Page 54 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

My asshole widens uncomfortably as another massive finger enters me. He’s a monster, pleasuring me beyond my wildest dreams.

“Eyes on me,” he demands.

I look up, fighting to maintain a neutral expression, but maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’m too into it.

“You’ll take what I give, won’t you?” he rumbles. “Because you’re mine.”

I close my eyes.Mine.

He pushes his fingers deeper, stretching me, his breath hot and ragged.

The men at the table worried about war, and Luka came back with his big talk. Right. At this moment, I think he could makechaos itself his bitch if he wanted. I think he’s relentless. I think he’s bulletproof.

“Eyes on me,” he whispers.

I open my eyes, but I’m not all here.

I’m thinking about medieval Norsemen and Viking invaders. Dirty, violent men who take what isn’t theirs, who don’t care one bit about civilization or crashing through castle walls with their brute force.

I’m thinking of the warfare of that era, the way killing meant you looked into a man’s eyes as you plunged a broadsword into his breast.

That’s how Luka is fucking me. Exactly like that.

“Mine,” he whispers, invading my gaze with his. It’s unbearably intimate, the way he looks at me now.

Nobody has ever looked at me like that. All my life, I’ve been the unremarkable mouse in the corner, noticed by nobody. Finally, somebody does notice me, and it’s this guy—this monster.

He’s slowing, taking me on a ride with him, building powerful sensations in me, a secret tidal surge. He has me right where he wants me, plunging in and out while he watches me lose myself to him, to the forbidden pleasure of him.

He said I’d come to crave him, and I do crave him, but that’s not enough. He wants to bring bad things out of me.

You’ll take what I give, won’t you?

Who even says that?Anger burns in me because seriously? He thinks he owns me. He thinks he owns the world.

“You’re a monster,” I say.

“There you are,” he whispers, still fucking both of my holes. “There you are.”

I snort like I don’t care. Like I don’t have a death grip on the sink.

His voice is a rumble. “You didn’t stand a chance—you never did.”

“Dream on,” I gasp as the pleasure blooms through my core. “You don’t know anything about me, and you never will.”

“I know you’re lying to yourself right now, acting like you hate me, but you are right down in the gutter with me. You’re enjoying being fucked by a dirty criminal heathen, and if I stopped right now, you would beg for it.”

He’s perverse and evil, and he won’t rest until I’m down at his level. But I’m not at his level and never will be. I glare openly at him now with naked scorn. It’s too late. It’s all too late.

Something essential in him seems to relax. Because he likes the scorn.

Fuck.

“Nothing’s fair, is it, Edie? Especially when you hate the man who’s about to make you come.”

I grip the sink harder, bearing against the invasion of his fingers and his cock.

“Look at me like that again.” His voice is hot and hard in my ear. He pulls away and watches my eyes.

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