God of Ruin: Chapter 20

Contrary to common belief, primarily told by my haters and those who had the misfortune of being collateral damage to my chaos-thirsty soul, I’m not a beast.

I know, I know. It’s hard to believe that notion, considering my anarchy plots that could and would bring Satan’s edgy worshipers to tears.

My beast is different from the general consensus most people have about me, my ex-therapists included.

It’s not me. It’s part of me.

My beast has been hooked to my bones from the moment I was conceived by my parents. Pretty sure my and Bran’s beast got split and I received the louder one. His can be easily kept in chains. Mine would kill me before I were to attempt such blasphemy.

This may shock the antisocial disorder police, but I actually don’t relish hurting people for the fuck of it—though everyone, my family and friends included, would tell you otherwise.

Truth is, the individuals I hurt just happened to be in my path.

I don’t react well to obstacles. The moment I see one, I come up with a hundred and one solutions to eliminate it, and because I need anarchy, I usually go for the most difficult resolution that will cause the most damage just so I’ll feel somewhat accomplished.

Real.

Alive.

I also take immense pleasure in bringing others to their knees in front of me. It’s an addictive power that I need to satiate as much as my need for chaos.

My beast is easygoing. All I have to do is offer him some violence, anarchy, and possible blood and he’ll be golden, lounging around like a lion in his cave.

My beast is also quite pragmatic. Deep down in his black soul, he wants to murder à la serial killer style and look into people’s eyes as they turn lifeless. He wants the power of holding other people’s existence in the palm of his hand like their custom-made god.

He ranks high on emotion and catastrophe control and would be a perfect candidate for a wanted murderer—famous but would never be caught.

However, that thought never has and never will come to fruition for a very simple reason. A moment of gratification isn’t worth the damage that could be inflicted throughout my lifetime in the 0.01 percent chance I’m caught.

Imagine—me behind bars? The blasphemy.

And yet right now, my beast is far from being rational, peaceful, or relaxed. I’ve been standing here for the past…fuck knows how long. An hour? Three? Five? It’s probably close to dawn and I haven’t been able to sleep a wink.

I sculpted a stroke of genius, then shoved it at the back of the other statues with the canvas that has Mia’s blood all over it.

Virginal blood.

Summoning Satan using that is a tempting idea, but I’m opting for something a lot more devilish.

Something that defies reality and puts everything I’ve done thus far to shame.

I light a cigarette and exhale a cloud of smoke under the shadows of early morning slipping through the window whose cracks I filled with clay after Mia was shivering a few weeks ago.

Sucking on my cigarette, I stroll to where Mia lies on the sofa, her small body wrapped in my shirt.

Only my shirt.

It’s become a habit now. Even when her dress is intact, she also puts on my clothes before she falls into slumber.

The fabric rides up her pale thighs, revealing my fading marks and the fresh ones I added today. Earlier, her inner thighs were smudged with proof of her innocence, but I smeared every drop on the canvas and licked the rest clean.

I needed to devour the evidence even when she looked mortified by the attention. I licked and nibbled on her soft core, then sucked on her thighs, stomach, and mound. Everywhere I could leave a hickey of ownership.

The whole time, she watched me with a bizarre fascination bordering on both lust and confusion.

Mia might act righteous, but she’s also harboring a beast. It’s different from mine and has irregular codes of conduct, but it’s a beast all the same.

I inhale the cancer stick into my lungs and release a trail of smoke in the air as I circle the sofa on and on as if that’ll make sense of the sheer chaos brewing inside me.

Mia was only supposed to be a temporary muse, an outlet through which my creativity climaxes—literally and figuratively.

But as I look at her soft features, lips slightly parted and thick lashes fanning her cheeks, I realize how sorely mistaken I’ve been.

A fuck has merely whet my appetite for more of her taste, more of marking her flesh and swallowing her into my kink-flavored world.

And I don’t fuck the same woman twice. Have never wanted one again as soon as I was done with her. Have never watched one while my beast concocts plans to have her writhing beneath me while her cunt milks my cock. Soon.

Now, even.

Her presence is starting to influence my thoughts and decision-making process. I need to put an end to this and sabotage the very marrow of her being before she becomes the bane of my existence.

Mia stirs as she usually does when she has her naps. For some reason, she sleeps a lot around me, something even she finds weird. The other day, she accidentally told me she doesn’t sleep much, even with the lights on.

What lines did the dark cross to turn you into this?

I narrow my eyes as I blow smoke in her face.

