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God of Fury – Chapter 10


I’ve always prided myself on being in control.

Everything has gone according to a plan, a schedule and an end goal. Spontaneity and I fell out of each other’s favor years ago and I never reconciled that relationship.

And I was okay with it.

am okay with it.

Losing control once threw my life in a loop of chaos and fucking destruction and I can’t do chaos.

Chaos is the source of all evil.

Chaos would push me over the edge I’ve been walking for as long as I can remember.

And yet, right now, I can hear the cracks in my wall. While small, their deafening sound resounds in my foggy head, and I watch with complete bewilderment as the control I’ve nursed for years collapses all around me.

Crashing, splintering, and leaving a Nikolai-shaped hole in the outer walls of my carefully curated self-preservation.

I’m trapped, ensnared, and being held captive. I can’t feel even a smidge of my autonomy or the logical thoughts that I usually wear like a badge.

There’s something else I do feel, though.

Or someone.

His bruising grip on my jaw keeps me in place as he strokes my lips with his, harsh and unforgiving.


He bites down on my lower lip, stretching the skin until pain explodes in the nerve endings, and my heart thumps, pushing and shoving itself against my rib cage.

I must be so hammered, because when he stabs his tongue against my lips, I don’t try to resist or force my mouth shut.

The scary thought is that I want to open.

My blood buzzes for it, my unorganized thoughts tune in for the mere possibility of it.

A feeling I’ve never experienced in my life.

The moment I part my lips hesitantly, Nikolai goes feral. His tongue swirls around mine, warring, plunging, and stripping me of the last smidge of control I have left.

A groan echoes in the air and I realize with depleted horror that it’s mine.

His fingers dig into my jaw and he growls deep in my mouth, causing me to shudder.

He tastes of lawless violence and forbidden temptation.

He tastes like my custom-made damnation.

My fingers glide up and I swear I mean to shove him away. Put him back in his place. Shout ‘How dare you touch me?’

But my hand wraps around his nape and I free fall headfirst into dangerous chaos, completely in the dark about what waits for me at the bottom.

My tongue curls around his and I fight him for control. For the sanity that he’s been stripping from me one layer at a time.

His hand drops from my collar and he slides it to my side, feeling and exploring my chest and back, and I can’t help the hiss that escapes when he bites down on my tongue.

It’s like being kissed by a savage—a vicious barbarian whose sole purpose is to drag out the worst in me.

My eyes flutter open and that’s when I realize I’ve had them closed since his lips claimed mine.

I blink up at him, watching his own closed eyes and feeling that pit grow at the bottom of my stomach.


Fuck me.

I’m not sober enough to resist, and, hell, I don’t think I’m only drunk on the alcohol. My nostrils flare and I inhale sharply, filling my lungs with his mint scent. It mixes and swirls with the taste of alcohol, cigarettes, and something else that’s entirely him.

Masculine and strange…

I want to think it’s bad strange, but I’m far from being revolted. If anything, I’ve never felt trapped in a pleasure haze like I am right now.

He slides his tongue out of my mouth and bites the corner of my lip, then whispers in hot, growly words, “Who’s a better kisser, baby? Clara or me?”

“Shut up…” I don’t recognize how my voice comes out all choked up and hoarse.

This is so fucking wrong.

“I’m going to go with me.” His intense eyes meet mine as he glides his tongue against my bottom lip and then nibbles down savagely. “You didn’t look so hot and bothered when you were kissing her. Actually, it seemed like a fucking chore.”

A guttural sound slips from me and he sucks, then bites down on my lower lip again, brutalizing the skin between his teeth before he releases it.

“You like that, baby?” He speaks so close to my mouth, he kisses me with every word.

“Don’t call me that,” I breathe out, shuffling and searching through the mess in my head, but for the life of me, I can’t grasp at the strings of my MIA sanity.

“Don’t call you what? Baby?”


“Fuck me. I love the way you growl my name, baby.”


“Why? Does it hit a nerve?” He rolls his hips and shoves his groin against mine, and my wide eyes meet his lust-filled ones. “Correction, it definitely hit more than one nerve, because you’re fucking hard. This time, it’s definitely for me.”

