Page 24 of Her Vicious Angel

Cerise stands up. I glance down at her. Perfect ass, perfect breasts, and that perfect angry curl to her lip.

“Are you all right?” Dmitri asks, but of course he doesn’t move toward her or touch her.

He knows that would be an act of war for me.

She frowns, and kicks at Anatoly’s prone body.

“Nasty little turd.”

I like that she rejects his sympathy, even though I can see goosebumps on the curve of her neck.

Good girl. We don’t ever show fear,I think.

I wonder where the fuckthatthought came from. I don’t think in terms of “we,” ever.

Then Cerise says contemptuously, “Someone get this asshole’s body out of my way,” and I can’t think of anything else, except one word.

Mine.

13

CERISE

“He could have shot you,” I can’t help saying as I follow Andrei down the hallway.

His men are securing the theater and posting guards in case any of the rival families decide to try to move in and claim the theater when they hear that Anatoly is dead.

Andrei turned around abruptly. “I knew that pencil dick wasn’t going to hit me.”

There was a streak of blood across his face and speckled up and down his collared shirt and suit jacket. Even on his tie.

I knew I should be horrified, repulsed.

But I wasn’t.

My heart was pounding from knowing that he had killed for me. My skin was buzzing with need and lust.

I couldn’t help reaching out to one of his cufflinks. It seemed like the least terrifying thing to do.

I reached out one tentative finger and rubbed all the blood off the cufflink.

His eyes flicked up to my face for one tense second, then he picked me up and shoved me up against a wall in the long, elegant hallway.

Then he was kissing me, his kisses urgent, his tongue demanding. I opened my mouth and shivered as I felt his tongue demanding, taking, possessing me.

He put both hands on my face, kissing me so harshly that my lips felt bruised and swollen when he broke off to run his tongue down my neck.

I moaned, my lips opening as I felt the air on their swollen surface.

“That’s right,” he said arrogantly. “That’s the sound you make for me, baby.”

He put one hand under my shirt and ripped my bra down to cup my breast and rub a pitiless thumb across my soft nipple.

I felt harsh shards of pleasure shoot down my body, his rough touch ripping through the point between pleasure and pain as my body clenched and wound with desire for him.

Then he slipped his other hand down my pants and brushed my clit.

My hips jerked and bucked and he put one hand warningly on them.

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