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God of Fury – Chapter 25

NIKOLAI

Not to be a stalker, but I kind of ended up at the grocery store Bran frequents.

What? It’s his fault that I miss him as soon as we’re apart.

It’s the afternoon and guess what? He’s coming over to the penthouse this early. It’s been about a week since he agreed to stay overnight, and I’ve been the happiest fucking man alive.

Not that I’m still thinking about that night and morning or anything.

Anyway, the reason I’m outside this local organic grocery store is because of a conversation I had with him about half an hour ago. When I was in class.

BRAN

What are you in the mood for tonight?

ME

What kind of question is that? I’m always in the mood to do dirty things to you, baby.

I meant food. FOOD.

You mean aside from your cum?

Jesus. Yeah, aside from that.

I’m happy with anything you cook.

You sure? If you fancy something to eat, tell me. I’ll go grocery shopping in a bit.

Nah. I love anything you cook. Do what you want. Also, you’re getting groceries right now? It’s the afternoon.

I finished classes early, so I’m heading to the penthouse.

Hell yeah. I’m on my way.

Don’t you have uni?

Not important.

Don’t skip classes, Nikolai. I’ll see you later.

So yeah, I totally skipped classes. I actually left that class while reading his last text and rode my bike all the way here. I left it at a local parking lot and followed him around on foot.

He can’t possibly expect me to stay away when he’s going to the penthouse this early. It’s true that I last saw him this morning, but I’ve been going through withdrawals.

My mood is dangerously dependent on him and that’s not even funny anymore, but I’m done trying to figure it out.

I’m just obsessed with this man and everything about him. Some would argue it’s something a lot more dire than obsession.

He consumes me, but he also grounds me. I’ve never felt as mentally strong as when I’m with him. Even the most mundane things we do together—having meals, watching movies, listening to him read the boring morning newspapers—bring a huge smile to my face.

Brandon King is ravaging me alive, and I can’t wait until I’m fully inside him.

In the meantime, I’m content with indulging in my stalkerish tendencies. I wait by the corner of the grocery store. I’d love to go inside, but it’s one of those small shops where I’d totally stand out, and while I don’t mind, he would.

My lotus flower fits right in with the locals. I catch a glimpse of him putting a few tomatoes in his basket while smiling at something the shop owner says. Now, she’s an older woman, but not that old. Maybe in her thirties, and I don’t like the whole interaction.

Lady better stop giving him heart eyes if she’s in the mood to live another day.

I’m about to creep up into her field of vision and scare the bejesus out of her when I catch a peculiar view from off to the side.

Since Bran turned me into a professional stalker, I always pick the best spots to watch him up close and personal, and for that reason, these locations are…rather obscure. I often run into all sorts of bizarre views, including couples, druggies, and homeless people.

This one, however, is different.

Usually, the couples who lurk in corners are doing some heavy petting, if not actual sex. The current scene is nowhere near that image.

A larger guy shoves another one against the wall with a tight grip on his T-shirt’s collar, and I hear, “Shut the fuck up.”

Any other time, I’d ignore this and change my position to continue stalking my Bran.

Something stops me, though.

The guy who’s been shoved against the wall is familiar. Wait…is that…?

“Gaz?” I ask, walking toward them.

Sure enough, my cousin looks up, his fist clenched in the other man’s shirt. An older man—at least early to mid-thirties—who’s dressed in a white button-up shirt, black slacks, and leather shoes. His dark hair is slicked back and his expression is solemn.

He looks at me with complete disregard, as if I just intruded on his fun.

I flex my fist and make sure he sees it. This fucker will be buried six feet under before he attempts to harm my cousin. “What’s your name, motherfucker, and what’s your favorite way to die?”

“Niko, it’s not…” Gareth trails off on a wince when the asshole tightens his grip on his shirt.

“Step the fuck away from him.” I stride toward them. “Now.”

“Who the fuck are you?” the man asks, his accent distinctively American, his expression entirely murderous.

I’m going to break his face for daring to touch my family.

“My cousin, Nikolai.” Gareth shoves him away. “Please leave, sir.”