“Stop…” The word comes out hushed, nearly inaudible, and I’m not sure if Nikolai heard it.

A small part of me is thankful he didn’t, because he wedges his knees between mine and slides the length of his bulging erection against my cock.

A delicious tingle spreads up my spine and I puff out a long exhale.

“Mmm. You got so hard by just kissing.” He swipes his tongue on my mouth over and over as if he’s trying to erase something. “Your dick must be huge. I can feel it through your pants, all erect and begging for attention.”

He rubs himself against me some more, until I feel like I’ll burst, my head and body at complete odds with each other.

I tighten my hold on his nape and tug on his hair, my voice hoarse. “Don’t…stop…”

“Is that don’t stop or don’t and stop?” He falls into a rhythm, dry humping my cock with his until my painful erection strains against my trousers.

I must release a noise, because Nikolai chuckles against my lips. “I’ll take that as the former. Mmm. You feel so good, baby. So fucking perfect.”

His words swim in the pleasure haze surrounding my head and stab me in the very marrow of my bones.

“Do you feel how hard I am for you?” Kiss. “How ravenous I turn when it comes to you?” Kiss. “I’ll devour you fucking whole, my beautiful lotus flower.” Kiss. “I’ll make you forget about anyone who came before me, namely fucking Clara.”

His hand falls from my back, slides down my abs, over my stomach, and to the waist of my trousers. I drop my hand that was squashed between our chests and slap it on his, then frantically shake my head.


My eyes imploring his glazed-over ones. This is the first time anyone has looked at me like this. As if they’re possessed with the idea of me.

And it’s fucking terrifying.

“Don’t make me do this,” I whisper when he doesn’t make a move to remove his hand.

“Too late.”

“I’m…drunk.” My chest rises and falls so hard, it grazes his with every movement, every breath, and I’m intoxicated, completely out of my damn mind.

“Then blame it on me, baby.” He pushes my hand away, and this time, I let it fall to my side and don’t attempt to stop him again as he undoes my belt and pulls down my zipper.

My insides are cracking and smashing, and I don’t recognize my lustful thoughts. I don’t recognize this version of me.

Because I find myself watching his movement, anticipation coiling in me like a snake as he wraps a tattooed hand around my rock-hard cock. I don’t stop him when flicks his thumb on the side. I don’t stop him when he gives me a firm, delicious jerk.

I just watch.

In complete, utter fascination.

He pulls out my painfully hard cock and I hiss at the sensation of his rough hand against the sensitive skin.

“Fuck. You do have a huge dick and it’s weeping for me. Mmm. Uncut. Fucking perfect.” He flashes me a charming grin as he strokes me from the base to the foreskin and presses his thumb at the tip.

I think I’ll make a massive joke out of myself and come right then and there, drowning in his gaze and the hair that’s framing his sharp face.

Is it supposed to feel this fucking good?

“Why, hello, Straight Brandon’s dick. You look pretty gay to me.” He strokes again, harsher this time, eliciting a shudder from me.

Somewhere in my mind, I know that I should stop him. I need to stop him.

But I don’t want to.

I have no will whatsoever.

None of my bodily functions are in tune with the logical part of my brain. Not when he’s jerking me off with a level of control that leaves me panting.

My ears ring and my vision blurs, but he remains in focus right in the middle, his hard strokes grounding me to the moment.

To him.

Tingles creep up my spine and all my blood rushes to where he’s touching me.

“Get my cock out,” he orders in a low, growly voice.

My heavy lids lift for a fraction of a second and I stare at him, dumbfounded.

What was he saying again?

“Now,” he says, firmer this time, and I don’t know what’s come over me.

There’s something about the way he orders me around that works me into an inexplicable frenzy.

I grab onto his jeans, fingers unsteady and completely awkward as I undo his button and then slide down his zipper over his enormous erection.

Every now and then, I have to stop and suppress a groan when he jerks me faster with skin-tingling control.

My hand is definitely less sure when I reach into his boxer briefs and then pause, my mind going blank.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? I don’t want to make an awkward move.

“Wrap your hand around my cock and pull it out, baby.” His voice is deep but authoritarian and I find myself doing just that.

It’s the first time I’ve touched a dick other than my own, and bloody fucking hell.

