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

I have always thrived on control.

Not only is it safe, but it’s also the only way I can express myself.

As a result, I’ve been too meticulous about it, too disciplined, too careful not to allow any chinks in my armor.

There hasn’t been a day where I’ve given rein to petty, irrational emotions or even entertained them.

There hasn’t been a day where I’ve let anyone close enough so they’d have the ability to peek inside me.

Peel my exterior open.

Smash my discipline to bits.

That is, until this fireball of a girl barged into my life uninvited, planted herself where no one has tread before, and has been detonating me from the inside out ever since.

Despite the streak of submissiveness that shone in her blue eyes, I chose to pay her no mind and ignored her as if she didn’t exist.

She’s too young, too different, too…full of life.

That’s what Annika’s image in my mind is. Life.

Bright, dazzling, full-of-purple-and-violet life.

And my pitch-blackness has no business tarnishing that light, slowly but surely devouring it.

Once I’m done with her, there will be nothing left for others to pick up.

She’ll be too hollow. Too…lifeless.

The most logical choice is to let her go. I should’ve done that the first time I touched her. Preferably before. Because one taste is what started it all.

One taste is what tipped everything over the edge.

And yet, I fail to even contemplate the option where she’s out of my life.

She came in like a wrecking ball and now there’s a hole where the impact happened.

There’ll be a day when I’ll have to let her go. She’s so beautiful and I’m destined to destroy anything of beauty.

But that day isn’t today.

After turning on the faucet and letting water fill the tub, I grab a towel, wet it, and head back to the bedroom.

Annika passed out a while ago and is currently sleeping on her side, a slight crease furrowing her brow.

I push away the sheet that’s covering her middle and she winces, probably due to the welts.

My cock strains against my boxers at the view of the angry red marks blotching her pale skin on her neck, tits, and her hard pink nipples.

I flick one nipple and she moans, burying her face in the pillow.

Only Annika would find this extreme pleasure in pain. She says she doesn’t like it, but on the contrary, her body has become attuned to it.

The more I inflict pain, the harder she breaks apart.

She’s a natural masochist. She just didn’t know it.

Sitting on the mattress, I pull her legs apart and pause at the view of dried blood between her inner thighs.

She was a virgin.

A fucking virgin.

I should’ve suspected it, considering her sheltered upbringing, but on the other hand, she’s resourceful and cunning enough to have had sex if she’d wanted to.

Maybe she didn’t want to.

I reach a hand down to readjust my hard-on at the view of my cum that’s mixed with her blood. Then I proceed to wipe it off with steady, unhurried fingers.

Low moans spill from her and it takes me more time than needed to clean her pink cunt.

I stall on and on, engraving this visual of her in the deepest, darkest corners of my memory.

Once I’m done, I throw down the towel, then open my side drawer and fetch a tube of ointment. I’ve never done any type of play at home, but I planned to bring Annika here all along—though not this soon—which is why I bought everything necessary.

From the ropes to the toys and finishing up with the ointment.

I slide it over the welts, my fingers lingering a bit too long on each angry mark.

My marks.

My bruises.

I marked her, so she’s mine.

A sense of raging possessiveness grabs me in a chokehold as I inspect the map of welts I left. Or when I recall how she screamed and sobbed, then came apart while she took them.

Annika whimpers while I tend to her, but she shows no sign of waking up as she hides further in her pillow.

After finishing with the ointment, I carry her in my arms bridal style. Her head lolls and drops onto my chest, hair in disarray, lips parted, mascara running down her cheeks, but there’s still no hint of consciousness.

The scent of violets mixes with the smell of sex and me, choking me and sending a redo signal to my half-erect cock.

Too soon.

If I follow that instinct, I’ll just break her this time, and I don’t want that. As much I get off on hurting her, I don’t want to drive her to the point of no return.

I carry her to the bathroom, check the temperature of the water, and then I slowly lower her into it until her tits are partially covered.

If it were up to me, I’d keep her like this, with my dried cum between her legs and my scent on her skin.

