Page 46 of Pragma
Fuck! No matter what my rational side thinks, how many logical reasonings I reach, my body keeps rebelling. Ican’t stop it from reacting. I look up at the ceiling, willing my dick to go down. Maybe a little sweat in the training room will help.
My apartment is far from Aki’s lavish one. I live on the edge of Chinatown. My place is on the top floor of an old Tong Lau—a traditional Chinese multi-story tenement building—with a dim sum restaurant taking the whole ground floor. The apartment has a large living room and open kitchen and a bedroom with an en suite bathroom—all stripped down to the essentials. I bought the place because it was furnished, it had a surprisingly equipped gym room, and the owner of the whole block is an Indian guy obsessed with Jackie Chan.
Contrary to what people would think, the Chinese Triad don’t live in this area, but in a more luxurious place in Manhattan. Getting an apartment here was my way to flip them the bird since I know this truce between our organizations is only for show.
I pull the hairband off my wrist and tie my hair in a messy ponytail. My phone beeps as I’m about to make my way to the training room. It’s a text from Joel.
Lil’ bro:
Are you free tomorrow? How about getting a coffee or some gelato together? I know a nice café
Me:
I’ll be free in the afternoon
Lil’ bro:
Great *smile emoji* It was so good to see you, Riv. I missed you
Me:
I missed you too
Lil’ bro:
I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight
Me:
Goodnight, lil’ bro
Lil’ bro:
*heart emoji*
I brush my fingers over my mouth as I place the phone down on the round wooden table. It’s almost surreal to exchange texts with him. I thought I would never talk to him again. Life is quite constant in its unpredictability.
My doorbell starts ringing. And it keeps ringing and ringing. This impatience could only be attributed to one person. Akira.
“It’s fucking open,” I call out.
The door suddenly flies open wide. “You don’t lock your door? Don’t you have any survival instincts?”
“I work for you, don’t I?” I grunt, too taken by the sight of him to form a better answer. He looks a little out of place in my unremarkable apartment, but all kinds of sexy. Wearing a long thick coat open in the front, and underneath is the Henley I left at his place a few days ago when I got ketchup on it. It’s black with a small bear logo on the pec. It’s a couple of sizes too big on him, one corner of the bottom is tucked into his tight ripped jeans.
How can he look deliciously adorable and hot as fuck at the same time? A feeling of ownership I never knew I was capable of roars through me at the sight of him covered in something of mine.
“Why are you dressed like a slut?” he utters then, slamming the door closed.
He sounds pissy for no apparent reason. His eyes may be the color of chestnut, but they’re burning like a flame, and right this moment? They are reflecting me. The blazing fire is staring me down, but I’m not afraid of the scorching heat. Why not let it burn me? I’m pissed as well since he outright rejected his attraction to me after having his way with me twice.
I raise my brow, crossing my arms on my bare chest and gazing back at him with the same bellicose spirit.
“Are you waiting for someone else?” He narrows his eyes with a pout on his lips, kicking off his boots before leaving the entrance.
Waiting for someone else? I huff, letting out all my incredulity. He can be really blind at times.
“What are you doing here? I’m busy.” I turn around and go to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
