Page 9 of Brutal Prince

I guess he’s not taking any chances this time. As soon as we’re well and truly in the shadows, he pins the front of my body against a broad tree trunk and leans into me. He’s powerful — even pushing against the trunk with everything I’ve got, I barely rock him.

He grabs my wrists and locks my hands against the bark above my head, leaving the other free to roam.

“Bad decision, angel,” he murmurs into my ear.

Angel?

A sudden swell of anger leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I struggle furiously, but all he does it press harder into me. Then he grabs the scruff of my neck. “You made me angry, having to chase after you.”

“Yeah?” I snap. “Sounds more like you’re out of breath.”

It’s the pent-up rage inside me talking, of course. He struck a nerve. Mom used to call me her little angel. What the fuck gives him the right to call me that?

When he laughs, his chest vibrates against my shoulders. His hand slides down my side as if he’s trying to frisk me for more knives. And don’t I fucking wish I had more?

“Chasing a little thing like you? Please.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, wriggling furiously under him.

“Yeah, keep struggling,” he murmurs into my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. “It’s getting me hard.”

“You fucking sicko, get off!”

“Oh, I’m planning on it.” His hand glides over my ass and dives between my legs.

I go stiff, my eyes squeezing shut as he brushes against my pussy. There’s a lot of fabric in the way — I didn’t bother trying on these jeans before I bought them, so they’re super baggy — but still his fingers manage to make contact with my clit.

A dark thrill chases through me.

Then a whimper tumbles out of my mouth, timed perfectly with the ring of a mobile phone.

He ignores it, and it goes silent after a few rings.

“Not such a big shot now, are you, angel?” He presses into me at a different angle, and it takes me a second to realize why.

It’s so I can feel his rock hard dick against the curve of my ass.

Fuck. Fuck!

My breath comes faster, my heart picking up speed.

I’m terrified — I know I am — but my body’s doing its own thing. For some reason, some sick, fucked up reason, I’m getting wet from this monster touching me.

“Just let me go,” I say, turning my head so I can look at him from the corner of my eye.

I’ve been avoiding eye contact. If I can’t identify him, I don’t pose a threat, right? But as soon as our eyes lock, I realize none of that matters. There isn’t much light, but there’s just enough to make out his features.

Eyes the color and warmth of a melting glacier fix on mine. Immediately, my willpower drains away because that wide, smiling mouth beneath his strong nose tells me everything I need to know.

I’m a rabbit, he’s a wolf that enjoys playing with his supper.

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