God of War: An Enemies to Lovers Marriage Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 6)
God of War: Chapter 21

My lips part as I stare up into Eli’s eyes.

Cold.

Harsh.

Filled with rage.

I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s calm and collected to a fault. It’s alien to see him lose his cool, let alone drift into the lawless territory of anger.

His grip tightens on my arms, fingers digging into my flesh. It hurts, but I show no reaction and release no sound. I’m enchanted and completely taken in by his ruthless aura and…

Gray.

His eyes are so gray and enraged, it’s a miracle they don’t flash into darkness and suck me into its depths.

“Answer the question.” His calm words are deceptive, too clipped, too savage.

“W-what…” I swallow past the dryness making my tongue stick to the back of my throat. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Did you go to Vance Elliot’s arms while wearing my fucking ring, Ava?”

“I don’t remember marrying you, let alone anything that happened after, so how could I know?” I sound too defensive to my own ears and I hate it. I hate how guilt chips at my emotions and how utterly horrible I feel when faced with his anger.

“You told Bonneville you had a flashback in which you saw yourself kissing another man and asked her who it might be.”

My limbs shake as my lips part in complete bewilderment. Gemma is supposed to be the nice friend who’s never confrontational or a trouble-stirrer, but I should’ve known better. Her true colors have been showing ever since she set her greedy eyes on Eli.

In the beginning, I thought it was a harmless crush, even if it annoyed me. I told myself she thinks he’s hot like a million other girls do and stopped my mind from conjuring a plot to get rid of her like I did with his previous conquests at uni.

I’m paying for my kindness. I should’ve known a spoiled princess like her gets everything she wants. Her target is now my husband, and if it means she has to slander me and break my trust to get him, that’s exactly what she’ll do.

And just like that, my worst nightmare about Eli finding out has come true.

I clear my throat. “It…was nothing.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“It was a flashback, but you said the other flashback I had, about being tied up and being forced to consume pills, proved to be wrong.”

A muscle clenches in his jaw.

A violent blare goes off in my head.

“You lied,” I say instead of asking it as a question, because I’m sure he did.

He made me believe my memories were false.

“Why?” My voice carries in the silence like a ticking bomb. “Why did you lie to me?”

“Because you weren’t ready to find out that tying you up for hours on end and forcing you to undergo rehab was the only method to stop your alcoholism.”

I flinch, my head thudding against the door as if he slapped me. No. It wouldn’t have hurt this bad if he’d actually slapped me.

And it’s not only due to my forced rehab or that he, of all people, was the one who performed it.

No.

It’s the confirmation that I did, in fact, cheat on him.

All this time, part of me has felt guilty, but the other part has held on to the hope that it was a false memory like the one where I was tied up in bed.

But now that I know it’s absolute, my morals crush me. In reality, I shouldn’t be feeling this bad when I’m planning revenge for my broken heart, but I do.

My form of revenge should never include something as despicable as cheating.

It hurts me more than it does him. If I stooped that low, surely that’ll give him the green light to cheat as well.

There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to survive that.

“How many?” he asks in a voice tighter than my insides.

“How many what?”

“How many times did you offer what’s mine to another man?”

I shake my head.

“Answer the fucking question, Ava.”

“I don’t know! I don’t remember.” My voice burns with my strangling tears.

“But you do remember fucking someone else.” His eerily controlled voice sends a shiver through me as he releases my arm and wraps a hand around my throat. “What did you give him access to, hmm?” He shoves my dress down and it rips as my breasts pop out, my skin flushed. I quiver when he twists my hard nipple. “Did you let him touch my fucking tits?”

Letting my dress hang in tatters at my waist, he wedges a hand between my legs and cups my pussy. His eyes flash when he’s met with my naked skin. “Did you wear nothing beneath the dress in preparation for your rendezvous with your lover, Mrs. King?”

I want to say it was mainly to tease him, but, apparently, my tongue is twisted in knots. Once again, my only reaction is a shake of my head.

“That doesn’t deny that you let him touch my property. My cunt.”

“I-I really don’t know.” My whisper translates the smashing weight of my guilt and utter loss, but to my shame, it also communicates my absurd arousal that he can touch with his fingers.

“But you do know. You love blowing men kisses, having them eat from your fingers like fucking dogs. You love the attention and making those fools come back for more.”

“That was before we got married.”

“Was it, though? You still love the attention, the spotlight, the role of a goddess for men, but here’s the thing.” He releases me, flips me around, and shoves me against the door. His fingers press against my nape as warm lips meet my ear. “I’m the only man who’ll offer you attention and my cock is the only cock you’ll take between your legs.”

Then he’s on me, his hand shoving my dress up to my waist, his heavy frame gluing to my back as he parts my legs.

I can hear the rustle of clothes before I feel the prodding of something large and unmistakable at my pussy.

A trembling breath escapes me as I grab onto the uneven edges of the door. The cool surface hardens my nipples and stimulates my warm skin.

