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

“Hey, slow down…”

I practically jog to keep up with Creighton’s wide strides. We fly past the gaping students who are probably as shocked as I am by his actions.

Or maybe it’s because he’s half naked, his honed muscles on display and only shorts hang low on his hips.

Even though I’ve never come to watch any of his fights before, it’s a known fact that Creighton King is a reigning champion. His detachment is his power and the reason he won last year’s championship and has won every match since.

So to have him lose his cool at the end of the fight must have looked like some sort of blasphemy.

His grip on my wrist forbids me from entertaining the thought of fighting. All I can do is keep up—or try to. When I remove my sunglasses to see better, they fall to the ground, but he doesn’t let me pick them up.

We walk on and on, flashing past students and locals, and then we’re going down the empty streets and past closed shops. I attempt to talk in a soothing tone, to tell him to slow down, but he’s not hearing me.

He’s a beast with the sole purpose of sweeping me off my feet.

The night air seeps into my bones and I’m thankful I wore a hoodie, not only does it keep me warm, but it also allows me much-needed anonymity.

“I’m fine with being kidnapped and all, but can you please walk slower?” I try to joke. “It’s impossible to keep going at this pace.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, eyes dark and tension rippling through his frame. “Shut up.”

My words die in my throat. I guess that means he’s angry. No, maybe it’s a step beyond that.

But why are these destructive emotions directed at me? It’s not like I did anything wrong.

To prevent unknowingly worsening my case, I bite my tongue and let him drag me to God knows where.

After what seems like forever, we arrive at the beach. People usually go to where there’s sand so they can enjoy the water and the view.

Definitely not Creighton.

He leads me to a rocky area where the pointy parts look like savage animal fangs.

I struggle to get free. “No, nope. I’m not going there.”

He pulls on my hand and I plant my feet on the ground. “I said I’m not going there. Weird things live on those rocks, waiting for their next victim. Who knows what type of animal would jump at me in the dark?”

“The only animal you need to worry about is me.”

My lips part and he uses my moment of bewilderment to tug on my wrist, bringing me along with him to the top of a huge rock.

I carefully watch my surroundings. It’s dark around here, the sky is cloudy, and only a distant streetlight offers a break in the night.

The waves crash against the shore with a ferociousness that causes a shudder to trickle down my spine.

Creighton flings me forward so that I’m standing with my back to the water and he’s towering over me.

He appears monstrous in the dark, a piece cut from the night and custom-made to inflict punishment.

He’s dangerous violence wrapped in beautiful skin. Dry blood sticks to his hairline, the corner of his lip is cut, and a bruise decorates his cheekbone.

I’m still studying him when he presses against me in a single motion, his hungry gaze stripping me bare and his intensity rippling with every intake of oxygen.

My foot slips and I yelp as I grab onto his taut arm. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“I should be the one to ask you that.”

“Me?”

He says nothing, continuing to glare at me, probably figuring out how he’ll lay me on his lap and spank me.

I shiver at the image but ignore the throb between my legs. “If you don’t tell me what you think I did wrong, I won’t be able to figure it out. As much as I would love to mind read, I, unfortunately, don’t have that superpower.”

“One.”

“Oh, come on. You’re just being spiteful and unfair right now.”

“Two.”

“Creighton!” Anger bubbles in my veins, but I know that if I continue to be guided by that emotion, I’ll only be digging myself into a hole.

Especially with the way he’s watching me as if he’s at the point of explosion.

So I smooth my tone, stepping closer to him, my voice softening. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Stay away from Eli.”

My brows crease. “Isn’t he your brother?”

“Doesn’t mean you get to be close with him.”

“Why not?”

“Stop asking questions and do as you’re told.”

This is one of the times when I’d usually shoot out a barely thought-out reply and get myself in trouble. But I force myself to remain calm. In the few weeks I’ve spent in Creighton’s company, I’ve come to the realization that he doesn’t deal with human emotions like the rest of us do.

He’s not soulless like, say, Killian, Nikolai, or even Jeremy. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He just chooses not to. It’s a conscious decision he must’ve made a long time ago.