The moment I bring it out, I can’t resist staring at how both thick and long he is. I’m not small by any means, but Nikolai is a tad bigger and slightly curved. Four piercings protrude from the crown, shining under the dim streetlight.

“Your hands are so soft.” He nibbles on my lip, my jaw, and my Adam’s apple.

A groan slips out of me and he grins against it, licking the assaulted skin, then whispers, “Squeeze me, baby.”

I do, carefully, not wanting to cause him pain. Though he certainly doesn’t seem like he has the same concerns with my own cock since he jerks me as if he has a problem with me.

Not that I’m complaining. No one has ever touched me this roughly. This…deliciously.

“You won’t hurt me, lotus flower. Do it harder.” He laps his tongue at my jaw. “Mmm. Let me get the blood off you.”

He bites down on the spot as if he wants to break the skin and then sucks hard until I’m lightheaded.

My skin tingles when he steps back to leave space between us.

Nikolai releases my cock, and before I can think about it, he presses his hand on mine, opens it, and rubs his cock against mine, then closes my hand on both our girths, barely. I have big hands, but it looks tiny when wrapped around our dicks.

“Let me show you how to properly jerk a man’s soul out of his cock. Relax your hand.”

I do, my eyes following his movements with fascination as he grips my hand and uses it to jerk both our lengths. Roughly. With a firm edge.

The visual of his inked hand on mine turns the lust into a dangerous need.

A dash of pleasure thickens my cock, but it soars into an avalanche when Nikolai thrusts his length against mine and my hand.

Our hands.

He rolls his hips and slams forward, stabbing my groin with his pierced crown. Once, twice.

On the third time, I’m thrusting as well, matching his rhythm and jerking as hard as he’s directing my hand, refusing to be the recipient. Refusing to be trapped in a role that revolts me to the core.

Wetness slips beneath our fingers and I’m not sure if it’s his precum or mine. I obviously don’t care, because I go faster, harder. Out of the control I excel at so well.

“Your hand is jerking me so good, baby.” Nikolai groans, trapping the corner of his lip between his teeth and I can’t help looking at his face. At the fuck-me expression. The hollowing in his cheek as he releases these fucked-up erotic noises that destroy something inside me.

How can a savage be so…attractive?

It’s the alcohol. Please tell me this is only because I’m hammered.

“Does it feel good when I touch you?” He squeezes my hand on our lengths. “Does it feel intoxicating? Liberating?”

All I can do is stare at him. Caught in a trance. Astonished. As if my soul has left the confines of my physical body.

“You don’t have to answer. Your cock is doing the job so fucking well. You’re leaking for me…fuck…” he breathes. “Come for me, baby. Show me how much you want me.”

Oh fuck.

No, no, no.

“No… Fuck you…” I can’t hold on to my lies anymore. They sound needy to my own ears.

“Correction. I’m the one fucking you.”

My balls fill to the brim and I get no warning as my cum splutters all over Nikolai’s T-shirt and even shoots up his neck and jaw.

A fever-like sensation spreads all over my body as I watch him darting his tongue out and chasing the cum on his lips and chin, licking every droplet clean.

There’s no other expression for what he does next. He uses my hand as he thrusts himself against my slowly depleting cock, faster, harder, until a shiver goes through me.

Until I forget my damn fucking name.

“Ungh…fuck… I’m coming…” His muscles tighten as he does a few more brutal thrusts, and then I feel the wetness on my groin and all over my hand.

“Mmm. Prince Charming is covered in my cum. Yum. I can get used to this view.” He smears the cum on both our lengths, then reaches a hand that’s glistening with evidence of our depravity and coats it all over my lips.

My head swirls and I can feel my ears heating.

No, no…

My lips part and he jams his middle and ring fingers inside, all the way to the back of my throat, forcing me to taste him.

No, it’s not only him. It’s us.

Good grief. This is so sick.

Then why aren’t you fighting?

I must try to release another noise in an attempt to speak, because Nikolai shakes his head, eyes still blazed with intensity and unbound lust.

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t try to ruin this with your fucking mouth. Let me keep that busy for you.” He jams his fingers deeper. “Choke on my fingers instead. I want you to swallow every drop of cum down your throat.”