But I’m not willing to sacrifice her discomfort for that.

If I expected her to wake up at the contact with the water, she doesn’t. Her head angles to the side, letting her hair cascade down her shoulders and into the tub.

“Annika.” I lift her chin. “Come on, wake up, little purple.”

“Mmm.”

Her tiny sounds of pleasure and her whines nearly have me coming in my boxers. Fuck. I feel her everywhere, in my bloodstream, on my flesh, and down to that forbidden nook in my heart.

I nudge her again, but an unintelligible sound is all I get. So I lean over and whisper in her ear, “What type of date do you want to go on next?”

That gets her attention, because her bright blue-gray eyes slowly open and she stares at the opposite wall, dumbfounded, almost without concentration. Then she focuses on her body that’s entirely hidden by the water.

Her expressive blue-gray gaze slides to me and some of the confusion automatically withers away.

It’s as if she…trusts me.

Big fucking mistake.

A sheep can never put its faith in the wolf. No matter what type of nice mask it wears.

Her fingers touch her neck, latching onto the necklace around her pale throat that I put there when she was asleep, and then she gathers the pendant in her palm, eyes growing in size.

“What is this…?” Her voice is a little bit hoarse, a little bit raw.

She’s effortlessly the most erotic thing I’ve ever encountered.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s not only due to her body that’s made to be fucked and marked and tied up.

“Your birthday present. That’s the closest thing to purple I could find.”

“It’s a diamond.”

“So?”

“It’s a pink-purple diamond. This is like so rare and expensive.”

“Nothing’s too rare when I ask my father for help. And thankfully, I’m rich.”

She smiles softly, her fingers raking over the jewel. “This is so beautiful. I’ll treat it like a treasure.”

My breathing eases as she examines the necklace with awe. It makes all the effort I went through, having this specifically made for her, worth it.

After a full minute of admiration, she focuses on her body. “Wait. Did you run me a bath?”

“Obviously.”

“But why?”

“Aren’t you sore?”

She winces, then her lips push forward in a soft pout.

Adorable.

“Do you even have to ask? You kind of broke me with your monster cock. Literally and figuratively.” She wiggles her toes beneath the water and sighs. “This is nice.”

I retrieve my bottle of shampoo, sit on the edge of the tub, then lather her hair. “Monster cock?”

“Mmm.” She leans into my hold, eyes closing. “Have you seen it lately? It belongs in porn.”

My fingers thread in her hair and I tug it until her head clashes against my stomach. “You watch porn?”

Her eyes shoot open. “Everyone watches porn.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t need to, considering your very singular tastes. Why watch fake scenarios when you can reenact them in real life? Check your privilege, not all of us could experience sex so young.”

“One of these days, I’m going to fuck the sassiness out that mouth of yours.”

“You’re being impossible. Porn is normal, and it’s not like I watch it all the time.”

“What type of porn do you watch?”

Awkward laughter spills from her. “I thought you weren’t a porn person. How did you know there are categories?”

I tug harder on her hair. “Answer the question, Annika.”

“A little bit of everything. And, as I said, I only do it like maybe once a month.”

“What terms do you search when you first open a porn site? When you’re horny and your little pussy is throbbing, what do you look for?”

Her lips part and it takes everything in me not to stuff them with my fingers or my cock.

“Rough,” she whispers, averting her gaze from me. “Hardcore. Amateur. I don’t like the…uh, fake moans and orgasms, and I prefer seeing how it looks in real life.”

“Don’t watch it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like it when you look at other men’s dicks.”

“Don’t worry. Yours is much more brutal.”

“I mean it.”

“I can’t believe you’re being jealous of porn. You don’t see me throwing a fit about all your submissives.”

“You can.”

She releases a sigh. “I won’t. That would just be embarrassing. And, by the way, you didn’t use a condom. I’m on birth control, so it’s all good, but I don’t want to catch anything your previous sex partners gave you.”

“If they did, you already have it.”

Annika pales to a deep shade of white and I laugh. “I was kidding.”