“Sir?” I echo. “Why the fuck are you calling him sir?”

“He’s my professor. Kayden Lockwood.” Gareth stands beside me, his expression closed off as he stares at the man.

He narrows his eyes on me before he looks my cousin up and down. “We are not done, Carson. I expect you in my office tomorrow morning.”

As he walks away, a wave of tension rolls off Gareth before he puffs out a long exhale.

I stand in front of him. “Why the fuck would your professor corner you in an alley?”

He glances up, his green eyes large and his blond hair sticking to his temples with sweat. “We…had a slight disagreement.”

“And he couldn’t solve it in the classroom like all other professors?”

“I…uh, I pulled something outside of law school and he was pissed.”

“That still doesn’t give him the right to attack you. Want me, Jer, and Kill to add him to the MIA list?”

“No, no. That’s not necessary. I can take care of this situation.”

“Didn’t look like you were doing a very good job at it. Kill and I will maim the fucker.”

“Niko, no.” He grabs my arm. “Don’t…tell Kill. Don’t tell anyone about what you just saw.”

“Why not…? Fuck me.” I pause. “Is this that man you told me about that time? The only one you’re attracted to?”

Gareth’s lips part. “N-no.”

“You just stuttered. You never stutter.”

“Just forget it. Since when are you this perceptive?”

“Since now. It’s him, isn’t it?”

“No,” he says with more force than needed.

“In that case, I guess I can discuss this further with Kill and Jer and see if it’s true or false.”

“Nikolai!”

“Or you can just tell me.”

“Fine! It’s him.” He looks more relieved than burdened as he puffs out the words. I relate to him in more ways than one.

I know what it’s like to be in a secret relationship where no one is allowed to know. It’s suffocating sometimes, but it’s worth it.

And from the look in Gareth’s eyes, I think he feels the same as I do. It’s not ideal, but like me, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“A much older professor, huh?” I grin. “You’re much more adventurous than I thought, cousin. I’m actually impressed.”

“It’s nothing serious, so don’t tell anyone.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

I grab him by the shoulder. “Want me to continue my lesson about butt stuff?”

“No, thanks.” He pushes me away. “I’m…going for a walk.”

He storms away before I can question him some more. I consider following him, but immediately shut down that idea when I see Bran walking out of the store carrying a few bags.

Forget about Gareth. He can survive. I, on the other hand, need to recharge by strangling my lotus flower.

I stay a safe distance behind him as he walks by the small stores in the town center. He’s dressed in dark pants and a light-green shirt, and his eyes are covered with elegant sunglasses. I can’t wait to unwrap him later.

He stops by a pastry shop and I grin when he buys a box of macarons.

Bran then proceeds to walk in the direction of the penthouse. Despite having a car, he doesn’t usually drive it and prefers to use his legs whenever possible. It’s about a half hour walk from town, but I’m not complaining. I love watching him from afar and seeing how he stops and plays with dogs or checks in on the elderly people he does volunteer work for.

He’s such a golden boy. At least, on the outside. I’m actually proud that I’m the only one who knows how much of a control freak he is.

Instead of going down the main street, Bran takes a secondary route and I follow, frowning. Does he have someone to visit around here?

He stops near an alley and turns around so suddenly, I don’t have time to hide.

Bran removes his sunglasses and hangs them on the opening of his shirt. He gives me a once-over, his gaze lingering on where my biceps meet my T-shirt, and I can’t help flexing them. I really, really love it when he checks me out.

That way, I can take some comfort in knowing he wants me. Not to the point of my utter obsession with him, but I do often catch him looking at me lately.

The other day, he was tidying up the bathroom while I was soaking in the Jacuzzi, but then I caught him ogling me as his shorts tented. He didn’t agree to join me in the bathtub, so what did I do? The most logical thing, of course. I bent him over the counter and fucked him as he brought the house down with his moans and groans.

He’s so loud, I love it.

I love that he lets go when around me.

Now, he releases a long breath. “You need to quit the habit of stalking me.”

“I thought I was being subtle.”

