God of Wrath: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 3)

At seven p.m. sharp, I’m at the location Jeremy sent me.

I must have some sort of a death wish or a loose screw, because I came here despite the million and one wrong reasons my brain came up with to dissuade me from doing this.

But if I followed logic, I wouldn’t be able to fully live. I wouldn’t be able to come out of my shell and try what I signed up for on that app.

I promised myself that if I had a tinge of the crippling panic attack and nausea that comes with anything related to sex, I’d leave immediately.

On the drive here, I waited for that familiar anxiety, the sweating, and the metaphorical paralysis of my mind.

None of them came.

The only thing that’s been bubbling in my veins is unbounded excitement.

The type that flows through your blood and confiscates your thoughts.

The type that simmers beneath the surface, unable to find refuge anywhere except inward.

From my car, I stare at the property surrounded by barbed wire. It’s not a house, a mansion, or even a building.

It’s more like…a cottage in the middle of a large piece of land. It’s like the one Papa and his friends meet at and brought us along to when we were kids.

Only, this one appears unruly, unkempt, like a gothic cathedral that has been abandoned for years.

The darkness doesn’t do it any favors; shadows extend over the length of the cottage that appears small in the distance.

Large trees appear like demons with horns, and the wild bushes and grass give it an eerie vibe.

If it weren’t for the metal gate, one would think this is an abandoned property.

I search both ways down the road in case this isn’t the place Jeremy sent me to, but the maps app clearly said, ‘You’ve arrived.’ Besides, there’s only unkempt land on either side and across the street.

The road leading here wasn’t as smooth as the rest on the island. Hell, I didn’t know this place existed. It’s far away, secluded, and might as well be unknown. Definitely not somewhere I want to be during the night when predators come out to play.

A haunting screech assaults my ears and I flinch as the gate slowly opens.

I glance to the side again, then I drive through.

By the time I reach the cottage, the gate has closed and I’m trapped inside.

Unless I just drive back out.

No.

I’m simply not allowing those second thoughts to dictate my life anymore.

After a deep inhale, I step out of the car, throw a fleeting glimpse at my surroundings, then shiver at the demon-like trees.

After a thorough inspection of the place, I raise my hand to knock on the old wooden door of the cottage.

Or cathedral. I think this was really a cathedral once upon a time and was renovated to something else.

A creak announces that the door is being opened and I step inside, my legs shaking despite the pep talk I gave myself on the way here.

“Jeremy?” My voice is haunting in the otherworldly silence, interrupted by the occasional haunting owl’s cries in the distance.

My feet come to a stop right past the entrance upon seeing the vintage fireplace.

It’s on the opposite wall, lighting what looks to be an antique living room. Old sofas, a washed-out rug, and wood flooring.

A gust of wind coming from the door disturbs the fire and a slight shudder creeps up my spine.

My gaze strays to the dark stairs on my right. I swear some creatures of the night are lurking up there, waiting for my demise.

Maybe ghosts, too.

“Jeremy, are you there?” My quivering voice has decided it’s going to give away my fear and there’s simply nothing I can do about it.

I take a step forward and stop when the fire dances again and then goes out, turning everything black.

My heart hammers and a chill covers my unsteady limbs. I don’t have to see it, to feel the sudden change of atmosphere.

There’s a presence behind me.

Tall, harsh, and darker than the night.

But before I can move, something cold is placed at my throat.

A knife.

He’s holding a freaking knife to my neck. This isn’t what I signed up for—there was no mention of knives.

“Je—”

“Shh.” His voice has lowered, deepened, and is tugging on a secret part of me. “You don’t say my name.”

I swallow, my throat working against the metal blade.

Right.

We’re anonymous now.

It’s not about us as people, but more about how we’re both tools for pleasure. In this setting, I don’t have to think about repercussions or feel shame for wanting this type of barbarity.

That knowledge fills me with unbounded peace.

I let my body relax and even the freezing weight of the knife doesn’t scare me.

