pull out now. That’s not how this works. Do you know why?”

My whole body jerks from the power of his hit, tears spring into my eyes, and more arousal coats my panties and his hand.

His savage eyes meet mine, dripping with carnal, animalistic sadism. “Because I’ve decided you’ll be my toy.”

And then he’s on me.

His veiny hand wraps around my thigh, making it look so small as he dives between my legs. His stubbled jaw scratches my sensitive inner flesh when his teeth nibble on my pussy through my panties, then he all but tears them from my core.

My body trembles, but it goes into a full shock when he thrusts his sharp tongue inside my opening.

I arch off the table, jerking, but his hold brings me back down.

Holy. Hell.

It takes everything in me to not move too much. I try to clench my legs together for some friction. Something, anything, but his ruthless grip on my thigh forbids me to.

My head rolls back as sparks of pleasure spread from my core and across my whole body.

He expertly rolls my clit between his thumb and forefinger at the same insane pace that he tongue-fucks me.

My hips jerk forward and I only realize it once the frantic rhythm of his tongue nearly unravels me. I lift my hands to grab onto his hair and I basically ride his face as stars dance across my vision.

A powerful orgasm washes over me.

It’s more desperate this time, so absolutely unhinged in its strength that I’m surprised I don’t pass out.

My lids lower, camouflaged by my lashes as I attempt to muffle my shameless moans.

Creighton’s head peeks from between my legs and he slaps my pussy so ruthlessly that I yelp.

Pleasure mixes with pain and I have no clue if the tears clinging to my eyes are due to the former or the latter.

“Did I say that you could remove your hand from the table?”

I shake my head and he glares.

“No,” I murmur as my sweaty palm falls back on the table.

“And what did I say your punishment would be?”

“Oh.”

“Oh isn’t an answer.”

“Ten.”

Frightening excitement covers his features at the promise of punishing me. He gets off on the knowledge that he’ll inflict pain, that my flesh will bear a map of his making.

“Start counting.” His hand comes down on my pussy again and I flinch, gasping.

The pain of his slaps mounts with each one, offering a minimal amount of pleasure, enough to make me want to come yet not enough to allow me to.

He’s savage, absolutely merciless, in the delivery of his punishment. He doesn’t stop when I yelp, scream, or sob.

Especially not when I sob.

My tears deepen that sadistic glint in his eyes, the need for more, more, and so much…more.

A beast.

That’s what he is right now with his sharp features, set jaw, and thinned lips.

And control.

He drips with it. Every time my legs falter or fall, he straightens them back up so that I’m in the right position.

So I’m at his disposal to do with as he wishes.

By the time he’s finished, I’m crying my eyes out. My pussy feels like it’s on fire, even as arousal coats my inner thighs.

Creighton pushes off his chair and towers over me. My legs are still bent, my whole body shakes, and tears cover my cheeks. However, I don’t dare to wipe them in case that’ll get me in more trouble.

I’m still not sure how this works, but I know that despite the pain and the discomfort, I’m drawn to it in inexplicable ways.

His hand reaches to my face, colder than my heated cheek, bigger and…safe.

He strokes his thumb beneath my lids, gliding the tears over my skin as I sniffle silently.

Pure sadism shines in his ocean eyes, seeming to eradicate any noble feelings he could have. “I love the sight of your tears.”

My breath catches as a shudder rips through me. “That…sounds sick.”

“I am sick. You should’ve stayed away while you had the chance.”

He slides his thumb all over my face again, the darkness shifting, morphing, and simmering on the surface.

I watch it with keen interest.

Just like the other time, it seems that whenever he punishes me, something inside him claws to the surface.

Fighting.

Biting.

Hitting.

It’s like he’s…warring for control. But against whom? And for what?

As if validating my thoughts, he shoves his hand in his pocket and steps back.

He’s leaving.

Again.

I can’t help feeling the tinge of emptiness at the dysfunctionality of it all.

But I won’t have him throw me away like this. I wanted the way out he offered, but he didn’t let me take it.

The least he can do is treat me like I matter.

I let my legs fall and swing from the table. “Will I find an ointment for a sore pussy in my mailbox this time?”

He stops a few steps away from the door and spins around, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Don’t be a jerk. I’m not a sex doll that you use and discard.”

“No, you’re not. I haven’t fucked you yet.”

My neck and cheeks heat, but I carry on, “Either give me the respect I deserve or let me go.”

“I told you it’s too late to let you go.”

“The answer is simple then.”

He raises a brow.

“I mean it, Creighton. If you think I’m bluffing, try me. I’ll go fake date Brandon. Just make sure you don’t regret it afterward, because there’s a trope in romance novels that’s called fake dating and it always becomes the real thing.”

His brows dip and his eyes taper as his cold voice rings in the air. “There will be no dating Brandon, fake or not.”

“Then give me what I want.”

“And what do you want, little purple?”

I hop from the table and, dammit, I totally overestimated my abilities, because my pussy throbs like crazy.

Creighton must see the change on my face, too, because his darkened gaze slides to my now covered pussy before his eyes finally meet mine.

Waiting.

Intimidating.

I step toward him. “Take me on a date and I’ll tell you what I want.”

“I don’t do dates.”

My face must look monstrous with all the tears, but I still flip my hair. “In that case, I guess you’ll have to start.”

Then I brush past him with my head held high.