Her lips part and she watches me closely, as if engraving every detail of my face to memory before she swallows. “Since when do you do that?”

“Since you.”

“You also laughed.”

“I only laugh around you.” I stroke my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. “On a serious note, I’m clean. Not only do I always use a condom, but I haven’t had penetrative sex in months.”

“Why not?”

“Inflicting pain is usually enough stimulation.”

“But not with me?”

“Not with you.” I had to fuck her, own her, put my mark on her so no one dares to come close.

She nibbles on the corner of her lip. “If you’ve always used a condom, why didn’t you with me?”

“I forgot, and when I remembered, you were soaking my cock with your blood. There was no way in fuck I would give up that feeling.”

“You…don’t have to be so detailed.”

“You’re the one who asked. Now, tell me…” I caress the long strands of her hair, pulling it to my face and being slightly disappointed that it smells like my shampoo and not her violet. “Why were you a virgin?”

She wiggles her toes in the water again. “It’s kind of hard to lose it when I was surrounded by an overprotective family. But even when I had the opportunity, I didn’t want to have sex in the back of a car or in a dark corner at a party where it’d just be underwhelming. This might sound clichéd, but I wanted it to be special.”

“Was it special?”

“It was way more than that.” She glances at me. “Definitely not what I expected.”

“Despite all the porn?”

“Despite that. And stop being so judgy. At least porn taught me things.”

“Such as?”

“That it’s different from real life.”

My fingers go back to the gentle rhythm of washing her hair. “How different?”

“Real life is more powerful, more intense, more…overwhelming.” She glares at me. “And it hurts.”

“Pain is a catalyst to pleasure.” I grab the showerhead and start to rinse the shampoo off her hair. “You could’ve stopped it if it got to be too much.”

“Nah.” She leans against my hand, rubbing herself on me like a kitten. “I like the pain, but only if you give me baths like this afterward.”

“Just so you know, I won’t be going easy on you.”

She blinks the water out of her eyes and rolls them. “Never expected you to, sadist.”

A smile twitches my lips.

“Look. You’re even being all happy about it.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “Did you know that you’re the most amicable after you inflict pain? Not sure if I should be glad or freaked out about that tidbit.”

“I vote for the second.”

“My Tchaikovsky. You’re so cutthroat.”

My good humor vanishes. “What the fuck did I say about worshiping that composer?”

Her eyes widen and she slams her fingers against her lips. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“Next time, I’ll put you on my lap.”

“Yes, sir,” she mocks.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t you guys like being called Sir or Master?”

“Not me, and not with you.”

“Good, because I prefer Creigh.” She grins, so widely, so happily, that I want to devour that smile.

And her.

I want to flog her, spank her, bend her on the edge and fuck her over and over until she’s screaming my name.

It takes all my control to get up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

A small hand catches mine, pulling me to a stop.

Her innocent expression fills my vision as she murmurs, “Do you have to go?”

“I can’t just stay and watch you.”

“You totally can.” She splashes the water in the opposite direction with her foot. “You can also join me.”

I revel in the sight of her victorious grin when I turn around. Those inquisitive eyes of hers watch me openly as I slide down my boxers and kick them away.

She studies my every move, and it’s no different than if she were digging her sharp nails and teeth into my flesh.

I’ve never been so proud of my physique as I am in this moment where Annika watches me as if I’m her custom-made god.

My cock hardens at her attention, demanding a second round of fucking her brains out.

I force myself to sit in the lukewarm water opposite her instead.

She stretches her legs so that they rest on my thighs. “I think the tub is too small for the two of us.”

“And you only now thought of that?”

“It just came to my attention.” She slides her foot up, stroking my side with her purple-polished toes.

The skin where she touches me sends an electric shock straight to my cock.

“Stop that unless you want to be fucked raw right here, right now.”

She bites her bottom lip like the little brat she is, but she lowers her foot so it rests on my thigh. “What does the spider tattoo mean?”

“Does it need to have a meaning?”