It’s one second in time, a second of silence, of mutual understanding.

But then he’s on me.

His muscular chest pushes into me from behind, firm and unyielding. I don’t have to see it, but I feel his height dwarfing my frame.

He’s tall and intimidating.

Dark and alluring.

He’s every fucked-up fantasy and more.

I crane my head back a little and all the breath is knocked out of my lungs when I’m met by the neon orange mask.

The same mask he wore that first time he chased me.

His dark eyes lack a sliver of light as they rip through the confinement of my flesh and peek into my soul.

It hits me then.

With the mask on, he has free rein to be deranged, with not one human bone in his body.

Not that he isn’t usually, but at least he doesn’t normally hold a knife.

“I’ll give you a head start.” He tilts my head back further using his knife. “You can either run or hide, it’s your choice. But if I find you, I fuck you. You’ll bleed and scream, and beg, but nothing will stop me from claiming you, breaking you, and tearing you apart. Either put an end to it now and leave or agree to my terms and run.”

His knife slides swiftly from my throat, but it’s replaced by the weight of his words.

My heart thunders and the safe word hangs on the tip of my tongue. It’s the responsible thing to do, and I am responsible.

I’m the good girl Cecily.

The mediator.

Daddy’s little girl.

But all of those titles vanish into thin air as I dart past him and run outside.

Superhuman energy buzzes through my veins and flares beneath the surface. I round the cottage, my shoes slapping against the wood and creating a haunting sound.

The noise mixes with the owl’s cries, the night’s silence, and my heart’s thundering beats.

Slow, sure footsteps materialize behind me, spooky.

Thrilling.

I know he’s on my tail. I can feel him, smell his leather and wood scent with my fear.

But I don’t stop.

Don’t look behind me.

I have no clue what I’m doing or where I’m going. The moment I spot the small set of stairs at the back of the cottage, I fly down them but pause when I find a lake.

The surface shines under the moonlight, murky, dark, and frightening. Two boats are tied to a deck and a few branches float in the water.

As I’m studying my new finding, black creatures fly in the night, releasing squeaky voices.

I damn near have a heart attack, thinking they’re actual crows, and then I realize they’re either crows or ravens.

Or bats.

I do a quick calculation of the distance to the forest to the side of me and come to the realization that the boats are way closer.

One problem, though. Where the hell will I go on the lake? Actually, two problems. I don’t even know how to drive one, and that’s only if the engine works.

But if I choose the forest…

I shudder at the thought of what could be lurking in the darkness.

Steps come up behind me and I yelp, then run to the deck. Screw it. How hard can it be to drive a boat?

I’m frantic, my movements unsteady as I fumble with the rope of the newest-looking boat.

My feet shake and I know I’m losing time with each passing second I’m not undoing the knots.

Come on, come on.

Sweat trickles down my temple and glues my hoodie to my back. One of my nails breaks on the rough rope, but instead of focusing on that, I cast a fleeting glance behind me and freeze.

I’m pretty sure I heard him on my heels just now, exerting a minimal amount of effort while I was giving it my all.

So how come there’s no one there?

Another flock of ravens or crows or whatever in the Batman fly into the night and I jerk, then breathe in a choppy rhythm.

My gaze continues studying my surroundings as I keep trying to undo the knots.

A dark shadow flashes beside me and I flinch and start to whirl around, but I don’t get the chance to.

My foot slips and I tumble off the edge of the deck.

Or I think I do.

A strong hand grips me by the wrist and pulls me back, then releases me as fast as it caught me.

I fall on my stomach on the coarse wood and a hard body flattens mine to the surface.

Overpowering, overwhelming, and knocks the breath out of me.

He crushes me with his weight, crowding my space, until only my gasps echo in the gloomy air surrounding us.

The rush of energy from earlier surges through my bones and I flail my legs, trying to kick him, to reach any part of him, but I might as well be hitting a wall.

He grabs my wrists and slams them behind my back as he eases off me. Or more like, his knees fall on either side of me and he straddles my arse.

