Page 17 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“Look away from me one more time, and I’ll bring this belt into the mix. The tie. The belt. Or maybe you’d like that.”

That gets me the look back.

“My tie binding your wrists. A hard leather belt against the tender flesh of your ass. Nothing you can do about it. Nothing whatsoever...”

Her breath speeds. She’s picturing it—me tying her up and hitting her with the belt.

“Or is that what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter to me either way,” she tries. “It’s all the same.”

“Little liar.”

Her gaze flares, nourishing something inside me.

I unbutton my shirt slowly, letting her watch as each button slips free. I peel it away, then strip off my undershirt in one fluid motion, my St. Michael medallion catching the light as it settles back against my bare chest. My pants follow, and my cock springs free, hard and ready.

Her chest rises with a sudden intake of breath. I let her look her fill, and she does, cheeks pink.

Most whores are on drugs, but I can tell this one’s not. She’s raw to everything—I see it in her eyes. The muffled sounds from Middleton Road coming up through the triple-pane windows. The cool feel of fine linens under her ass, the soft kiss of the air between her legs.

I give her a wicked smile. “The tie sounds a little good, though, doesn’t it?”

She raises her chin. Wordless defiance.

I unwrap a condom, still holding her gaze.

She looks younger with her makeup smudged, her honey-colored hair messed up, and all that fire in her green eyes. The freckles. This—this is the real girl, I think.

Not that it matters. This is a one-time transaction.

I toss aside the wrapper and roll the condom on withruthless efficiency.

Her eyes shine with a look I know well. She’s on the edge of something, but everything’s too real.

She’s new at this, no question. If I was a good person, I would make her leave right now.

Too bad I’m not a good person.

I sit at the foot of the bed and set a finger on her ankle.

She hisses out a breath as I trace a line over the top of her foot, slow and steady toward her toes.

“I’m too old for you.” I pause at the tip of her middle toe. “Too rough. Too wrong. And it’s working for you, isn’t it? All the dagger stares in the world won’t change that.”

She snorts in contradiction.

I continue over the ball of her foot and watch her face as I hit the tender underside. She’s determined not to show me anything, but she’s already shown me everything. Except how she knows the tattoo, but the night is young.

I—I’m thinking… you’re a bad person.

I get up from the bed and loom over her.

You’re a criminal.

I wrap my hands around her ankles.

Her gaze burns.

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