Page 22 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“Change of plans. You’re not going anywhere.”

I freeze.

“Come here.”

I don’t turn. What have I done? Can I ignore him and keep going?

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You released me already.”

“I’m retracting it.”

Heat kicks up between my legs as I imagine him picking me up again and carrying me back to that bed.

Would he hold me down again? Of course, he would. And he would hold my wrists, too, probably... hopefully.

I would have nowhere to go, and he would make me feel everything again. Or maybe he’d escalate things.

I stare at the door, heart bongo-ing against my ribs as I remember his belt. He would come after me. Maybe tie me up. And then the belt...

“So this is what we’re doing?” he growls.

Something heats inside me at his imperious tone. He thinks he gets to order me around? I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of obeying—I shouldn’t!

At the same time... I’m nearly home free. Why would I jeopardize that?

I spin around. “What?”

He just sits there, one arm over the back of the chair, all lazy and superior, like every inch of the universe belongs to him.

He’s offensive—he really is, thinking he can order me around.

“Was there some ambiguity in the phrase ‘come here’?”

I force myself to take a few steps toward him and stop in the middle of the room, crossing my arms and holding my head high.

The way he looks at me... I want to punch him. Or maybe jump him.

He goes to a drawer, pulls out a box, and takes out a phone.

“You have a box of phones?”

“That’s right,” he rumbles like he’s angry.

God, that angry rumble rubs me the wrong way, and it’s not entirely unpleasant.

Luka rubs me the wrong way, like when you rub velvet the wrong way, and it stands on end, deep and dark. It brings out the intensity. The vibrancy. That’s what he does to me.

I watch him punch things into the phone.

“Is that a thing criminals have?” I hear myself saying. “A box of standard-issue criminal burner phones? Is there a special criminal Costco where they’re on sale?”

His gaze shoots up at me.

Why am I asking about phones? Why do I care?

“Sit down.”

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