“Caught you.” His voice, gruff and gravelly, echoes with frightening finality.

I try to wiggle, to set myself free, but it’s impossible. He’s gripping me with utter ease while I’m exerting, panting, and completely at my wit’s end.

He pins my wrists down with an elbow and grabs the waist of my jeans, and then a long slicing sound fills my ears before cold air forms goosebumps on my skin.

The knife.

He cut my jeans and underwear with his knife.

A foreign sensation flares through me.

The thought that the sharp blade could nip at my skin keeps me still as he slashes my hoodie and my bra from behind like he’s cutting through butter.

The cold knife touches my back and I shudder. With my clothes falling off me in shreds, I’m fully exposed to him, his callous touch, and his merciless knife.

If I don’t do something, he might act on whatever murderous thoughts are in his cold-blooded brain.

The need to fight and run pulses through me and I use his loosened hold on my wrists to do so.

He releases me, but the moment I’m crawling away, something tears at my skull.

A tight fist grips my hair and drags me back onto the hard wood. I scream, and it’s heightened by the looming silence.

And yet I don’t stop fighting, flailing, scattering the remaining pieces of my jeans and hoodie.

I’ve never experienced this sort of demented survival mode before. I don’t want to escape, and I already agreed to be his prey by running instead of leaving, so I’m not sure why I’m doing this.

Maybe it’s to draw out the beast inside him, entice him, and turn him into a crazed being.

Jeremy effortlessly pushes me onto my back with his hold on my hair. The breath is knocked out of my lungs when I meet the solid deck.

But it’s not only due to the impact.

I freeze at the shadow hovering over me, chest rising and falling with terrifying calmness. I can make out the bulging of his muscles against the black shirt, the rippling of his ink, and the darkness of his eyes behind the mask.

There’s also the knife in his left hand.

“You look so innocent, but that head of yours is a fucked-up place, Lisichka. My fucked-up place.” He kneels between my legs and slides the blunt side of the blade against my pussy.

I shudder when he lifts it under the moonlight and I watch, entrapped, as it glistens with my arousal.

My rasping breaths start tumbling out of my mouth the longer he forces me to see the sick evidence of my tendencies. A tinge of shame settles at the bottom of my belly despite myself.

I’m lying here fully naked while he’s entirely dressed. And I don’t miss the inequality of the situation and how much power he holds.

“You’re so wet for my cock, so sensitive and horny. You act like a prude, but you’re nothing but a dirty little slut.”

My ears heat and I try to close my legs, but he digs his fingers in the tender flesh and slaps them apart.

He’s on me then, his fingers pinching my nipples, torturing, squeezing. An onslaught of emotion rushes through me as he touches me everywhere—my breasts, my throat, my stomach, my thighs.

I’m trembling beneath him, a leaf with nowhere to fall.

This is the feeling I’ve always yearned for; the abandon of losing control and allowing someone else to do everything.

To take.

And take.

And Jeremy is definitely the type who takes.

He gives me untold pleasure in return. A raw lash of his fingers and knife so that I become a vessel for his depravity.

I’m nothing more than a doll he molds into his plaything and manhandles any way he wishes, and all I can do is take it.

Or I can say the safe word.

Smoke.

But that would mean this whole thing would end.

As if hearing my thoughts, Jeremy lifts his head from the puffy flesh of my nipples and the air grows silent. He pants from beneath his mask, in sync with my heavy breaths.

It’s a silent communication.

An understanding.

I’m the beast and you’re my prey, his eyes tell me.

Don’t let me be a coward or allow me to escape, must be what I’m communicating back.

Still maintaining eye contact, he slides the blunt side of his knife through my folds. A sense of terror takes hold of me, but that slowly subsides when the rhythm becomes pleasurable.

He teases my clit in rough circles until I’m bucking, reaching, arching my back off the deck.

And then, all of a sudden, he pushes off me and unbuttons his jeans.