Which means that he does have feelings, imperfections, and secrets—that I’ve been trying to unravel.

And to do that, I can’t be guided by emotions. Not only does he not react well to them, but the more I escalate, the deeper he escapes into his sadistic mind.

So the only way to bust down his sturdy walls is to willingly open my own and show him the vulnerable part of me.

“You know I’m on your side, right?”

His grip softens on my wrist. “You are?”

“Sure as hell. I’m your number one fan and currently sabotaging all the other fangirls and fanboys, namely Harry, so they’ll stop thirsting after you. I’ll bribe him with luxurious skincare products and let you know how it works.”

His lips twitch and that’s the nearest thing to a smile he offers, so I snatch it, lock in the corner of my heart with his name all over it, and press my body even closer. “Point is, since I’m on your side, I kind of need you to trust me, put your faith in me and tell me things. I swear to Tchaikovsky’s grave that I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Is that so?”

“Totally.”

“Okay.”

“R-really? Okay?”

“Yeah. In return, you’ll stop bringing up Tchaikovsky.”

I pause. “But why?”

“I don’t like it when you admire other men.”

“But he’s dead. He’s been dead for over a century.”

“Don’t care.”

I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “Are you perhaps…jealous of a dead old man?”

“Guess that means you’re not interested in this trade.” He releases me and goes to sit on a nearby rock.

I follow after and pull the hood of my sweatshirt away from my hair, letting it fly in the wind. I spend a few minutes observing my surroundings, searching for a creepy animal. When I see nothing suspicious, I wipe the ugly, dirty surface and I settle beside him. “Fine, fine. No more Tchaikovsky.”

Except in my head.

He gives me an approving glance, then focuses back on the ocean, remaining as silent as the night.

But his lack of words never undermine his imposing presence. He’s prone to turning into a lethal weapon if he chooses. No, it’s not a choice. He has destructive energy that needs a breathing outlet. He’s like the rock he’s sitting on, unmovable and solid. But the waves still slam against its hard surface, trying on and on to eventually reach its core with the sheer power of their persistence.

It’s me. I’m waves. Waves is me.

I bump my shoulder against his. “This is where you keep your part of the deal.”

“You need to learn some patience.”

“Totally have been doing that since you dragged me out of the club like a caveman.”

His head tilts in my direction. “A caveman, huh?”

“Hello? Did you see the expression on your face?”

His gaze gets lost in the violent water again. “I always have this inexplicable need to protect you.”

“I can shoot a gun better than a pro, you know. Papa trained me from the time I was little, after a lunatic tried to kidnap me, so I have a perfect shooting score and never miss. And Jeremy often tells me to carry a gun. Point is, I can protect myself and kick some ass. Well, shoot some ass, but semantics. Besides, I wasn’t in a dangerous situation at the club.”

“I don’t like it when others touch what’s mine. Especially Eli.”

My heart jolts at that word. Mine. He said it earlier at the club, but I was more concerned with being kidnapped in front of all those onlookers whom Creighton was paying no attention to.

“Why especially Eli?”

“He’s an anarchist. The type who has no purpose other than to watch the world being flipped upside down. If he puts you in his sights, you’re done for.”

Oh. “I think he was just offended that you never mentioned him to me.”

“He’s clingy like that.”

“Eli? Clingy?”

“Yeah, he won’t leave me alone and it isn’t due to lack of effort on my part.”

“From what I’ve seen on his IG, he’s only like that with you. Otherwise, he’s more like Kill, absolutely detached while giving the exact opposite image.”

“And how do you know that?”

“We’re mutuals.”

“Mutuals?”

“Oh, right. I forgot you don’t do social media. Being mutuals means we follow each other.”

“You follow him?”

“Why not? The point of social media is to follow people.”

He narrows his eyes. “Unfollow him.”

“No.”

“Annika.” The sound of my name in his deep, rough voice is nothing short of a command.

