God of Malice: Chapter 32

To say the atmosphere is intense during lunch and dinner would be an understatement.

I always wondered what type of parents someone like Killian would have. I would’ve thought maybe one of them would be like him, because I read somewhere that psychopathy is genetic and, therefore, can be hereditary.

But I wouldn’t call his parents psychopathic at all. In fact, Reina—that’s what she insisted I call her—has been nothing short of lovely. She reminds me of Aunt Silver—Ava’s mother. She just has elegant extroverted energy and a natural talent for making everyone around her feel at ease.

You can see in her eyes the amount of care and absolute adoration she has for her husband and children.

It’s Mr. Carson who’s a bit reserved, but not in a cold way. I think he’s more like Gareth—there needs to be a lot of interactions before he warms up to you enough to allow you close.

During dinner, Reina asks about school and is impressed when I tell her I study art. Then, she recounts that one time she auctioned one of Mum’s paintings for a charity.

Of course she did.

Killian swiftly intervenes, as if he knows I’m getting uncomfortable, and shows her my Instagram for some of the paintings I’ve posted.

I want to hide beneath the table.

“This is…different.” She traces the rim of her wine glass while going through every post. “In a unique way. You and your mother don’t even have the same style. This is refreshing.”

I swallow a piece of meatball. “Really?”

“Yes, anyone who understands some art can see that. Though, I’m nothing more than an amateur who buys beautiful things.” She laughs.

“No, you’re right.” I release a breath. “Mum said that when I was about nine, but I didn’t listen.”

And I kept holding a secret grudge against her because I thought she didn’t pass me down the right genes.

“You are different from your brothers, Glyn. Bran is day, Lan is night. You’re more special because you’re a mixture of both.”

Those were her words and I stubbornly put them on the backburner.

I need to talk to Mum later. It’s long overdue.

“I’m glad you can finally listen,” she says. “Not like these two. They never listen to me. I should’ve had girls.”

“You’re never going to let us live down the fact that neither of us is a girl, are you?” Gareth asks.

“Well, no. Rai has the most perfect twin girls and I don’t.”

“You’re right, Mom. Kill should’ve been a girl.”

“Why not you, big bro?”

“Because you looked cute as shit in that tiny dress as a baby.”

“Mom!” Killian slams his utensils on the table. “We said we were never talking about this.”

“Talking about what?” I ask, curious as hell.

“Well, see…” Gareth starts.

“Don’t you dare,” Killian warns.

“Leave it be, Gaz.” Mr. Carson says.

“Oh, she can find out. After all, she’s the only one Kill has brought home. So, Glyn, it’s not a secret that I wanted a girl with everything in me, so when I found out I was pregnant, I bought all sorts of tiny girl clothes and cute dresses for a newborn. I didn’t go to find out the gender, because I was so sure it would be a girl this time. Needless to say, Killian was born. I only had girl clothes for my trip to the clinic, so I had to dress him in one. I swear it was only that once, and I had to commemorate the moment and bury my ‘mother of girls’ dream with it. But Gareth found the picture later on and just wouldn’t shut up about it. Seriously, leave your baby brother alone.”

“Baby? Please tell me you’re kidding.” Rare amusement coats Gareth’s words. “You should’ve seen the picture before he burned it, Glyn. Kill looked like a beautiful princess.”

I can’t help the suppressed laughter that shakes my shoulder at the thought of Killian in a dress.

He, however, seems extremely displeased with this conversation since he glares at both his brother and mother while tapping a finger on the table.

“You feel accomplished or something?” he asks his brother.

Gareth raises a brow. “Very.”

The dinner continues to be lighthearted, fun, yet a bit tense whenever any words are exchanged between Killian and his father.

But I like him with his family. From the outside looking in, he’s not any different from normal and I think that’s the scariest thing about Killian.

Maybe it’s the saddest, too. Because all of his actions and words are learned behavior he perfected to keep his mother happy.

Will I be like her in the future? Completely oblivious to the signs and to how none of Killian’s actions or words are coming from inside him?

Will I be happy just having him around?

After dinner, we watch a family movie and Reina keeps bringing us all sorts of snacks.

She ends up falling asleep halfway through, and Mr. Carson carries her in his arms without saying a word to the rest of us.

As soon as they disappear up the stairs, Killian takes my hand. “Let’s go.”

“But the film isn’t over.”

“Fuck the film. You can watch it later.”