“Subtle? I could sense your eyes digging a hole in the back of my head.”

“More accurately, your ass, baby.”

“You’re not even going to offer an excuse?”

I shrug. “Do I need to? I’m a simple man. I missed you, so I came to see you.”

“We were together this morning.”

“I need a dose of you at all times.”

A pink hue covers his cheeks and he clears his throat. “Don’t you have school?”

“As I said, not important. You can’t expect me to picture you walking around the house while I’m not there.” I grab the heaviest-looking bags. “I’ll carry these. Go first.”

“We can walk together. This area is usually deserted this time of day.”

“Really?” I grin, gluing myself to his side.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to—”

“Of course I want to.”

He steps away, keeping a short distance between us, but I don’t focus on that and choose to watch his small smile and the way his face radiates under the rare sun. His eyes shine a bright-blue color and some of his hair looks lighter.

Christ.

How can a man be so fucking beautiful? The urge to kidnap him and keep him all to myself beats like a need beneath my skin. I’ve given up thinking this is only a phase that will go away or that there will be a day when I’ll see Bran and not have this queasy feeling in my chest.

I’m so screwed.

Bran clears his throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“That. Whatever that is.”

“Don’t think I can, baby. I have no self-control when it comes to you.”

He swallows and I can’t help watching the up and down of his Adam’s apple. Fuck. I flex my hand around the bag to stop myself from hauling him over and kissing the fuck out of his full lips.

“Does that mean you have self-control when it comes to everything else?” he asks, and his slightly husky voice does nothing to disperse Kolya’s attempt to rise to life.

“Yeah.”

“So all the rumors about your penchant for violence are incorrect?”

“They are correct. I love beating things and people up, but I have enough agency to stop. Can’t do that with you. It’s impossible.”

“Hmm. So I’m more important than violence?”

“Fuck yeah.”

He smiles a little. “Good.”

“You like torturing me?”

“It’s only fair.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

We spend the rest of the way in comfortable silence, and I find myself reveling in every moment I spend in public with him. I never liked silence, and wasn’t really given the choice considering how loud my brain is. Even with Bran, I often filled up any silence with gibberish. Admittedly, I talk too much. He doesn’t.

My Bran is one of those people who don’t talk unless he has something meaningful to say and I grew accustomed to his brand of comforting silence. It’s not tension-filled or brimming with unsaid words. It’s peaceful, relaxing, and fulfilling in its own right.

It’s his way of soaking up the moment, as he told me once, and I’m strangely picking up the habit.

I’d love to thread my fingers through his, but that’s not an option right now. One day, I’ll be able to hold his hand on the street.

One day.

When we’re inside the penthouse, I hurry to put the bags on the kitchen table so I can devour him. If I just drop them at the entrance, he’ll start nagging.

The sound of something hitting the floor reaches me first, then a strong grip lands on my bicep.

I whirl around, but I don’t have time to focus when Bran fists a hand in my hair and captures my lips in a violent kiss. His tongue invades my mouth and he feasts on me. I’m stunned for a second, but then I wrap my arms around his back and claim what’s fucking mine.

My hand falls to his ass and I nudge him up. He doesn’t complain as he hops on and wraps his legs around my waist.

God-fucking-damn-it. I love it when he lets me carry him. I’ve been doing it religiously since I first did it last week.

Bran kisses me for what seems like hours, his fingers stroking my hair, his breaths and his entire fucking being fusing with mine.

He pulls away and smiles against my mouth, then wipes something at the corner of my lips.

“Fuck, baby.” I pant. “What was that for?”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you.” He strokes my cheek. “Let me down. I’ll wash up and prepare dinner.”

“No way in fuck am I letting you go after that. Buckle up, baby. Kolya would like to say hi.”

I walk him to the bedroom as his laugh echoes in the air.

One day, and I mean very, very soon, Bran won’t be content with only kissing me behind closed doors.

He’ll be proud about being with me just like I’m over the moon about being with him.


What the…?

I pause when I feel a weight on my shoulder and comforting warmth snuggled up to my side.