“No, but it’s unusual for someone to tattoo such a big spider on their skin, so I thought maybe there was a story behind it.”

I let my arms hang over the edges of the bathtub and lean my head back. “More like a tragedy.”

“A tragedy?” Her voice is barely a murmur.

Not sure if it’s because of that or the peaceful atmosphere, but the words tumble out of me with ease I’ve never experienced before. “There was a three-year-old boy whose father was powerful enough that he and his mother were treated differently because they were his family. Though the boy always thought they weren’t really a family. His parents fought daily, cheated on each other, and only acted like the perfect couple in public. But they both loved him, so he was okay with it. One day, he woke up to find his father had died after being caught in a scandal. One that shook their city. The boy and his mother were hounded by reporters, strangers, angry enemies, dissatisfied investors, powerful foes, and police. Lots of fucking police and other burly men. They all kept coming and coming and coming, like sewer rats. They questioned and demanded. They threatened and beat the boy and his mum’s up. They seized almost all their property—his mum included. A three-year-old shouldn’t have remembered it all, but he did. In vivid detail. He remembered hiding under the bed, behind the door, and in the wardrobe. Not only from the men, but also from his mother.”

The drip, drip, drip from the open faucet is the only sound that fills the bathroom.

It clashes against my thoughts, turning them absolutely vile.

When I remain silent, Annika’s low voice echoes around me. “Why did he have to hide from his mother?”

“Because she picked up drinking again and it was better if he didn’t get in her way when she had a bottle of tequila in hand. At first, she’d start crying, then…she’d expel that energy onto the boy. It went on and on until she no longer let him go outside and he was caught in her self-pitying violent circle, where she didn’t feed him, didn’t care for him, and left him to rot. Until she had the urge to beat him up again. The boy thought that his reality would never end, but then a groomed man came to announce that the bank would seize the last thing they had—the house. That night, the mother didn’t drink much. She even hugged the boy and said, ‘Do you miss your dad, sweetie?’ When he nodded, she smiled. ‘Mom misses him, too. It’s so hard without him. What do you say we go to him?’ The boy thought his dad was in heaven. How could they go to someone in heaven? He was sleepy and dizzy, probably because he hadn’t eaten in days. So he closed his eyes and listened to his mother tell him that everything was going to be okay. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a giant spider hanging from the ceiling. Or that’s what he chose to think of the sight as he crawled and fell down, then crawled again until he collapsed. Turns out, the mother planned for them to both die that night, her by hanging, him by gas.”

A splash of water echoes around me before a small figure presses into me.

I stare down to find Annika lying against my chest. Her trembling fingers stroke my clenched jaw and two streaks of tears stain her beautiful face.

My muscles slowly relax and I wipe her cheeks with my thumbs. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I want to reach out and hug that boy, but I can’t.” She wraps her arms around my waist in a tight, warm embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

My fingers fist in her hair and I wrench her face away. “That boy is dead, along with those scum who called themselves parents. A completely different person resurrected from his ashes and the only parents I have are called Aiden and Elsa King. So why the fuck are you sorry? Did I not say not to pity me?”

“I’m not.” Her lips quiver and she doesn’t attempt to fight my grip on her hair. “I just want to share your pain.”

“There’s nothing to share. That chapter has ended.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” I release her hair. “And get out.”

She’s the reason I dug into a part of me I like to keep buried deep, with no one ever having a chance to uncover it.

Annika fucking Volkov just had to stuff her nose where it doesn’t belong.

She meets my eyes. “If you keep pushing me away, you won’t have anyone left.”

“I can live with that.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“Annika.” I grind my jaw. “Either leave or I fuck you. Sore or not.”

She doesn’t make a move or even hesitate, her eyes never leaving mine.

“You should’ve run while I was being nice, little purple.” I pull her by the waist. “Sit on my cock. This will be a long fucking night.”

Then I fuck her, bite her, mark her, and make her completely regret ever choosing me.

Getting under my skin.

Being the person I didn’t know I needed.