“Killian,” I whisper-yell. “We’re in your parents’ house.”

“So? They have sex all the time. They’re probably in the middle of it as we speak.”

Gareth throws a pillow at his head. “Thanks for the image, motherfucker.”

Killian throws it back. Harder. “How do you think you came to life, sunshine? By shitting rainbows?” He tugs on my hand. “We’re leaving. Now.”

I give Gareth an apologetic glance and let Killian take me up the stairs.

“You know, we could’ve stayed a little and finished the film like normal people before you started thinking with your dick,” I say as we reach what I suppose is his room.

It looks like a copy of the one in the Heathens’ mansion, but there’s a full-length mirror on the opposite wall with some American football awards on each side.

I can’t help the urge to check that part of him. It’s strange how much I like discovering these things about him.

He once told me that football—American—helped him with his impulse control, but that’s about it.

Like everything in his life, he never cares about anything too deeply.

Even medicine seems like a stepping stone to him, but at least it’s one he actually enjoys.

Killian kicks the door shut behind him. “Good to know your sense of sarcasm could be upgraded. Also, I’m calling bullshit on the normal people part. If you were normal, you wouldn’t get off on being roughened up like a little dirty whore.”

My cheeks heat as I release an award and face him. “Killian!”

“What?”

“Can you not?”

“Not what?”

“Call me a whore outside of sex, you perverted prick.”

“Let’s get you naked first and then I’ll consider it.”

“I want to sketch something first.”

“Do it after.”

“No, I have grasp it now before it escapes me. I’ll sketch it real quick and redraw it later.”

“What is it?”

“I only have a feeling, so I won’t know for certain until I put it to paper.” I grin. “I’m weird and different like that.”

“Is it possibly a nude?”

“I don’t usually do those.”

“Usually?”

“I do them in class sometimes.”

“I need to have a word with your college so they’ll ban you from drawing naked people.”

“Stop it, you tyrant.” I can’t help but laugh. “You don’t see me moaning about you touching patients and seeing them naked.”

“That’s different. They’re patients.”

“And this is art.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Start convincing me then.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you say you want to sketch?” He retrieves a big stack of big white paper from the drawer and fishes out a mechanical pencil and tosses them on the rug opposite a huge mirror. “Sketch.”

I sit cross-legged on the floor and narrow my eyes on him. “Does that mean you’ll wait until I finish?”

“You know I’m not a patient man. At least, not when it comes to you.” He kneels behind me and meets my gaze in the mirror, his dark and harsh like the worst storm from the hurricane season. His finger grabs hold of the strap of my dress and slides it down my arm. “How about we both do our thing?”

“I’m not going to sketch while you’re touching me.” My voice becomes low, definitely laced with arousal.

“That wasn’t a request, Glyndon. Either we do this while you’re sketching or without it. Either would work with me.”

“You damn dictator.” I glare at him through the mirror. “I’m going to pretend you’re not there.”

A low chuckle fills the room. “By all means. I’d love to see you try.”

I smooth a page, fully intent on ignoring the hell out of him as I let the mechanical pencil slide over the page in continuous, condensed strokes.

In my peripheral vision, I catch Killian smirking at me in the mirror as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it to the side, then follows with his trousers and boxers.

My hand falters on the paper and his smirk widens as he stands in full view beside my body in front of the mirror.

“Like what you see, baby?”

The bastard knows how cruelly beautiful he is and doesn’t hesitate to use the fact as a weapon.

But I refuse to stare at or admire him right now. For once, he won’t have his way.

He reaches a hand to my hair and I think he’ll tug me back by it because he doesn’t like to be ignored, but he merely strokes it. “Did you know that the first time I saw you, I wanted to grab you by this hair as you choked on my cock?”

I purse my lips and continue sketching, not even knowing where I’m going with this.

He kneels behind me and slides a hand to my throat. “I also wanted to grab this delicate pulse and feel it beneath my fingers, knowing that I have the power to weaken and then eventually put it to halt…like right now.”

My heart comes to a thudding stop before it resurrects back to life as he squeezes. I meet his eyes in the mirror, mine bulging, his dark.

“Oh, look at that. I finally have your attention.” He relaxes his hold enough to allow me air as his other hand glides the other strap over my shoulder. “I also thought about ripping your clothes off and claiming you then and there.”

He bunches a fistful of my dress in his hand from behind and pulls with savage strength that rips it, letting it fall to shreds around us. “Like that.”

