Page 4 of Her Vicious Angel

3

CERISE

Iwas expecting we’d go to some fancy Russian billionaire luxury apartments in town, but instead he blazed onto the highways away from Moscow, riding fast and recklessly through the traffic. My thighs ached from how tightly I clung to him. I didn’t want to put my arms around him, but I was too afraid I’d fall off otherwise. His body was hard and unyielding.

The wind was frigid at this speed, and the tiny flecks of snow burned my cheeks. I had to close my eyes against the chill as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was twilight before we pulled into a driveway. The property itself was hidden away behind a thick, dense forested area. I was surprised to see that it was protected by a tall, imposing wall and guards with heavy weaponry. As soon as they saw Andrei, they nodded and waved him in.

Great. Why would a theater magnate need his vacation home to be protected by armed guards?

The lodge itself was a huge, three-storied wooden structure, constructed with smooth stone and thick beams. It was lit up with twinkling lights but the grounds themselves were dark. It looked like a ski resort where movie stars and celebrities went on vacation.

Andrei pulled right up to the door and hopped off. He didn’t help me get down, and I waddled after him with cramped legs, thinking,Christ, what an asshole.

He was greeted by a cheerful, round woman who looked like the housekeeper, and other people who I assumed by their deference were his employees.

He shot off orders in rapid-fire Russian. I couldn’t follow any of it or pick out any words. He finally noticed me and switched to English, saying curtly, “if you go into one of the rooms down this hallway you will find something to change into. They’ll make us supper in an hour or so.”

I didn’t find much that would be considered warm, but I did find a strangely large quantity of silky and lacy lingerie. I finally dug out a pair of tight black jeans that I was barely able to get on, and a tight black Metallica shirt that barely covered my stomach. That would have to do.

I walked out of the bedroom, pulling my unruly waves up into a loose and messy bun. I was too tired and hungry to feel as nervous, and I walked into the living room that adjoined the big dining room. It was decorated with heavy, dark wood and filled with luxurious sofas and a roaring fireplace. I hurried toward the fireplace thankfully, but then I stopped short, my heart pounding.

Andrei was leaning back carelessly on one of the sofas. I saw his blue eyes flick up and down my body. He was sitting on a sofa facing me, his suit so dark it blended in against the deep black of the luxurious fabric. He had loosened his collared shirt, and he was holding his tie casually in his hand. He must be inspecting my body to see if I would make a convincing fake wife, but his inspection seemed designed to make me nervous, and I felt anger begin to prickle below my skin. It was mixed with unwelcome twinges of lust as I met his eyes and remembered how he had touched me in Moscow.

His big legs fell open as he leaned back, draining a glass of scotch.

I tried to ignore him as I backed into the dining room to prepare a cup of tea, but I could still feel his eyes on me. Was he thinking what a shitty and unconvincing fake wife I would make? Why else would he be staring at me?Fuck this guy. I couldn’t wait to get away from him.

I turned away, pretending like I had to carefully decide between the selection of spoons to stir my cream in.

As I turned my back on him, he spoke.

“Come here and ride my cock, wife.”

The spoons clattered down on the counter as I whirled around.

He still sat on the couch, his legs spread open, and that arrogant smirk on his face.

My jaw dropped open and I said the first thing that came to my mind.

“But you’re gay!”

He didn’t move his body from its lazy pose, but his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“What makes you think that?”

“The letter I got,” I said, somewhat lamely. “It said you needed a wife to draw attention away from your unusual predilections.”

“And you assumed that meant I was gay?” he asked, cocking his head and considering me with those sharp blue eyes.

“I guess I did,” I said. Belatedly, I realized that I should have gotten confirmation of whatever his predilections were that I was meant to cover for.

“I’m not gay,” he said flatly. “And my. . . proclivities are not fucking men.”

“Oh god,” I said, my cheeks flaming. “What a comical misunderstanding. If you could just drive me back to the airport I’ll go back to America and we’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”

“Maybe,” said Andrei. “But right now I want you to come ride my cock.”

“No, thank you,” I said with embarrassment.

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