A part of me knows that I don’t care about people’s circumstances. Never have and never will. The only reason I’m having these thoughts is so that I can gather more information about her and use it to prey on her. I’d shatter her into minuscule pieces so that no one would be able to put her back together again.

Contrary to what I anticipated, Mia doesn’t wake up. She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her hands around them so that she’s lying in a fetal position.

Unintelligible shaky noises fall from her mouth. Sweat beads on her upper lip and forehead, and her disheveled blonde strands stick to her skin.

My hand wraps around the back of the sofa as I lean down to try and decipher the noises.

There’s a lot of whining, gasping, and moans of pain, but something else slips in between.

When I finally make out the sound, the cigarette falls from my hand and hits the floor, releasing a spark of orange light, then it dies out.

“No…”

That’s what she’s saying between trembling noises. It’s not much, but it’s without a doubt something she’s never said before.

A word.

I was right. She sounds nothing like the pretentious Maya. Her voice is lower, softer, and possibly the only voice I’d listen to on repeat.

Over and over.

I fetch my phone and hit record.

“No…” she repeats, a bit stronger, even though she’s still shaking like a bird caught in a storm.

All my blood rushes to between my legs. My cock bulges against my boxers at a speed I’ve never experienced before.

The sound of her voice explodes somewhere behind my rib cage and I find myself leaning farther down so that my ear is nearly glued to her luscious lips.

“No…please…”

Please.

Who is she begging if it’s not me?

She has no right to beg anyone but me.

More moans. Gasps. Whimpers of pure twisted pain.

I push back to stare at her anguished face, furrowed brow, and the tears that pool in the corners of her eyes and then cascade down her cheeks.

Not only is she having a nightmare, but she’s also suffering more with every passing second.

A better person would wake her up, but if I do, she won’t speak again. This is her subconscious talking, and she probably won’t even remember the words she’s just released.

Besides, how dare she dream of someone else after the explosive introductory meeting between my cock and her cunt?

Fuck it. I’m waking her up anyway.

After I throw my phone on the table, I tap her cheek with the back of my hand. She doesn’t even stir.

“Open your fucking eyes,” I say not so nicely and fail to recognize the reason behind my darkened tone.

Mia doesn’t reply or show signs of acknowledging her surroundings.

Don’t blame me for what I’m about to do.

I clearly asked her to wake up, but she didn’t seem keen on the idea, so I have to resort to other measures.

And yes, I’m deeply disturbed by the fuck mode situation my cock easily slipped into. I might be known as someone with an immense sex drive and an extensive repertoire of paraphilia, but I don’t actually get turned on easily.

Or I didn’t. Mia obviously changed that.

Earlier, Nila and Bethany were practically humping me and offering a fuck-one-get-one-free deal, but I couldn’t muster an ounce of interest.

Mia speaks two words in her sleep and I’m ready to impregnate her with my fucking child so she’ll have no way out.

Fuck. What was that thought all about?

I pull down my boxers so that I’m fully naked, then hop on the sofa.

My knees rest on either side of her as I throw one of her legs over my shoulder and bare her swollen pink cunt.

She’s most definitely sore, and the last thing she needs is another sexual adventure.

Someone else would probably leave her alone.

Good thing I’m not someone else.

I lift my shirt up to expose her pink nipples and tease one then stroke her folds, sinking my fingers into the pink flesh. A shudder goes through her tiny body. The creases of discomfort slowly disappear from her face and the groans of pain quiet down.

Just like magic.

My fingers find her clit and I circle, then tap it slightly. Her hips jerk and a moan of pleasure falls from her parted lips.

I keep doing that until I feel her sticky arousal welcoming me and the intoxicating scent of her pussy fills my nostrils.

As she writhes, I release her cunt that should just be called my cunt at this point. I wrap my fingers around her throat, digging my thumb into the red fingerprints I left earlier.

I jerk myself a few times, using her stickiness on my palm as lube, then slowly slide inside her welcoming heat.

Mia moans, her head falling back and her body shivering.

Fucking fuck. She’s perfectly tight.

I thrust at a moderate pace, relishing how she clenches around my dick as if she’s conscious. The fact that she’s not makes this a lot more erotic.

My cock is seriously considering a longer subscription for the first time in his hedonistic life.

Mia’s nipples harden as her hips meet me stroke for stroke. I’ve never believed in fate, but I’m so sure this little muse was made for me. Her body’s memory of mine kicks in and she jerks her hips and arches her back in welcome.

“Your cunt is so greedy for my cock. You’re going to take my cum deep inside like my favorite little fuck hole whenever I want, aren’t you?” I groan and pick up my pace, going from zero to one hundred in no time.

