Page 16 of Cruel Devil

When he smiles, it’s like a doorway to Hell creaking open.

I would have begged, but then he purrs out an almost seductive, “One.”

There’s a stretch of open land behind the restaurant nestled between some storm drains and the back of a construction site. Now it makes sense why that hedge wall was so high. The view would have been atrocious.

Thank God I’m wearing sneakers.

But curse Satan for this dress.

I hike the skirts up to my hips as I sprint away, and that helps…a little. But the fabric keeps snagging on the bushes as I whip past them at top speed.

Huh, open land? More like congested wilderness. Nearly impenetrable scrub disguises the scraggly trunks of the trees scattered throughout. Everything is trying to slow me down, and that’s not even taking into account the uneven ground. I don’t know how many times I stumble over a loose rock or exposed root. Thankfully, there’s usually a bush to fall into, so the amount of times I actually hit the ground is few.

Savage crashes through the foliage behind me. That sound puts the fear of God into me. Alligators aren’t even at the top of my mind right now. I mean, of course I’m scared of them, there’s just no time to think about what’ll happen if I run into one of them. The predator on my heels is priority numero uno.

A section of the netting erected as a temporary screen around the construction site is hanging loose. I leap through it like a gazelle, vaguely shocked that I made it here before he caught me.

I skid on the loose sand under me, struggling to recover as I careen around one of the many containers stacked around the site. I’ve just found my feet when Savage materializes in front of me like a fucking hallucination. I slam into him, and would have bounced off and hit the ground if he hadn’t grabbed me around the throat and rammed me into the nearest container.

“Too slow, Angel.”

I’d argue, if I wasn’t too busy fighting for breath. He has more than a foot of height on me. How the hell am I supposed to compete with his long legs?

Savage uses the grip on my throat to lift me from the ground, my back sliding up against the warm metal. Then his mouth crashes against mine, and I’m left with no viable option for air.

My legs wrap around his waist. It eases some of my weight from his hand, which is good, but also creates a searing friction between my legs as I struggle to get out of Savage’s grip…which is really muddying the waters.

He grabs my thigh with his free hand, sinking his fingers into my flesh, and holds me still as he grinds his hips against me.

I whimper into our kiss as an ache grows deep inside me.

“I won’t have you disobeying me like this,” my husband snarls against my neck when he finally tears his mouth away from mine.

He eases the grip on my throat, and I drink in hungry gasps of air, but my lungs are hardly replenished before he rips my underwear to the side and sinks his fingers inside me.

Air rushes out of my gaping mouth in a harsh exhale.

Hands that had been clawing at the fingers around my throat grab his shoulders, digging into the muscle as a rush of pleasure surges through me. I buck against his fingers, forcing them deeper, and he leans back to watch me as I get myself off.

He doesn’t seem to like the fact that I’m enjoying it.

I groan in disappointment when he drags his fingers out of me. “I was almost done. Why’d you stop?”

“Because I’m only getting started, Angel.”

He grabs my hair and drags me over the ground. My sneakers leave troughs through the sand, then divots as I start kicking and screaming in pain. I scratch, claw, punch his hand, but I might as well have saved my strength.

“Motherfucker!” I yell as he throws me to the floor outside the manager’s trailer. He smirks almost charmingly when I scramble up to face him, then points at the door with his eyes.

“Open it.”

“Pretty sure it’s locked,” I tell him sourly, but I pull on the handle anyway in case he thinks I’m lying.

“You’re a strong girl.”

Fuck, I want to ram his head through a goddamn window the way he’s staring at me right now. Instead, I kick the door with all my might, aiming right below the handle. It springs open, a long splinter of wood swooning away from the edge where the lock tore free.

I rush in ahead, hunting for something to mutilate Savage with. But there’s just a bunch of office junk inside. The portable printer doesn’t even look heavy enough to leave a dent in my husband’s thick skull.

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