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

Ihad every intention of letting Cecily go.

Yes, I told Ilya to continue keeping an eye on her, just in case some motherfucker thought it was a good idea to bother her.

And yes, maybe I took over his task most of the time and did a marvelous job at covering my tracks, so she didn’t realize I was basically breathing down her neck.

But the fact remains, I did think I could let her go. Not permanently. Temporarily.

Until the demons disappeared and I was more in control of myself around her. I thought that if I kept my distance, didn’t touch her, and wasn’t so caught up in her pussy and body and her face when she sleeps, I would have more balance.

I’d be in control again.

Every single one of those thoughts scattered in the air the moment Mia texted me about her findings.

I was carefully planning how to make Cecily tell me where my sister is, but when I heard Landon was in the picture, I lost all that strategic thinking.

When I saw him grabbing her cheek, the same cheek that should only belong to me, and lowering his head to kiss her, malicious intent grabbed hold of me. I had this urge to slice his throat and bathe in his blood right in front of her so she’d be reminded that no other fucker is allowed to touch her.

Looks like I gave her too much space, and she’s starting to get ideas in her head. Now, it’s my mission to erase those ideas.

I stop in front of the cottage and Cecily hastily hops off the bike. She’s tried to fight at the beginning, but as soon as I revved the engine and drove down the road, she held on to me as if her life depended on it.

And it did.

I might have driven faster than usual. One, it’s imperative to get here as soon as possible. Two, I needed more of the warmth that radiated off her body when she was glued to me.

It’s been a long time since I last touched her, had her softness molded all around me, and smelled the water lilies on her skin.

I was a grouchy, unapproachable fucker for the past month, and even I could tell the reason was thoroughly due to her absence from my life.

Though I do stalk her, as she likes to call it, that’s not enough.

Nothing is enough when it comes to Cecily fucking Knight.

She studies her surroundings, the vast lawns, and the pitch-black night as if it’s the first time she’s been here.

Her skin has turned pale and her lips are slightly parted, accentuating the subtle teardrop in the upper one.

She crosses her arms, subconsciously pushing her round perky tits forward. And it’s a cruel reminder that I haven’t grabbed on, sucked, or marked those tits in a very long time.

Just like my life, this place has been hollow without her. So much so that I’ve only dropped by twice. The memory of her within the cottage’s walls and all over the property haunted the fuck out of me.

After Cecily carefully inspects her surroundings, her eyes meet mine. Under the night sky, they’re dark yet glittery. While they appear to be full of life, the fact is, like their owner, they’re fighting to stay afloat. “Why are we here?”

I revel in the sound of her voice, in the gentle undertone that matches the breeze enveloping us. I try not to be affected by that, her presence, or the fact that she looks no different from a meal waiting to be devoured.

But my cock has other ideas.

He’s developed singular tastes and has metaphorically tattooed her name all over his limited consciousness.

He’s been twitching, stirring, demanding to be inside her since I touched her earlier at the shelter.

Cecily watches me carefully, like injured prey caught in a trap.

She realizes that her only way out is through the hunter—me. Only, I have no mercy to offer, and I certainly haven’t brought her here just to let her leave.

I advance toward her, and she takes two steps back. She stumbles on the stairs leading to the patio, but then she grabs the railings and continues her climb up.

“Jeremy…don’t…”

“Don’t what?” I continue the cat-and-mouse game, enjoying the show of her futile attempts to escape. “And are you sure you want to speak breathily like that? Sounded like an invitation.”

Her steps quicken, but she doesn’t turn around and run, no. She knows better than to turn her back to me, because there will be no stopping me. That would be the actual invitation.

But I don’t want to play a game right now. I have something more pressing in mind.

Cecily gasps when she crashes against the door. Her fingers latch onto the knob, frantically trying to turn it. The moment she does, I pounce on her.

My arm wraps around her waist, effectively binding her to me. As usual, she takes that as an opportunity to fight me. Her petite form thrashes against my larger one, hitting, slapping, scratching, clawing.

I still manage to carry her inside and to the sofa. Her face, neck, and ears have turned a deep shade of red.

“Let me go!” There’s desperation in her voice, and it’s not only due to our usual play. “Leave me alone, Jeremy.”

“No.”

It’s one word, a single word, but it’s enough to relay my decision concerning her.