Mia’s eyes pop open, and for a second, she appears disoriented as she blinks the tears from her eyes.

My gaze captures her wild one as I ram into her, owning every inch and leaving no scraps.

I don’t stop.

It’s too late to stop.

Her frantic gaze goes from my face to where we’re joined.

I expect her to try and push me away, but she tightens around my cock, her arousal offering the best lube I’ve ever had. Okay, it’s tied with her blood.

Mia is a piece of art when she’s orgasming. Her brow furrows, her mouth opens in a silent O, and she jerks her hips.

I’d expected myself to last longer, and I usually do, but the view of her shattering on my cock brings me to the brink in no time.

Fuck.

My balls tighten and I come in long spurts over her bare stomach.

I nearly came inside her. Again.

I don’t know what the fuck has come over me. I have rubbers all over my person and place, but for the second time, I forgot to put one on.

Or maybe, deep down, I tricked myself into forgetting. It’s no secret that I needed to feel her bare skin against mine as she came undone.

Mia mentioned a week or so ago that she had an appointment to change her birth control shot, but still, this is a considerable slip on my part.

We remain there, basking in the aftermath of the lust haze. My mind is a fog of unanswered questions and dangerous possibilities, and yet my cock is still, for all intents and purposes, half erect.

Mia recovers first, pushes my hand from her neck, and scoots away on her elbows.

“What the hell was that?” she signs.

“Your attempts at looking angry are an utter failure. Might want to try again when your face doesn’t look freshly fucked—and pleased, if I might add.”

She glares.

“To answer your question, that was, as we agreed, demonstrating one of my kinks.” I grin. “Somnophilia for the win.”

Her lips part and she swallows thickly.

“Oh?” I tilt my head. “Judging by your reaction, it might be your kink as well.”

She shakes her head harder than needed, but her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.

“No need to be ashamed when you just came because of it. But I digress, only until the next time I wake you up with my cock.”

What am I saying? There shouldn’t be a next time.

She starts to get up, but I grab her by the hand. Mia pauses, wearing a bemused expression. I snatch a few tissues from the coffee table, where her dinner waits, and wipe the evidence of our fuck session from her translucent skin.

What am I if not a caring gentleman?

It helps that I get to trace my finger marks on her flesh. These irregular hickeys and bite marks are fast becoming my favorite creation.

Mia remains still and watches me with eyes that resemble half-crushed, barely surviving wildflowers at the edge of volcanic lava.

It’s definitely not because of the sex, considering the smidge of lust still shining through them.

“What were you dreaming about just now?” I ask as I finish cleaning the space between her legs, then wipe her stomach.

“Nothing.”

“You were crying and gasping.”

“Nothing,” she signs the word with more attitude this time.

“A long time ago.” I take extra care in cleaning the rim of her belly button. “Bran came into my room without light in his eyes, and when I asked him what had happened, he also said nothing. And yet he hasn’t been the same since. So I have deep trust issues with the word nothing.”

She swallows and hangs her head. I can tell she’s close to breaking, and all I have to do is push a bit further.

My voice softens. “Is it related to whoever took your voice?”

Mia nods once.

That’s a good start.

“Is he still alive?”

Another nod.

So it’s a he.

“Did your parents make him live as a cripple?”

She shakes her head and then signs, “No one knows who or where he is.”

Not even her mafia parents.

This must be why she’s often looking over her shoulder and only sleeps when there’s a light on.

Someone stole not only her voice—her beautiful, melodic voice—but also her peace of mind.

Someone who took the major risk of attacking a mafia princess, not caring about the consequences, is of a different caliber.

“Not even you?”

Her eyes, the color of sheer determination, meet mine, looking a bit lost. “What do you mean?”

“You said no one knows where he is, which makes sense, but what about who he is? You’ve seen him, no?”

The air crackles with tension so thick, I could possibly cut through it with a knife. All color drains from Mia’s face and a tremor twitches her parted lips as she shakes her head frantically.

Interesting.

“But I will find him,” she signs after she partially recovers. “Either I get my voice back or I die.”

I push a tangle of blonde hair and blue ribbons from her face. Mia stares up at me with a struck expression, her plump lips parting and begging for my cock between them.

But that’s a thought for another day.

“Complete nonsense. The only ultimatum is that you’ll get your voice back and kill him. I can make it happen. All you have to do is ask.”

I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing. For the first time in my life, I’m prioritizing someone else over my own schemes.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m irrevocably bewitched by that soft voice and I refuse to believe that was the last time I’ll hear it.