Page 80 of Psycho Gods

He was pretending to be harmless, and it was killing him, but I could sense the truth—inside he was seething because once again I’d refused to be his Revered.

“Um, I think I’ll step outside to get some fresh air.” I glanced behind him at the door and pulled myself out of bed.

The room was suffocating with just the two of us awake.

I needed space.

Moving past him, I was determined to throw myself out into the cold and scream on all fours until warm steam burned away the heinous memories that festered inside my skull like parasitic monsters that ripped people apart and—

“No.” Malum’s arm shot out. He grabbed my bicep so I couldn’t move.

Even through my sweatshirt I was hyperaware of the burning heat emanating off his wide fingers.

More embers fell off him and hissed as they touched the exposed skin on my neck and hands.

His touch was scalding.

I was frozen.

My gaze drifted downward, and I gulped as I saw his impressive size was still straining against his pants.

Need mixed with fury between us.

Pain shivered down my spine, and I yanked backward. “Let me go,” I demanded, too delirious from lust and exhaustion to play his games.

I was confused.

The villain wasn’t supposed to ooze sex appeal; your enemy wasn’t supposed to pin you to the bed and ravish you.

He flexed his fingers, and I couldn’t move an inch.

I opened my mouth to scream.

Yet again, his mouth covered mine. He kissed me with such ferocity that my knees gave out.

His grip became unbearably painful, and air left my lungs as he yanked me close and whispered darkly, “I want answers. I know what I saw in that room.”

Pleasure mixed with pain as I gasped and struggled to catch my bearings. His heady tobacco scent wasn’t helping.

My head spun from secondary smoke inhalation and delirium.

I was high on him.

Silver eyes hardened into unfeeling chips of steel, and there was no softness left in his expression. “I know what you did,” he snarled cruelly.

His lips were swollen, and flames danced across his shoulders.

He looked like he couldn’t decide between ravaging and murdering me.

The funny (concerning) part was that I also couldn’t decide which one I preferred.

We had to stop meeting like this.

One thing was obvious: he’d just been pretending to be a gentle, nice guy when he’d blushed and given me the sandwich. He’d started the altercation with a false smile and a relaxed posture, but somewhere along the way, he’d dropped his mask.

Now his face was contorted with fury.

This was the real him.

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