The last thing I remember is sitting on the floor with my back against the wall while waiting for Bran. He said he was running late because he was meeting up with his brother and sister, and you can bet that I grumbled and threw a fit about having to share him with anyone. So what if they’re his siblings?

It’s getting tragic at this point.

It’s been a week since the day he kissed me senseless after I stalked him then fucked him like a madman before allowing him to do anything. Good times.

Since then, I’ve been shamelessly insatiable for any glimpse of him. I need to see him every night, but even that isn’t enough, so I follow him around whenever I get the chance. But I have to keep a distance—not too difficult considering I’ve become a seasoned stalker at this point.

Anyway, I haven’t seen him at all today because of stupid tests that I couldn’t skip and was fucking desperate for ten p.m. to come since that’s when he usually shows up. However, my hopes got crushed when I received the text about his plans. I must’ve fallen asleep on the floor because right now, I’m on my back on the wood and Bran’s head rests on my shoulder, his body pressed up to my side.

And the best part? His hand covers mine over my chest.

He’s in a light-blue shirt and black pants, which means he didn’t change into pajamas. I check my watch and it’s two in the morning.

Fuck me.

I can’t believe I slept for so long and missed the chance to see my Bran.

I demand a redo, now and fucking thank you.

A frown appears between his brows and I smooth it with my index finger. His eyes pop open and I have to swallow something stuck in my throat, because fuck. How can a man look hotter with each passing day? This isn’t good for my uncontainable obsession.

“Did I wake you up?” I ask.

“It wasn’t a good sleep anyway,” he grumbles in that husky voice that goes straight to my dick and somewhere in my chest.

“Uh, baby? Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

“You were sprawled all over the ground when I came in and I wanted to experience it like you do, see if it’s as comfortable as you make it look. The answer is a definite no.” He sits up and kneads his shoulders and neck. “Don’t do this again, Nikolai. It’s not good for you in the long run.”

“I can only sleep in a bed when you’re there.” I sit behind him, extending my legs on either side of him, and massage his shoulders. “Be here and I won’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Deal.” He leans into my touch and releases a soft sigh. I’m ravenous for the way he lets me touch him outside of sex now. I know he wasn’t comfortable about the prospect in the beginning, but he now does it so naturally that I have to stop myself from devouring him whole and leaving no crumbs.

How the hell is he able to get me worked up with a few sounds?

How did he mold the almighty Nikolai Sokolov into this strange entity that can only survive in his presence? I don’t even remember myself before him anymore. I certainly refuse the very notion of being separated from him.

“How was your night out?” I ask to put an end to this queasy feeling.

“One can’t complain.”

“So you enjoyed your time while I was being miserable.”

“You’re so dramatic. Besides, I thought you’d be busy with your shenanigans in the fight club.”

“I didn’t go. I wanted to see you.”

“Is that so?” he says in a slightly mocking tone.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” He turns sideways so he’s facing me and raises a brow. “Have you done something I don’t approve of today?”

“Me? You’re the one who ghosted me.”

“Earlier today, did you or did you not take a picture with some leggy brunette?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and opens my IG in the tagged posts section and shows me the picture in question. A girl—that I honest to fuck don’t remember her name—is glued to my side, pushing her tits up against my arm. The captions is, Miss you, my hunk.

“Care to explain yourself?” Bran asks in an eerily calm tone. I’ve noticed that he becomes scarily collected when he’s mad.

“Uh, baby. That picture is months old, probably from before I met you. Not my fault she decided to post it today.”

“One of your fuck buddies?”

Ex-fuck buddy. I barely remember her face. She’s from school, I think.”

“And yet, she has the liberty to call you her hunk?”

I grin. “Jealous, baby?”

He doesn’t smile back as he fists my hair in a painful grip. “You belong to me, Nikolai. I do not share, are we clear?”

“Fuck. I love it when you get all possessive.”

“That’s not an answer. I don’t want to see you with girls or guys hanging onto your arm or sitting on your lap. I don’t want anyone to touch you, period.”

“Only if you don’t let anyone touch you.”

“I won’t.”