And then he rubs his fingers on my tongue, the sloppy sound of saliva echoing in the air around us.

He keeps doing that until I start licking him.

Until I talk myself into believing this is a dream.

It was not a dream.

No matter how much I try to convince myself that I’m imagining things and that I couldn’t possibly have done that in public—where anyone could’ve seen me. The truth remains that I didn’t have a dream.

Not even a little. Not even close.

I pace the length of my bedroom and bathroom, nursing a pounding headache and thoughts so chaotic, they add to the migraine.

My inhales and exhales are fast, fractured, and completely repulsed by the reality I woke up to this morning.

At five a.m. Like clockwork.

Only, nothing makes sense.

I stop pacing and look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my hand gripping my hair tighter the longer I stare at the fucking cunt. The weak bloody wanker who couldn’t stay in control, just because he had a few drinks.

Black ink covers my features, turning it faceless. What stares back at me is unrecognizable.

A monster.

My heart hammers and I storm toward the mirror, then drive my fist into it. The surface cracks but doesn’t splinter, and I have to look at six distorted versions of my face.

“Fuck you,” I whisper to all of them as blood drips from my knuckles, my fingers, and then splashes the white sink in red.

I want to punch the mirror again—this time, erase myself completely, but I don’t, because this is also messing with my fucking control.

The ticking invades my brain until it’s the only thing I can hear.


You’re useless.


You’re nothing.





I strike the side of my head with my bloodied fist until I think I’ll knock myself out.

Black ink slithers from the mirror and swallows my feet, my knees, and my thighs. I grab a piece of the mirror and press on it.

Blood pours out of my fingers, and with it, the ink rushes out of my bloodstream and dissipates from around me.

I let the glass fall to the sink and exhale harshly. Streaks of red line the white porcelain and drops of blood follow in quick succession. I let my life essence pour out of me as I look at my reflection—hair glued to my temples and my eyes glassy. Dead.

It’s done. I’m calm.

I’m back to being in control.

But I can’t stare at myself too long. Otherwise, it’ll come back.

My gaze falls on the blood that’s gushing from the cuts in my fingers, soaking my palm, the back of my hand, and forming a small pool in the sink.

It’s done.

All I have to do is pretend last night never happened.

I’m a master at pretending. Have done it my whole life and have always succeeded.

This isn’t any different.

My movements are mechanical as I wash my hand, biting my lip against the pain. Dark, forbidden images invade my brain. Teeth nibbling on my swollen lip, bruising, devouring—


My hand shakes as I hit the tap shut and bandage my cuts.

I’m about to step into the bedroom when I catch a reflection of my distorted image and I have to look away before my face becomes black again.


Please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is.

I get closer, tilting my head back, and, sure enough, there’s a dark-purple hickey near my jaw and another at my Adam’s apple.

That fucking—

I expel a long breath and exit the bathroom, pulling on my hair and nearly toppling everything in my wake.

My movements are frantic as I put on my running shorts and T-shirt. My body is begging me to sit this one out and give myself time to recover from the hangover, but if I do that, I’ll just allow myself time to think.

can’t think.

Not after the blood fest this morning.

I rush back into the bathroom and slap two plasters against the hickeys. If anyone asks, I’ll say I cut myself while shaving.




My holy mantra will work its magic this time as well. It always does.

I leave my room, pushing against the headache and the fog swimming in my mind. I just need a run and everything will get back to normal.

Yet as I go down the stairs of the mansion I share with my brother, cousins, and friend Remi, I’m hit with how I felt when I took these stairs up last night.

Or early this morning.

Fuck, it’s only been a couple of hours since Nikolai dropped me off near the house. On his motorbike.

I wish I didn’t remember much after the colossal lack of judgment on my part, but I do. Painfully so.

He removed his shirt, which I’m sure he didn’t want to be wearing in the first place, and used it to clean us up before he dragged me to where he’d parked his motorbike.

Me on a motorbike? Not in this lifetime.

But that logic apparently doesn’t apply to the smashed version of me, because I totally rode on that bike and had to stop myself from holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

Nikolai was grinning like an idiot when I hopped off on unsteady feet and swayed on my way to the mansion, muttering a thanks that I’m not sure he heard.

