Page 29 of Vengeful Gods

He flashes a smirk that could make panties spontaneously combust within a mile radius. Oh, it’s definitely big.

“You might belong to us, but that doesn’t mean you’re trapped in here.”

I’m utterly confused, but can’t help myself from buying into his scheme.

Then I remember last night and the flames licking at my core turn a more violent shade. “Why should I agree to do anything with you? It’s the three of you who want to leash me and get your dicks wet, all for some obscene ritual before a hall packed with strangers.”

He gives me an expression that falls somewhere between full of himself and indifferent.

“You’re telling me that you spent the past few years of your so-called freedom never once expecting someone to come for you.” It’s not a question.

There’s a slithering feeling along my spine.

He’s right. Every day brought a new risk. I never knew if it would be the last one where I retained power over my own life.

“No.” I answer honestly.

“It was inevitable that Anguis members would claim you one day. We happened to get to you first, baby girl.” Fuck, I hate the way he makes that sound so alluring. I also can’t stand the fact he’s speaking the truth.

I’m refusing to acknowledge that he’s just dropped a pet name on me. Nor am I ready to admit that my nipples have stiffened hearing those particular words roll off his tongue.

These men are dangerous assholes with control issues, and I have no business having conflicted emotions about what this entire situation represents for my life. But would I rather it were one of my father’s foul associates who claimed me? Would I prefer things were different, and a group of those greasy, disgusting men forced me into a Pledging ceremony instead?

No. I most definitely would not.

In the worst-case scenario, I can hate-fuck these men. That, I can certainly do. Even if I do want to shove a gun down each of their throats, I can’t deny how my body responds to each of them.

“I don’t have any clothes to wear.” It’s about my only excuse left.

Ky gets up and crosses to the built-in wardrobe beside the bathroom door. With a flourish, he slides it open, and I nearly drop my coffee in my lap.

There are clothes in there. Ones that aren’t man-sized. From what I can see, it’s only a small assortment, but whatever, anything is a vast improvement on what I’ve had access to so far. How did I not notice?

More to the point—did these men have clothes delivered for me while we were at Noire House last night?

“Put these on, and let me give you some lessons.” He rummages through a drawer then tosses a set of leggings and a sports crop in the direction of my bed. I’m so stunned; it’s all I can do not to let them hit me in the face.

Our sweaty bodies writhe together.

Ky’s big hands knead my flesh.

I’m panting and flushed beneath him.

There’s a Viking between my thighs, and holy fucking hell, I can feel the outline of his cock pressing against my core.

He’s big. Definitely, big.

“Better. But you still have work to do.”

Clearly, Ky is able to keep his mind on the task at hand—which appears to be repeatedly flipping me onto my back and proving exactly how damn weak I am—rather than descending into a horny mess at the proximity of our bodies.

Or maybe this is his preferred form of torture because the asshole is still shirtless, and now he’s covered in a sheen of sweat with abs glistening every time they flex above me.

His muscled frame is on full display as he sits back on his heels, still positioned between my legs. It’s all I can do to lie here on the gym mat while I die quietly.

After a week of sitting around inside a small room, half of which I didn’t eat for, and the other half I haven’t slept for, my body is good for absolutely nothing. A fact that became painfully clear each time Ky pinned me down with ease.

Despite my best efforts to fight him off or defend myself in the way he carefully showed me—the man is surprisingly patient and explains things in a way that is simple to understand—I’m unable to do anything right, it would seem.

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