“K-Killian…”

“Shh, focus on sketching.”

My fingers twitch and I let the pencil bleed on the paper in a symphony of chaos that matches my insides.

He uses the chance to unclasp my bra, letting my aching breasts bounce free.

I brace myself for the pinch of my sensitive nipple, but he gently cups my breast, eliciting an erotic shudder from deep within my soul.

“I didn’t touch your tits that day, remember? But these nipples were hard, peeking from beneath that shirt, begging to be fucked as ruthlessly as your mouth.”

I shake my head, but he squeezes my nipple and I gasp as the jab of pleasure zaps straight to my core.

“Lies.” He pinches again and again, until I’m about to double over and tears gather in my eyes. “Look at you moaning and crying at the same time. Pick one, my little slut.”

“Fuck you.”

His erection stabs at my underwear-covered arse and he groans. “We’ll get to that in a bit. But we need to settle something first.”

He continues the rhythm of pinching my nipples, alternating between the two until my vision blurs and I’m ready to beg him to stop.

For some reason, I don’t.

For some reason, this part of him ticks all of my twisted boxes.

“Now, my little rabbit, you might act like you hate that night and me all you like, but it’s a fact that you got turned on by having your will confiscated. I saw it in your glittering eyes and shaky limbs. I saw it in your hard nipples and rosy cheeks. I bet you didn’t understand it yourself, but lucky for you, I can.”

“That’s not true,” I choke out, my voice so lustful, it’s shameful.

“More lies.” He releases my nipple and slides a hand down to my underwear, groaning. “I bet you were as soaked as you are right now. You were disappointed I didn’t take your virginity like a caveman, weren’t you? Bet you thought about it all night long, too.”

Before I can even fathom his words, he lifts me up by his hold on my throat so that I’m kneeling and he’s right behind me.

“Don’t stop sketching.”

“Killian…”

“Sketch.” His order makes me shake, but I let my hand do its thing while I’m unable to stare away from the mirror.

He rids me of my knickers so we’re both completely nude, then cups my core. “Bet this little cunt felt left out as I was stuffing your mouth with my cock. We have to make it up to her, don’t you think? Open your legs the widest you can.”

It’s hard in this position, but I try to and he slips his cock against my opening. I bite my lower lip in preparation for the penetration, but he only glides his erection against my folds.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

I’m about to come from the friction alone, but it’s not enough. I’ve come to realize that while I love waking up with his lips on my core or how he casually fingers me to orgasm during car rides, I love it tenfold better when his cock is wrecking me from the inside out.

I’m never going to admit this, but I also love waking up or going to sleep with his cock inside me.

He’s usually quick to get to that part, but obviously not today. He keeps rubbing his cock over my sensitive folds, my clit, my entrance, but he never thrusts in.

“Killian, please…”

“Please what?”

“Put it in…”

“Look at you being so fucking adorable and begging for it. Weren’t you supposed to be sketching?”

“Put it in,” I demand this time, wiggling my hips so I can catch the crown.

“We’ll play a game before that.”

“This isn’t the time for games.”

“It sure as fuck is. So, my little rabbit. I want you to admit to one of two things. The first is the obvious statement of being mine. The second is that you wanted me that first time.”

I glare at him through the mirror. “No.”

Slap.

I gasp as the sting registers on my core and spreads to my whole body.

Holy shit. Did the bastard just spank my pussy?

He did, and the sting hurts so good, I think I came a little. What the hell is wrong with me?

“We’ll try again. Say one.”

“I didn’t want you, are you crazy?” I snarl.

“Then say you’re mine.”

“No.”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

A broken sob mixed with a moan echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine as the orgasm threatens to hold me hostage.

“You’re dripping all over my hand and the carpet, baby. Maybe we should change the punishment method if you’re enjoying it a bit too much. Now, say one.”

I’m panting as I meet his gaze in the mirror, then slowly lower my head and shake it.

This time, the slaps go for so long that I think I’ll black out from the mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Fucking say it, Glyndon.”

“I wanted you,” I cry. “I don’t understand why, but I wanted you, you fucking bastard.”

“There.” His voice turns darker as he thrusts inside me slow but deep, and it’s enough to throw me over the edge.

My gasps and moans mix together in a symphony of pleasure, one that doesn’t come close to matching his own chaotic violence.

He’ll be the death of me.

Literally and figuratively.

“Don’t stop sketching, my little rabbit. Show me what those hands can make while you’re filled with my cock.”