There’s no way I’ll ever let Cecily go. No matter what she does, no matter what my demons say. No matter how the fuck it goes from then on.

I’ll simply abduct her, keep her, and make her a part of me so that she’s unable to leave.

Shiny moisture lines her eyes as she pushes at my arm. “Please, Jeremy. Just let me be.”

“Save the begging for something more lucrative, because this,” I tighten my hold around her waist, “will never change. You are mine, Cecily. Start acting like it.”

And then I sink my fingers into her silver hair, my thumb digging into her cheek, and I claim her lips.

I kiss her with unbounded hunger. I kiss her as I’ve never kissed anyone before. Before her, any physical intimacy with the opposite sex was merely to satiate a need.

With Cecily, she is the need. It’s not about fucking, owning, or release.

It’s about her and her intoxicating scent. It’s about how she melts in my arms when I kiss her.

I probe, she falls.

I tug on her lips, she whimpers.

I ravage her tongue, and she’s all pliant against me, her hand trembling on my chest, and her body becoming one with mine.

My mouth devours hers for all the time I couldn’t. For all the time she was out of reach because I was a rigid dick who only ever sees the world in black and white.

Cecily is neither. She’s the gray. She’s the colors. She’s every rainbow I never thought to stop and watch.

I kiss her because this is the only way I can show her how much different she is for me and how much her absence affected me.

The moment I wrench my lips from hers, she releases a sound, a whine, a disappointment, or something in between.

Her skin has turned redder, and she’s looking at me as if she can’t understand me.

But she wants to.

Curiosity lingers in her big green eyes, in their depths, in that tinge of innocence and otherworldly fierceness that makes her Cecily.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Raw pain bleeds from her words. “Why do you keep playing with my feelings? I’m trying to get over you. Why don’t you let me?”

“You’re not allowed to get over me, Lisichka.”

Her lips tremble. “Don’t call me that when you already let me go.”

“I didn’t.”

And then my lips find hers again. This time, I push her against the sofa, she falls onto her back with a gasp, and I follow right after.

Slowly but surely, her arms wrap around my neck, fingers splaying on the small hairs on my nape, touching, exploring.

Torturing.

Christ. This woman can turn me into a raging beast with a mere touch.

My fingers latch onto her jeans and push them down as far as possible.

It’s impossible to keep myself in check when Cecily is in my arms. When I’m tugging on her lips and tasting her sweet abandonment on my tongue.

I release her mouth so that I can remove the rest of her clothes and mine. She stares at my muscles, tattoos, and cock as her chest rises and falls harshly.

Deep down, I love how she’s attracted to me as much as I am to her. How she observes every slope of my body with a deranged hunger that mirrors mine.

No.

My need for her is much worse because I can’t resist the need to sink my teeth into her translucent skin and draw blood.

Mark her.

Own her.

So no other fucker, especially Landon, will be able to come near her.

I touch her everywhere, pinching and biting her sensitive nipples, the creamy skin of her breasts, neck, stomach, and even her clit.

The moment I suck on her clit, she comes against my mouth. She gasps, shakes, and drenches my face with the distinctive scent of her arousal.

The sight and feel of her pleasure makes me unhinged. Slipping a hand behind her waist, I pull her up so we’re sitting flesh-to-flesh, and her skyrocketing heartbeat thunders against my heightening one.

Her perky nipples brush against my chest and she whimpers, the sound stroking my libido in more ways than one.

My eyes never leave hers as I lift her up and then shove her down on my hard cock. Her head tips back in a moan, and her arms wrap around my neck.

Fuck. She feels so good.

Better than good. She feels custom-made for me. Her pussy tightens around me, strangling me, and she becomes so small and docile in my arms.

Usually, I’d up the rhythm, make her bounce on my cock and scream as I cut her with my knife. She’d cry and beg me to stop because it’s too much as she shatters around me.

Not today.

I rotate my hips slowly but firmly. I allow her to adjust before I drive into her with a deep, moderate rhythm, letting her feel every stroke. Every up and down of her pussy around my cock. Every molecule of our joined bodies.

Her moans become throatier, her whimpers deeper, and her hips naturally fall into rhythm with mine.

The slap of flesh against flesh echoes in the air as I hold her by the waist to control the thrusts.

