Title: Savage Gods
Series: Savage Hearts #2
Author: Amanda Richardson
Genre: Reverse Harem Bully Romance
Cover Design: Moonstruck Cover Design
Photo: Wander Aguiar
Release Date: March 15, 2022
I would forever be grateful that Silas Huxley, Damon Brooks, and Jude Vanderbilt saved me from my own broken darkness.
They were there to catch me–as friends, and now as roommates and lovers. Three enigmatic, brutal gods who would do anything for me–even kill.
Because someone connected to Silas is planning our demise–someone with a past that doesn’t want to be found.
Despite this, I know the guys will keep me safe. After all, I belong to them now.
I’m confident the four of us can withstand anything.
Until Jude disappears.
And I’ll rot in hell before I let anyone hurt him.
Welcome to the dark side of Savage Ink, motherf*ckers.
Savage Gods (Savage Hearts Book Two) is a spinoff of the Ruthless Royals duet, which does not have to be read first. It is a full-length enemies-to-lovers/bully reverse harem romance, and while it doesn’t end with a true cliffhanger, there will be unanswered questions. It is advised to read the series in order.
My eyes scan the wall of crosses–the wall everyone sees first thing when they walk into this house. “Why doesn’t Silas take those down?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Jude walks over to the wall and takes one of them off, holding it in his hand. The edges are smooth and long, though the other crosses are all different shapes and sizes. He holds the cross out to me.
“He hasn’t changed a single thing since we moved in two years ago. I think he’s scared of disturbing the spirits,” Jude finishes, chuckling. “Here. Maybe if we take one down at a time, he won’t notice.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want it.”
He tilts his head slightly and walks over to me, pinning me against the wall as he brushes the long end of the cross down my chest slowly.
My chest rises and falls as the smooth edge runs lower, sending shivers down my spine as it teases the sensitive skin between my ribs, and then my belly button, before snagging in the waistband of my pants. He maneuvers it lower, underneath my pants, and I inhale sharply.
“Jude,” I warn, my breathing rapid now as I crane my neck over his shoulder. I don’t see Silas or Damon.
He doesn’t answer my plea. Instead, he works the button of my pants and unzips them, pulling them low enough to give him access.
“This won’t do,” he murmurs, scooping me up and carrying me to the foyer table. Brushing everything onto the ground, I gasp as he sets me down and pulls my pants off completely. Clicking his tongue, he takes a step back. “Red panties today.”
I swallow my words. My skin is on fire, and I eye the way his hands smoothly grip the cross. He can’t. He wouldn’t–
“Spread your legs, Lennon.”
A thrill shoots through me, electrifying me and sending a gush of wetness to the space between my legs. My clit throbs as I scoot back and place my hands behind me, leaning back slightly. My nipples are taught against my t-shirt, and the fabric brushes against them as I wait for Jude to do whatever depraved thing he’s going to do, whether or not I like it. I spread my legs, and he groans so low I think I feel him more than hear him.
“That’s right, princess,” he growls. Moving closer, he takes the cross and runs it up the inside of my left calf.
So torturously slowly.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, moving it higher. It’s cold, but I’m hot, so it feels amazing against my flushed skin. My whole body convulses as the cool metal hits the inside of my thigh. Goosebumps erupt along my skin.
“No,” I whisper, my voice pleading. I look down, analyzing the black cross. The long part is round, smooth, and thick–shaped like a pipe, except it tapers off slightly at the bottom. It’s made of some kind of metal, so I know it’ll be cold. My eyes flick back up to his fiery irises, and I spread my legs wider in answer.
Jude runs the cross higher, pulling my panties down my legs and discarding them to the side. I hiss as he uses the cross to do slow circles in the area between my thigh and pussy, taunting me.
I move my hands forward and clutch the edge of the table tightly as he spreads my lips with the edge of the cross, playing with them until I drop my head back. Bucking my hips, I wait for him to insert the giant rod.
“What shall I do with this cross?” Jude asks, antagonizing me.
Amanda Richardson writes from her chaotic dining room table in Yorkshire, England, often distracted by her husband and two adorable sons. When she’s not writing contemporary and dark, twisted romance, she enjoys coffee (a little too much) and collecting house plants like they’re going out of style.