He slides the crown of his cock up and down my slick slit, eliciting sharp, horrifying pleasure from the depths of my soul. “I’m going to fuck you, hard, until you’re officially owned and dripping with my cum, Mrs. King.”

Any protest I have ends in a strangled whimper when he slides inside me.

My body tenses, my insides clench, and he meets unmistakable resistance.

Eli’s movements come to a halt.

I cease breathing.

The world stops rotating.

His hand wraps around my throat, angling my head back so his lips are inches from mine.

“Tell me you’re just tense and this isn’t what I think it is.”

“You…you said we had sex,” I pant.

“I never said that.”

Oh God.

Oh God.

This is actually the first time I’ve had sex. Against a door.

In a supply room.

While he’s angry.

Pain explodes inside me in tones of bright orange as the resistance finally breaks against his cock. Without him even having to do anything.

As usual, he destroys things with his mere existence.

Eli starts to pull out, but I sink my nails into his arm, digging them violently into his jacket. “Don’t you dare fucking stop. You took my virginity, so you better make this worth it.”

“Fuck.” He plunges in again, panting in my ear like an animal.

I cry out, the pain spreading from my pussy to my stomach, then straight to my heart.

Everything hurts, whether my body or my soul, but I bite my lower lip, adamant to take it.

“Fuck,” he murmurs again as he finds a rhythm, deep but slow and sinfully consuming.

My head bangs against the door as the pain slowly morphs into pleasure. My tongue wets my lower lip over the aching marks my teeth left. I’m shaking all over, my legs unstable and my head trapped in a messy fog. In a sense, Eli’s hand around my throat is the only thing keeping me upright.

And sane.

So I bite his forefinger that’s resting near my mouth and sink my teeth into it as I rock against him.

“Fuck.” He goes stronger, his rhythm upping in both depth and intensity as he breathes harshly.

His thumb finds my clit and he rubs and teases me in circles as he fucks me into oblivion.

I’m so wet, the in-and-out of his cock echoes in the room like a dark symphony of lust. It’s obscene that I’m even getting so into this considering the circumstances, but I am, so much so, I grow more aroused with each measured thrust.

Eli pulls out almost completely, then drives in again, hitting a sensitive spot inside me.

A violent sensation thrashes through me. White stars dance behind my eyes as I let it wash over me in a consuming wave. I bite his finger harder as muffled moans slip out of me. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The orgasm is the strongest I’ve ever had, but also the most painful.

“Christ. Fuck!” He grabs a handful of my waist as he goes deep and fast, his teeth sinking into the side of my neck, sucking the flesh.

“Mine,” he growls against my neck as he comes inside me in one ruthless go and warmth fills me.

And then his lips replace his finger as he kisses me senseless. It’s a mess of teeth, tongues, and primal frustration that spreads from inside me to where we’re connected.

Being kissed by Eli is a beautiful torment. It’s addictive. It’s toxic. It’s sweetly poisonous.

He pulls out of me and I feel sticky wetness sliding down my thighs.

I’m still reeling from the throbbing orgasm as he nips my lips one final time before he pulls back.

He holds my arm as I turn around, probably sensing I’m unable to stand on my own.

My dress is still bunched up to my waist and I follow his darkened eyes as they take in the sight of his cum mixed with my blood. The pink fluid slides down my thighs and pools in my precious shoes.

“Guess this means I didn’t cheat on you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, my body aching everywhere.

Down to my stupid heart.

He steps toward me. I hold up a hand. “Stay the hell away from me.”

I straighten my dress as much as possible, my lips set in a dignified line as I resist the urge to bawl my eyes out.

There’s no way in hell I’ll let him see me break down. Not now.

Once I’m done, I turn around to leave.

A jacket is draped around my shoulders and Eli pulls the pins from my hair, setting it free. His scent saturates my nostrils and I loathe that I take any form of solace from it. Or the fact that he smells a bit like me.

Though something tells me his darkness will stifle my flowery scent soon enough.

He’s destructive like that.

“I told you⁠—”

My words end in a yelp when he picks me up and carries me in his arms. “To stay away. I heard. As it seems, I refuse to let you walk out in front of the entire world looking freshly fucked and allow small-dicked simpletons to picture how you look in the throes of passion. So unless you’re in the mood to watch me go on a murder spree, stay fucking still.

I look away as my chin trembles and a bitter tear slides down my cheek.

The ride back to the house passes in a blur. I’m so tired, I want to fall asleep and possibly not wake up.

Not face the reality of whatever happened tonight.

My thoughts are a jumbled mess of violent emotions and hungry desire. A sick need for more and a wish to never do this again.

So I do just that. I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. My hyperawareness of Eli’s presence doesn’t stop me from going under.

In my sleepy haze, I feel large hands pulling me away from the window. Something soft wipes the insides of my sticky thighs and gently strokes my sore pussy.

I let out a whimper. Eli curses under his breath.

Or I think he does.

When I come back to the world of the living, I feel him carrying me in his arms. I’m still wearing his jacket and morbidly invaded by his scent.

I can’t escape it or him.

It’s like I’m stuck in a loop.