I’m not gentle. I go so deep that her eyes water and roll back.

But I am taking it slow, moving at a pace I’ve never tried.

“Oh, God, I…” she breathes out. “I can’t take this.”

“You’ve taken worse than this. You can handle me, Lisichka.”

Her neck reddens as she stares at me again, using my face as an anchor while she grabs onto me.

“It feels new…”

Up.

Down.

“You feel different.”

“How different?” I release one of her hips and grab her throat.

“I don’t know. It’s…just different.”

“Bad different?”

A gasp falls out of her plump lips. “No… Good different.”

My thumb ghosts near her mouth, and she swallows it into her wet warmth, sucking, kissing, and licking it as if it were my cock.

I grow harder inside her and nearly come right then and there.

“You can have different, but only with me.” I up my rhythm and her nipples tighten further against my chest. “You won’t let anyone else touch you or I swear to fuck, it’ll be the last time they touch anything.”

A moan rips from her, and she grabs onto me harder, her cunt clenching around me in faster intervals.

“I love how you take my cock and the way you look when you’re being fucked by me. Your skin turns red, your lips part, and you try to match my rhythm. But do you know what I love the most?”

She shakes her head, breathing shallow as she chases her peak.

“How you look when you come apart while saying my name.” I lift her up and then slam her back down on my cock.

A violent shiver rattles her as she spasms and clenches.

“Say my name, Cecily.”

She purses her lips, even as she chases the orgasm and holds on to me. Even as she’s hugging and squeezing me.

“Say my fucking name.”

She continues to gasp, but she doesn’t open her mouth and, instead, stares at me in pure defiance.

Just when she’s riding out her orgasm, I pull out of her, push her back against the sofa, and come all over her breasts.

A look of disappointment covers her face. She would never admit this, but Cecily loves it when I paint her pussy with my cum. And she loves it even more when I thrust it inside her, not allowing a drop to escape.

But she provoked me just now, so I did the same.

We’re both breathing harshly. Me, because I want to strangle the fuck out of her. Her, because of fuck knows what.

I grab her by the hair, wrenching her toward me. “Do you think a fucking rebellion will keep you safe from me, Cecily? You think I won’t purge it out of you?”

She doesn’t cower. If anything, her gaze becomes more defiant. “You’re using me for the wrong reasons. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Wrong reasons?”

“You think of me as property, don’t you? Someone you can own, control, and whose life you can dictate. Well, I think of you as a dick that somehow knows how to fuck me.”

This little…

I take a deep breath to stop myself from acting on my murderous thoughts.

“I do own you, Cecily. Every last fucking inch of you. Whether you get used to that or don’t. Whether you have a rebellion or not, the fact remains you’re a whore for my cock. You’re a whore for me.”

Her lips tremble, becoming a shade paler, and I don’t want to look at her. Not now, when she’s fighting demons that I’m part of.

That she already decided I’m part of.

I release her as gently as possible under the circumstances and stalk to the bathroom to clean up.

When I come back with a wet towel, she’s still on her back, legs splayed, thighs glistening with our release, her tits and stomach painted with my cum.

Instant erection.

Fuck.

Cecily doesn’t protest as I clean her. The whole time, her expression remains blank, and she acts as if she’s not interested in my touch as I flip her like a doll.

The involuntary shivers and pleased noises she makes now and again give her away, though.

However, she doesn’t look at me. Not when I start the fire, not when I pass her a bottle of water, and not when I bring us a blanket.

She thinks it’s for her and starts to take it, but I grab her by the arm and tug her toward me so that we’re both beneath it.

In her attempts to pull away, I get her closer to me so her naked body is snuggled into the crook of mine.

I can feel her stiffening, and I lift her chin to stare at her eyes. She frowns, and they’re filled with confusion, so that means she isn’t zoning out. She’s safe.

Reluctantly, I release her and watch the fire.

“What was that for?” she whispers in the silence. “Why did you look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you were searching for…a ghost.”

A log crackles as it’s eaten by the flames and I offer her a small truth. “Maybe I was.”

She relaxes further into my hold, and I revel in the feeling of her lowering her resistance a little.

“Does it have to do with when I zone out?”

I nod.

“Do you know a lot of people like me?”

“Only one.” I remain silent as she stares at me with her inquisitive eyes, but I don’t look at her. I can’t. Not right now. “My mom.”

