Page 5 of Her Vicious Angel

He drew his brows together and he frowned.

“Cerise, come fuck me.”

It was the first time he had said my name aloud and I hated how it felt along my skin, setting me on fire.

“No!” I said. “I came here to be the cover for your boyfriends, not fuck you.”

He said nothing for a second, his eyes narrowing, then he stood up.

I hurriedly scuttled to the other end of the big table.

“If I want to fuck you, I am going to fuck you,” he said coldly.

“What about that woman who left the white fur bikini here?” I said. “I’m sure she would fuck you if you called her.”

He frowned again, his fallen-angel face advancing on me. “Don’t tell me who to fuck,” he snarled. “If I say I want to fuckyou, it means I wantyouon my cocknow.”

I moved hastily to the other side of the table as he followed me. “Stay away from me!”

He kept his eyes locked on me as we moved around the big table.

“I’ve had my fingers in your pussy, Cerise. It was wet as shit for me.”

“My pussy is a goddamn liar!” I said heatedly.

“No, you’re the liar!” he retorted. “I know you want to fuck me.”

I started opening drawers wildly as he got closer to me with each rotation we made around the table.

His movements were smooth and unhurried. But, all the same, he gained on me.

I slipped and banged my shin as I went around, and I knew that the next rotation he would be close enough to grab me.

My wildly searching hands found a big sharp knife in one of the kitchen drawers and I grabbed it thankfully.

“Stay away from me,” I said, pointing it warningly at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cerise,” he said coldly. “You could stab me and I’d still want to fuck you.”

I hated how a thrill ran down my treasonous body at his words.

“I’m not fucking you!” I yelled.

“Want to bet?” he said dangerously.

Andrei pulled at the table to close in on me and I gave a little shriek and drove at him with the knife.

But he was unimaginably goddamn fast, striking like a cobra at me, grabbing my wrist and painfully wrenching the knife out of my hand. I yelped as his fingers closed over mine.

He turned and threw the knife across the room with a loud clatter.

But as he whirled on me, a door opened beside me, and a trim, neat man in his early 50s with a silvery goatee appeared.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

Andrei stopped, but his predator’s eyes still watched me. “Uncle Frederik,” he said.

The sound of our heavy breathing was loud in the silence.

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