Instead of opening my eyes, I keep them shut. The last thing I want is a confrontation with him. I feel so raw. So fragile. So emotional.

If I speak, he’ll dish out his favorite description of me—dramatic—and shelve me as mentally unstable.

And that’s not what I want him to think of me.

Even if I actually am. Even if he’s well aware of my situation. The panic attack he witnessed a few weeks ago should be the only thing he knows of my true self.

So I remain relaxed, eyes closed, hands tucked in my lap as he walks to what I assume is the entrance hall.

“Is everything okay?” Sam’s voice filters through.

He comes to a halt and I feel his eyes studying my face so intently, I resist the urge to squirm. “Not quite.”

“Is she…?” Sam trails off, then clears her throat. “Want me to help put her to bed?”

“I’ll do it.” He starts walking again and I contemplate opening my eyes and asking for Sam.

As much as I liked comparing their emotionless behavior, she’s by far much better company than he is. At least she listens to me talk nonstop, doesn’t judge me, and even helps out with my different endeavors and half-baked hobbies.

But the chance to wake up and call for her slips between my fingers like sand as Eli takes the stairs with impressive speed.

He places me on the top of my bed and disappears.

Oh. That wasn’t so bad. Though one would think he’d at least cover me.

What a prick.

I start to open my eyes, but I hear noise coming from the bathroom. I go back to playing asleep, managing to relax as his footsteps echo in the room. Soon after, he sits me up and the mattress dips under his weight as he removes the jacket. Goosebumps erupt on my skin and an excruciating heat pulses through me. However, I remain still as he pulls down the zipper excruciatingly slowly and trails his fingers over my back in a sensual caress. Then he slides the dress away attentively, as if he’s preventing the fabric from hurting my skin.

As I sit stark naked in front of him, I feel his gaze taking in my every slope and curve as he grabs my hip and wraps a hand around my throat.

Tension burns in the air hotter than a furnace and I can’t banish the images of him fucking me against the door from my head.

I wish I’d hated it. I really, really wish I regretted it, but the truth is, it was everything I wanted and more.

I just dislike the circumstances.

Eli carries me in his arms for the third time tonight and walks me to what I assume is the bathroom. Warm water envelops my skin as he carefully sinks my entire body in it and leans my head against the bathtub’s pillow.

The temperature is a much-needed balm for my aching core and I resist wiggling my toes. There’s a rustle of clothes before the water swirls with movement.

I don’t realize he’s joining me until I feel him position my body between his legs, and then he leans me back against his taut muscles and rests my head on his shoulders.

Holy hell.

Is Eli taking a bath with me right now?

My skin heats, and I’m thankful for the water that plays as a camouflage to my chaotic state.

This is such a cruel predicament. How am I supposed to play pretend when his majestic body envelops mine? Hell, I can feel his semi-hard-on nudging against my arse.

The first time he’s gotten naked and I don’t get to see it. Fantastic.

Only, Eli didn’t just join me in the bath. I smell my favorite honey and roses shower gel, and then, to my utter surprise, Eli washes me. He starts with my arms and my breasts, then goes down below. I relax as much as possible, despite the circumstances, and he lifts each of my legs up to clean the insides.

Most of the time, his arm is draped around my waist to keep me balanced.

It’s almost impossible to not let out any sounds, so whenever I don’t feel his eyes on my face, I bite my lower lip.

Being bathed by my emotionally stunted husband wasn’t on my bingo card this year.

Excuse me while I freak out a little.

He takes his time cleaning every bit of my skin, exhibiting an amount of patience I know for a fact he’s not capable of.

Wait.

Is this another cruel dream of mine?

My stomach sinks at the very possible realization, but instead of surrendering to the gloom, I choose to live in the moment.

Even if it is a dream.

After what seems like forever, Eli wipes my face with a lukewarm towel, removing every ounce of dolling up I attempted.

This time, I contemplate stopping him. Yes, he saw me without makeup when I woke up in the hospital, but that’s the only time he has and if I have a say, ever would.

I just don’t feel as confident without a layer of high-end products. Especially not in front of him.

The pampering session ends too soon as he lifts me up in his arms, wraps a towel around me, and carries me outside. Again, he takes his time drying me gently and with ease, as if he’s used to this.

Used to this?

What a bizarre thought.

He sits me on the bed again. Only, this time, it’s against the headboard instead of himself. With feather-light touches, he slides a soft nightgown over my head and tucks me in, pulling the silk duvet to my chin.

I can feel his eyes on my face and before I can hide underneath the covers, he wraps his fingers around my throat and strokes my pulse point as he brushes his lips against my forehead.

My mouth parts and I’m surprised I don’t explode like a box of dynamite.

Who is this person? He’s not the Eli I know.

This is definitely not the Eli who accused me of cheating on him and claimed me like an animal less than an hour ago.

However, when he says, “Sleep well, Mrs. King,” I do just that, the bitterness from earlier slowly withering away. I surrender to the darkness, even if it means I’ll have to wake up from this gut-wrenching sweet dream.

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