“Stop being a tyrant. Besides, I’m following Remi, Bran, and even Landon. Not to mention Nikolai, Gareth, and Killian. Do I have to unfollow them, too?”

“Preferably.”

“Might as well tell me to delete my socials.”

“Preferably.”

I snort. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re so out there that it pisses me the fuck off.” In a flash, his fingers squeeze my jaw.

I can see the darkness creeping into his features. The air shifts with his earnest stare, and his not-so-subtle plan of laying me on his lap and extracting his punishments from my skin.

But we’re not done talking.

“You can always start your own social media and stalk me,” I suggest. “That way you’ll know everyone I’m interacting with.”

“Not in this lifetime.” His thumb strokes my chin, back and forth, with heightening intensity.

“Worth a try.” I pull the sleeve of my hoodie over my hand and wipe at the dry blood. “Why do you fight?”

“I have too much excess energy that I can only purge through inflicting violence and pain.”

A craving.

An impulse.

Part of who he is.

But why is he the way he is?

Instead of asking that, I go for, “What happens if you don’t purge it?”

“Nothing good comes from pent-up pressure.” His lips thin in a line. “If you’re considering options to change who I am, save it.”

“I don’t want to change you.” I want to understand you.

The last words get stuck in my throat before I can relay them and I stroke my finger over the cut on his lip. “Does it hurt?”

He makes an affirmative noise, his eyes getting lost in mine as his thumb continues the maddening back and forth on my chin.

Back and forth.

“Really?” I start to pull my hand away.

Creighton grabs it and places it back on his face. “You can continue.”

I grin. “Are you sure it hurts or do you just want me to touch you?”

“The second.”

“Wow. You’ve come a long way from when you refused to let me touch you.”

“I don’t like giving up control,” he admits in a low voice that gets carried by the wind.

“It’s in good hands with me.”

“Doubt it.”

“Why?”

“You’re a brat.”

“I can be good, too.” An idea springs to mind and I perk up. “What if I prove it?”

“Prove what?”

“That you can give up control for me and I’ll treat it well.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Trust me.” I drop to my knees between his legs.

The harsh surface of the rock hurts my skin, but I don’t pay attention to that and, instead, focus on my mission.

In the semi-darkness, Creighton shares the aura of a warlord, half naked, bloody, and fresh out of a battle.

Not to mention that we’re in a public place where anyone can walk by. Yes, we’re hidden from the main street, but someone could wander back here.

The old Annika would be freaked out, but I couldn’t care less.

Not when Creighton is here.

My fingers latch onto the elastic of his shorts, a bit shaky, but not to the point of being a fumbling mess.

At first, he lets me pull at the material, but then his hard voice vibrates in the air. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Bringing you pleasure.” It takes me a few moments to free his cock.

I pause as my small hand barely contains his girth.

What the…

I’ve never seen a cock in real life, aside from some unsolicited dick pics. Or some porn—don’t judge, I was curious.

But I knew those porn stars’ dicks didn’t reflect reality.

However, Creighton is totally porn-star level. Both in girth and length. Now, I’m having second thoughts about my earlier plans.

His index and middle finger slip beneath my jaw, lifting it, trapping me in the darkness of his eyes. “You going to wrap these lips around my cock and let me choke your pretty throat with my cum, little purple?”

Holy shit.

My heart jacks up in speed. He’s supposed to be silent, so how come he has the best dirty talk?

“Have you deep-throated another cock before, Annika? Have you let another prick fuck your mouth and turn your lips all swollen?”

My thighs clench together.

Seriously, he needs to stop talking like this. My actions are supposed to be about him, but I’m the one who’s getting shamelessly wet.

“Answer the question.”

“No, it’s…my first.” Like it’s his first.

I know because once, we played ‘never have I ever’ with everyone else, and he admitted to never having his dick sucked. A fact that made Remi throw a dramatic fit.

Ever since then, I think I’ve secretly fantasized about being the first girl to give him a blowjob.

Especially now that I realize he’s probably never allowed himself to receive oral because it takes away his control.

But he’s not stopping me now.