The moment his hard shaft is freed, I gasp. Yes, I saw it last night, but I was drunk and he didn’t fuck me. I still think it’s too big for sex.

A sense of apprehension rushes through me and I place a hand on his chest, shaking my head.

The neon mask camouflages his expression, but I can see his eyes through the holes, all dark and terrifying.

He’s going to hurt me. I can read it loud and clear.

Jeremy snatches both my wrists and slams them on the wood above my head. “Keep them there and stop touching me.”

My lips tremble and I whisper, “I…need more time.”

I can’t let him take my virginity like an animal, on a deck, in the midst of owls, crows, and ravens.

Something I should’ve thought about when he asked me to run.

Jeremy lifts his mask and throws it away, revealing his sharp, handsome features. I can’t see him clearly due to the lack of light, but the little I do see causes my heart to beat faster and my core clenches tighter.

He slides the knife from my pussy to my hip, up my stomach, and then grazes the tip against my nipple. A droplet of blood gathers on the tight bud, then rolls down the side of my breast that’s firm with arousal.

His hooded gaze watches the path of the blood, and I do, too, transfixed by the weirdly erotic sight.

But then an eruption happens.

His lips fall on me. He darts his tongue out and licks the droplet of blood, chases it and drinks it off my skin, and then bites my nipple. Hard.

Holy. Shit.

A zap of pleasure strikes the base of my stomach and expands to the rest of my body. I’m still not used to the sensation when he yanks my thighs farther apart and thrusts into my pussy.

My insides recoil and I jerk on the rough wood.

Pain explodes where he tears through me and it hurts. It hurts so much that I cry and try to push at him, but that only makes him thrust again. Brutally.

“Please…please.” I dig my nails into his chest, but I might as well be touching an unfeeling wall.

“Shhh. I told you I’ll break this little cunt, didn’t I? You’re taking my cock so well, Lisichka. Mmm. So fucking tight. Your blood is the best lube I’ve ever had.” He drives in again and my limbs shake from the violence of it.

He doesn’t take it easy. He definitely doesn’t let me adjust.

He’s a beast after his own pleasure and I’m just the vessel at his disposal.

No matter how much I sob and beg, he’s not hearing me. A part of me likes this. I like the primal savagery of it all and how harshly he takes me.

I don’t want him to take it easy on me.

I’d never admit this, but a part of me enjoys how he massacres my hymen and uses my blood and arousal as lube.

He drives inside me with harsh strokes, pulling out to the crown, then ramming back in until my back scrapes on the deck.

He does that over and over until I think I’m going to faint.

But something entirely different happens.

In the middle of the savage fucking and methodical thrusts, my belly tightens, my nipples pucker, and my skin heats so suddenly, I think he’s probably killing me with his thing.

“Mmm. Such a good girl. Do you feel your cunt milking my cock?”

My mouth falls open, but only choked gasps escape. My heart thunders as the tightening heightens and the pain morphs into the exact opposite.

Pleasure.

Boundless.

Absolutely insane.

It’s the type of desire that comes from extreme pain. The knowledge that he wants me so much, he’s hurting me.

He wants to hurt me.

He finds pleasure in chasing, manhandling, and fucking me like an animal.

My insides coil and rebel.

I fall into it.

Into being ravaged, taken, taken, and taken.

He craves my softness as much as I yearn for his dominant cruelty.

“You’re addictive. I want to break you.” Thrust. “Own you.” Thrust. “Mark you.”

He accentuates the last statement by biting my throat in the exact spot he did yesterday.

Everything inside me comes crashing down as sharp pain and pleasure overlap and detonate me all at once.

I’m falling and screaming and moaning, and he’s still fucking me.

He’s thrusting inside me like a madman, and then he’s feasting on my neck, biting, sucking, licking. I can feel him stiffening before warmth floods my insides.

And then he lifts his head, chasing crimson red off his lips with his tongue.

My blood.

He’s marked me fully, thoroughly.

It’s painful, it’s erotic.

It’s wrong.

But feels absolutely right.