Page 69 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

He points.

I scoot forward slowly. When I get near, he touches my hair and strokes a hand over it, movements clumsy, like a bear trying to be tender.

I let out a ragged breath, unsure what to do with the heat surging through me.

He grabs my hair, twisting it in his grip.

I gasp, thrumming with forbidden excitement.

He just holds my hair, twisting it more tightly. It’s not pain so much as delicious intensity.

“Need,” he breathes, swaying. “Need.”

Yessssss,I think.

He pulls me off the bed and makes me kneel down in frontof him. “Take me out.”

I press my hand to his ridge, hard as a stone. He groans and grips my hair harder.

The carpet is soft against my knees—a wicked counterpoint to the way he holds my hair.

I grab him through his pants. He growls like a beast.

I fumble with his belt, pulling it open.

He has both hands on my head now, one fisting my hair and one stroking it. It’s like he’s moving from a purely primal impulse.

I pull his underwear down. His cock springs up, hard and majestic. I grab him at the root and squeeze.

He makes a strangled sound that I find deeply gratifying. I hold him tightly and lick the shining bead off the tip of him.

“Yes,” he breathes.

My pulse races as I press my lips over him and take him into my mouth. I shouldn’t be so into this with him so dramatically injured. It’s perverse, really—this man should be recuperating.

But I love him like this.

I give him a hard suck, and he groans, tightening his hold on my hair and using it as a rope to maneuver my head how he wants, like I’m a puppet to use for his beastly pleasure.

I glare up at him. He fucks my mouth with an unforgiving, unrelenting rhythm, nearly choking me with his cock because he’s a bad, bad person.

I seriously can’t believe how savage he looks, unbound by the laws of man and beast and even gravity.

“Fuck yeah,” he growls.

I’m sucking harder, turning up the intensity. Not that I’m into it, I tell myself. It’s just that things are getting intense.

Rough calluses slide over my cheek. “Eyes. Scorn.”

When did I close my eyes?

I open them and give him the scorn he craves—easily. It’s all right there. My desire and my revulsion for what I’m turning into are all mixed around in a brew of lust I don’t even want to understand.

He tells me to touch myself, and it’s like I’m rubbing out an ache, rubbing and rubbing while he fists my hair. He’s made me into a base and senseless creature, masturbating while choking on his cock.

And the truth is that if he asked me to stop, I don’t know if I could. His harsh enchantments have gotten the best of me, and I need to get off—just like this—with his unforgiving fist in my hair.

“Fuck,” he gasps, coming into my mouth.

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