I certainly heard his “Sweet dreams, lotus flower.”

Sweet. Like fuck they were.

I rub the fine hairs on the back of my head as I exit through the gate. I didn’t warm up properly, but I couldn’t care less. I just need this energy gone.


I run down my learned path, relishing the feel of gravel crunching under my feet and the music blaring in my ears. My lungs expand with every breath, drawing in clean air.

This is my zone.

I’m fine.

Perfectly okay.

In control—

A large figure cuts in front of me and I try to stop, but it’s too late and I awkwardly crash into him.

My chest takes the shock, my AirPods fall from my ears, and my senses flood with the very distinctive smell of mint, clover, and hellish damnation.

Strong arms envelop my waist, and I can feel the rumble of his chest against mine as he chuckles. “Morning to you as well, lotus flower. I didn’t realize you missed me so much in such a short time.”

“I…did not.” I step away from him.

“Hey, you were the one who hugged me just now.”

“I fell.”

“Tomayto, tomahto.” He grins in the same way he did yesterday as he watched me tuck my tail between my legs and walk up to my place.

In a trance.


But that’s not me today.

I cross my arms and glare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He motions at his usual half-naked state—black shorts and Nike shoes. “I’ll be your running buddy.”

“I don’t want one.”

“You might not want one, but you need one…” he trails off and snatches my bandaged hand in both of his, flipping it left and right. “What happened?”

The wounds tingle, turning hotter with every passing second he touches me, and I tug my hand with more force than needed. “None of your business.”

He narrows his eyes. “Welcome back, Asshole Brandon. Can’t say I missed your grouchy presence.”

“Just go away.” I search my surroundings for the godforsaken AirPods. “Weren’t you perfectly fine with ignoring my presence for weeks?”

“That was before I made the acquaintance of your beautiful, huge dick.”

I freeze and slowly direct my widened eyes in his direction. He just stands there, watching me and grinning like a damn idiot.

“Why do you look so horrified?” He steps toward me, his size metaphorically growing. “Don’t tell me you forgot all about it?”

“I did. I was hammered and don’t remember anything that happened.”

He reaches a hand in my direction and I flinch back, putting distance between us. If he touches me again, it’ll crack my newly found control.

I’m still not over the way he hugged me just now.

How can someone be so damn comfortable with touch? It’s not normal.

“I see,” he says without much emotion. “Is that why you covered the souvenirs I gave you last night?”

I storm forward and wrap my fingers around his neck. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you leave hickeys in plain sight?”

“Next time, I’ll leave them in a place that’s more discreet. Mmm. Seems that, like me, you’re also a fan of choking. I love it when you lose control, baby.”

I release him with a shove, cursing under my breath. I lost the steel-like command of my actions and emotions.


That’s not supposed to happen. Not after I released my pent-up energy in the sink this morning.

Not so soon.

Not this fast.

What the fuck am I supposed to do if even those drastic measures don’t work?

How will I be able to dispel the constant sense of overwhelming nausea?

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, then bite my lip so hard, I’m surprised no blood gushes out.

“We talked about this.” He steps into my space, blinding me with his broad, muscular build and the dark ink that ripples with each of his movements. “I pull off baby better than Clara. In fact, I think it’s safe to say I do a lot of things better than her, including but not exclusive to making you come. Speaking of which, when are you going to break up with her?”

I let my lips curve into a fake smile. “Clara is my girlfriend and I have no intention of breaking up with her.”

“You didn’t seem to think she was your girlfriend when you had your tongue down my throat or when you came all over my cock, baby.”

I want to drive my fist into his face just so he’ll stop talking, but I’ve had enough loss of control for one day, so I breathe in and out slowly.

Just why the hell did I have to collapse around this…this…fucking savage?

I flash him a condescending glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

One moment, he’s standing there, and the next, his fingers sink into the sides of my throat, immobilizing me as he growls against my skin, “Don’t fuck with me, Brandon. You and I both know you fell apart in my arms last night.”

“Nothing happened last night,” I say casually, keeping my eyes on his manic ones, and I almost believe my own words.


“Lose the bimbo,” he threatens in hot, enraged words. “Or I’ll do it for you.”


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