If anything, he’s watching me with fiery eyes and a lust-filled expression.

The fingers that were beneath my jaw push against my lips. “Open.”

I do, and he glides his middle and ring fingers all the way inside. He pushes them against my tongue, smears them with my saliva over and over.

I start to gag, spluttering around them.

“Breathe. If you can’t handle my fingers, how will you take my cock?”

I use his eyes as an anchor as I inhale through my nose. Slowly, the pressure eases and I lick his fingers. A low humming sound falls from his lips as he wraps his other hand around mine that’s on his cock.

Then he uses my grip to slide it up and down his length in a twisting motion, making me jerk him off. “Don’t just lick. Be a good girl, and use your tongue between my fingers.”

I do tentative thrusts between his fingers and quicken my rhythm. The more he releases pleasure sounds, the harder I go. My head turns dizzy from the overstimulation, and my thighs become so wet that I wish I could reach a hand down to touch myself.

Creighton pulls his fingers from between my lips and from around my hand. “Put my cock in your mouth.”

My lips wrap around his length, his authoritativeness adding heat and tension to the act. But my mouth is so small that I struggle. And he enjoys that, judging by the light sparkling in his ocean blue eyes.

I do as he taught me with his fingers, though they don’t compare to his monster cock. I breathe deeply, trying not to gag, and I lick the sides over and over.

He groans and my pulse picks up. Is it normal that I’m soaking my panties at the thought of his arousal?

That I want to deepen that look in his eyes, to trap it, and make sure I’m the only one he gives it to?

Creighton slides his fingers in my hair, fists it and wraps it around his hand, then stands.

I stare up at him as his other hand strokes my face with a sinister edge. “So beautiful and innocent, my little purple. So…breakable.”

My body goes rigid, but I still try to lick, to prove that I can give him pleasure the same as he can give me.

“I’m going to fuck your face until you choke on my cock. This might hurt.”

He thrusts his length all the way in and I gag, for real this time. I’m not ready for the onslaught of his power, for the way he’s using me like I’m a fuckable hole.

Tears sting my eyes and I’m not sure if it’s because of that realization, the suffocation, or the wetness smearing my thighs.

He uses his merciless hold on my hair as he thrusts in and out of my mouth. I choke and splutter, tears, drool, and precum trickling down my chin.

The erotic sound of his in-and-out mixes with the violent waves and crashes against my rib cage.

Creighton can’t feel pleasure without inflicting pain, so the more I gag and cry, the deeper he groans.

The harder he goes.

The more twisted he becomes.

This is so screwed up, but I must be as deviant as he is, because the further he takes it, the more brutal he gets, and the wetter I become.

He goes on and on, each of his thrusts like a direct stimulation to my starved core. Then when I think I’ll come from being deep-throated, a salty taste explodes all over my tongue.

Creighton pulls out and stuffs his fingers into my mouth, authority dripping from his every move. “Swallow.”

I have no choice but to do so. He gathers the cum that streams down my chin and thrusts it between my lips, forcing me to lick every drop.

When he finishes, he lifts me up by the hair and slams my body against his as he kisses me.

No, he devours me.

He licks every last bit of cum off my lips, my tongue, and then some. He ravages me, eats me, detonates me from the inside out.

I try to kiss him back, but he’s like a beast. There’s no way I could match his intensity. So I let him feast on me, and I sink into the perverse, erotic way he drinks his taste off my lips.

When we finally break apart, I sway back and his hand wraps around my waist, keeping me standing.

His nose rubs over my hair and an appreciative groan spills from his lips. “Good girl.”

The hairs on my body stand on end and I’m surprised I don’t melt in his embrace.

Damn it. Are those two words supposed to be such a turn-on?

“You owe me at least three dates for that,” I grumble.

My body goes still when something I’ve never witnessed before happens.

Creighton throws his head back and laughs.

It’s heartfelt and happy and causes my toes to curl.

And I think maybe, just maybe, I’m in too deep with this beast.

I’m in so deep that I will try everything in my power to understand him.

Even if he doesn’t like it.