Page 34 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

LUKA

They say there are only sixteen types of people. Everybody has a type they mesh best with, but what about the type that gets under your skin, the type that invades your every waking thought? And you get up in the morning with dream fragments of them at the edges of your mind?

My consciousness tends to be a very dense element, which is to say, nothing gets in, and nothing gets out.

Except for Edie, apparently.

But at least I slept. That’s new.

I grab a coffee and respond to a dozen texts about a Bratva situation that’s gotten out of control. I ping Storm and tell him to pick me up in an hour. Places to go, Russians to kill. Running this clan would be a lot smoother if my brother hadn’t done such a shit job of management.

I wander to the window and look down at the people racing this way and that.

My new penthouse is in Esterford Tower, a glass monstrosity reviled up and down 237th Street for its cold, sterile look, but I like it.

I check where Edie is, only to find she’s turned off thetracking.

What the fuck?

I clench my teeth, pissed off that she’s done that and even more pissed off that I give a shit. What do I care where she is when she’s not with me?

I shoot her a text:

turn on the tracking.

The three dots appear. She’s typing. Then the dots disappear before she’s back to typing.

That wasn’t our deal

Turn it on.

You text I come that was our deal

I stare at the phone in disbelief. She’s right, but I’m not in the mood for this pushback. And why won’t she do it? Is she hiding something?

Do I need to call you over here and put you over my knee?

You text I come...is this texting for me to come

I frown. If I didn’t have such a busy day, she’d be back in my bed so fast. I’d be schooling her on how you don’t say no to me, and maybe on punctuation, too. And I’d make her tell me how she knows Arianiti. And she’d give me that scorn before consuming every inch of her. I’d make her tell me how much she hates criminals while I fuck her stunningly fuckable mouth. And would it kill her to use a little punctuation?

Take a picture of your lips.

Dots.

Will she say no to that, too? Everything in me is standing at attention, not just my cock but all the deepest parts of me. I want her to say no, and I want to get into things with her.

This time she complies, and there they are, those frowny, unhappy lips that fit together in the hottest pout ever.

keep them ready for my cock.

I toss aside the phone and do my morning stretching routine, designed by a disreputable but brilliant doctor in Dubai to keep the scar tissue from hardening, right at the windows that soar up to the ceiling.

“Very you,” Orton had said when he first saw this obelisk of a building. “You can see out, but nobody can see in. So fucking you. So on the nose.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I bought this place lock, stock, and barrel the day I arrived in New York, flush with millions that Orton, Storm, and I had pulled from a hidden nook deep in the Norilsk mines of Northern Siberia.

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