I draw chaotically, with the same rhythm he’s fucking me. Deep, raw, and so out of control, I can hardly breathe.

Never would I have thought that sex could be this animalistic, this completely unhinged.

He’s ruined me for all sex.

I don’t think I’d ever be able to find pleasure if I wasn’t choked, thrown down, and properly claimed without me having a say in it.

I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy this with anyone but Killian.

Because as much as I hate to admit it, I trust him. He likes to hurt me, but he doesn’t want to break me.

He always said he wanted my fight, to dominate me, to hold me down and have his way with me, but he also gets off on me enjoying every second of it.

I’m about to come again, I feel it. I can taste in the air with every chopped-off inhale and exhale. My body is tuned to his, to how he spreads my legs farther and slides my wetness from where we’re joined to my back hole.

“What to do, baby? I think your ass is the one feeling left out now. We can’t let it miss the fun, no?”

A noise of pleasure is all I can release, because I’m about to fall again. Just when I’m on the edge, he pulls out.

My groan of frustration echoes in the air and the bastard has the audacity to chuckle. “Don’t be a greedy little rabbit. We’ve got to give your ass some love, too.”

He pushes me onto all fours, but I’m still holding the pencil on the paper. My core clenches when he parts my arse cheeks and slides two fingers inside. I bite my lip, used to this type of play whenever he’s pounding into me. Only, now, he adds a third finger and stretches my back hole until the overload of sensations tear me apart.

His other hand glides my arousal to my arse over and over until I’m writhing and bucking my hips. Just when I think I’ll come from how he’s stretching me, his fingers are gone.

“This may hurt.” His cock slides between my arse cheeks and he drives inside in one go.

I physically jerk forward with a groan, tears spilling on my sketch.

They’re relief tears, I realize. I most definitely am broken, because I’m utterly relieved that he didn’t take it easy.

And I’m flat out crying now due to the pain and the feeling of being so completely at his mercy that I can’t find a way out.

“Shh, relax. Don’t push me out.” He rolls his hips and does shallow thrusts that re-awaken my earlier arousal. I wiggle my hips, arching my back. “There, that’s my fucking girl.”

He finds his rhythm and pounds into me with an urgency that touches me to the bone. Every fiber of my being is tuned to him, to his power, to his sheer force.

And I can’t escape him, I realize.

What’s worse is that I don’t think I want to escape.

Maybe, deep down, I never did.

“Your ass feels as good as your cunt, baby. Feel how it’s swallowing my cock?” He slides out a little, then thrusts back in. “You belong to me.” Thrust. “This ass belongs to me.” He rams three fingers in my pussy. “This cunt is also mine.” He grabs my jaw and forces his index and middle fingers between my lips. “This mouth was the first to become mine.” He forces my jaw up with his remaining fingers so I stare at the mirror, then he pulls me so my back slams against his chest and his teeth bite down on my earlobe before he murmurs in dark words. “Next time you say what I’m offering is not enough, I want you to remember this view. I want you to remember how every part of you is fucking mine.”

I’m done for.

I don’t last.

I can’t.

He’s filling me up in ways I’ve never felt before, and it’s not only physically. I’m so done for on every other level.

And I’m free.

I look at him in the mirror as the orgasm washes over me.

It’s more than an orgasm. It’s a wrecking force and I’m being blown to pieces by it.

“Fucking beautiful,” he grunts as he throws me back down so my face meets the floor and he grabs me by the hair. “Now, you’re going to be real good for me so I can stuff you with my cum, baby.”

And then he fucks me on and on until I can’t take it anymore, until my gasps become inaudible and my moans fade into low ones.

That’s when he comes. All over my arse, then smears it on my thighs and back and everywhere he can reach.

He’s marking me, I realize. Every part of me.

“I knew you’d make a masterpiece, little rabbit.”

I stare at where he’s pointing through my blurry vision and my eyes widen when I see what I’ve sketched.

Through the blurry lines and harsh shadows, the subject is clear.

It’s us. Naked, joined, and absolutely terrifying.

And…we’re right, too.

“Yeah.” I smile through a haze. “Masterpiece.”

I’m about to fall, but he catches me and carries me in his arms. His lips meet my forehead and I’m a goner.

A lone tear slides down my cheek because I know that this type of obsessive and intense connection is the only thing he has to offer.

He’ll fuck me, catch me before I fall, and kiss my forehead, but he’ll never love me.

And I will always want him to.