“Are you going to delete that one picture with Clara on you IG?”

“You went that far back?”

“So what if I did? I’m going to need you to erase her existence from your life.”

“I’ve already deleted that post a long time ago.”

“In that case…” Grinning, I take out my phone, go to the post, and type a comment.

Nah, not your hunk. Delete this.

A smug smile curves Bran’s lips when he sees it and he nods with approval before he turns away and I resume massaging his shoulders. Fuck me. I love the feel of his relaxing muscles beneath my fingers and the content noises he releases.

“By the way, I googled the meaning of Brandon, and it literally means prince or king. Don’t I get brownie points for calling you Prince Charming?”

“More like stalkerish tendencies points. Who googles the meaning of other people’s names?”

“I do because it’s you. I’m curious about everything that concerns you.”

He leans his head on my shoulder, and my movements come to a halt when his eyes meet mine and he flashes me a little smile. That feeling lurking in my stomach lurches up and I feel trapped, completely and utterly taken by him and his rare smiles.

Jesus fucking Christ. What’s happening to me?

“Aren’t you curious about me?” My voice comes low, a bit vulnerable, and I don’t even do that. Why is it that Bran looks at me and I feel this sense…of doubt? Not in me, but in his feelings for me.

I can sense myself falling deeper and harder, but he’s still a blank board most of the time, and that does shit to me.

“I am,” he says softly.

“Are you going to google the meaning of my name?”

“No need. It’s the Slavic version of Nicholas who was the Greek god of victory.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I just know it’s a badass Russian name and means victory or something like that.”

“Do you speak Russian?”

“Sure as fuck. My grandad made sure my sisters and I do or else he wouldn’t have given us our Russian card.”

“I never heard you speak it.”

“I do sometimes with Jeremy and especially the guards since most of them are Russian-born.”

“Tell me something in Russian.”

I cup his chin and stare deep into those eyes that have become my undoing as I say the words Grandpa said Russians take seriously and literally. “Ya nee ma goo bees tee byah zhit.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re so cute,” I lie through my teeth.

He frowns. “Don’t call me that.”

I wrap my arm around his waist, trapping him in my grip. “Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows.”

“What type of request is that?”

“Just do it.”

He lifts a hand and traces a line from my forehead over my nose. “Not sure if no one else knows this, but you have a perfectly symmetrical face. Most people have an eye or ear that’s slightly bigger that the other. They have a good side because it’s proportionally better than the opposite one, but you look perfect from any side, because everything is well-balanced. Even your upper and lower lip are the same size. Actually, your entire body is perfectly symmetrical.”

He strokes his fingers over my lips and they willingly part. God damn. He says a few words that imply he’s been watching me and I feel like I’m being torn apart. “You’re an artist’s dream muse.”

“Then make me yours.”

He laughs. “Maybe you already are.”

“Fuck yeah. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Maybe.” He continues stroking my face. “Your turn.”

“My turn to what?”

“Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows.”

“Hmm. You have eleven moles on your body.”

“Okay…”

“I’m not done. You have two hundred seventeen lashes on your right eye and two hundred twelve lashes on your left one.”

His lips part. “You…counted them?”

“Almost every night since you stayed over. That’s last night’s count. Might change today. You tend to lose some on your left eye.”

“But why would you count my lashes?”

“I love them. They’re dark and long and so fucking pretty when you’re sleeping. Besides, no one but me can count them, so that’s a huge bonus.”

He chuckles softly, the sound echoing around us like a lullaby. “You’re so weird.”

“I’ve always been.”

“That you have.”

“The only difference is that you’re not running away anymore.”

“No, I’m not.” He leans completely against my chest and closes his eyes. “Give me five and then I’m taking you to bed. From now on, you’re not allowed to sleep on the floor anymore.”

I have no words to say, so I lower my head and capture his lips in a slow kiss. That queasy feeling only gets more intense the longer my mouth ravages his. My insides melt when he meets me stroke for stroke, grunt for grunt.

If I wasn’t sure before, I am now.

I’m completely and irrevocably in trouble because of Brandon King.


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