“What happened to her?” Her voice is softer than the silence, even as it disturbs it, stabs it, and refuses to leave its wound alone.

“What makes you think something happened?”

“Something always happens in these situations. People deal with trauma differently. Some internalize it, others express it, but the fact remains that the scars will always be there.”

“So you admit to having scars.”

“I never denied that I do.”

“You just hid them, then?”

A long breath heaves out of her. “I did in the past. Now, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Mum always told me that once I embrace my scars, I’ll feel more comfortable in my skin. I want to be comfortable in my skin more than anything. I want to stop my head from tormenting me with the past.”

A shiver goes through her and she snuggles closer to me, as if I’m her safety. I’m anything but fucking safety, but I want to be a haven for her right now.

“Anyway.” She clears her throat. “Your mum must’ve gone through certain circumstances to get to that point.”

“When I was young, she often struggled mentally. Sometimes, she’d be the best mother alive—teach me things, dance with me, play with me, dress me up, and even teach me things. Other times, she’d become a ghost. It wasn’t temporary, it didn’t last a few minutes or hours. It went on for days on end. She’d look at me and see straight through me. I’d call her and she wouldn’t hear me. She’d speak, but no words would come out. It was like she was trapped in a space I couldn’t reach.”

Cecily shifts closer, and the friction of her skin against mine makes me feel a deep sense of revolt. Not against her, but myself for never being able to forget those snippets of my childhood, even though it was a long time ago.

“Did she get better?” Cecily asks with easy compassion. Not pity.

“Eventually. I haven’t seen the ghost since she was pregnant with Annika. That was nineteen years ago. Isn’t it weird that I still have these vivid images of those times?”

“It’s not weird. In fact, it’s perfectly normal. You were what? Five? Six? You were a child, and any child exposed to that type of imagery would develop a strong reaction that would be reinforced the more they grow up. Our perception of the past depends greatly on our state of mind during that certain event. Any type of trauma can alter not only our memories but also our perspectives and personalities.”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” I smile down at her. “It’s a turn-on.”

She pushes at my chest playfully and shakes her head. “Everything is a turn-on according to your logic.”

“Only when it comes to you. Not my fault you’re the sexiest person alive.”

Red creeps up her face and she rubs the side of her nose before she clears her throat. “Point is, it’s not your fault you feel that way about what happened during your childhood. But it’s not your mother’s fault either.”

“How is it not her fault?” I slowly close my eyes and take a moment before I open them again. “She gave birth to a child she couldn’t care for.”

“That’s not true. You said she took care of you after learning how to cope with her mental health issues. Anni always said that your mum is the best and she sees her as a caring, affectionate figure, which means those episodes never happened with her. To say mental struggles are her fault is no different than victim blaming. I understand your issues, and the feelings of abandonment you must’ve had, but you also need to understand that she would’ve stopped it if she could. That, deep down, she was fighting her demons to be able to go back to you, and she eventually succeeded. That’s the part you should celebrate, because it takes a lot of willpower, energy, and strength to fight one’s demons.”

I stare at Cecily silently as if I’m looking at an extraterrestrial being.

I’ve always hidden that slight animosity for my mom from the whole world. Hell, I even hid it from myself sometimes because I was disgusted that I would be holding such emotions against her.

No matter what, I shouldn’t feel this conflicted about the woman who gave me life, but I do. I’ve sometimes thought of her as a ghost and had this idea that I wasn’t wanted.

Like Annika, I care for my mother, and I’ve never been able to imagine my life without her. However, I also haven’t been able erase that ghost version of her, no matter how much I’ve tried.

And yet, Cecily has managed to open my eyes to a different perspective. To the fact that maybe Mom wasn’t too far gone back then. That maybe she tried to fight for me, after all. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to speak about the first six years of my life and barely keeps any pictures from that time.

God-fucking-dammit.

Now I feel like the worst asshole to ever exist.

This woman is shuffling my cards into a mess and I wouldn’t stop it even if I could.

I lift her chin and kiss her, softly this time, with enough passion that she melts against me. Kisses me back. Fuses her body with mine.

For a moment, I forget that I must ask her about my sister’s whereabouts. But I’ll get to that later.

Because right now, I want to thank her in the only way I know how.