Page 13 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

He presses in harder, watching my face as he does it like he’s learning me, analyzing me.

If he does it again, I swear, I’ll come.

“Keep it up.”

“Okay,” I breathe.

He twists my hair a touch tighter. He kisses my neck and presses higher and harder between my legs.

“Right. There,” he whispers warmly in my ear.

Right there.

And the horrible thing is that he’s right. Right there. He found my spot.

I don’t know if I hate it or love it.

He’s a criminal, a killer.

I’m near to coming now. Thirty seconds with this guy, and he’s able to do something that a good-hearted college boy couldn’t achieve with an hour of toil between my legs.

Even a vibrator and my roomie gone for thirty minutes is no guarantee I’ll get off.

He pulls back, watching me with an evil glint. He’s compelling me like a vampire or something.

He’s the kind of man I despise. The kind of man who corrupted my sister.

I try to get back to the place where I hate men like this. He’s akiller, of that I have no doubt, and you have to be deranged to kill another human.

“The scorn written all over your face is delicious,” he says, owning my clit with his hard-cut thigh. “I’m going to take you up there and fuck it right out of you.”

I want to tell him that he’s wrong. He’ll never change my opinion of him, and the badness of his character is an objective fact, but I don’t want him to stop what he’s doing.

What’s wrong with me?

A rumble sounds behind me. He yanks me away as the elevator door opens, and then he walks me in backward, eyes hard on mine.

His hands are between my legs, stroking me.

I gasp, flooded with heat.

“Jesus... fuck... so fucking wet...”

I want to deny it, but my body’s responding to him like he flipped some forbidden switch.

“I need you wet for how hard I’m going to use you up there.”

So... arrogant... I think as I melt against the elevator wall.

He watches my eyes with that insufferable smirk, like he already knew this would happen. Like my reaction is just another victory for him to claim.

“You think I can’t own you with one finger, baby? You’re gonna spread those legs and take everything I give you.”

“Whatever,” I spit out, even as my hips betray me by pressing against his hand. “You don’t own anything.”

“I own you right now,” he whispers against my ear, breath hot on my skin.

Well,thatshouldn’t be hot. Why is it hot? It’s outrageous—the sheer arrogance of this man thinking he can claim ownership over me. But it’s like some primal part of me craves his raw, brutal dominance.

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