Page 97 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

Desperation claws at me. I push back, needing him, needing to be filled.

He growls low in his throat. Another slap, sharper this time. “Be still.”

I don’t care anymore. I don’t care how he found me or if I’m in danger. Right now, I only need one thing.

Again I bear back.

A cry tears from my throat as he thrusts deep, his claim absolute. He fucks me long and strong. He takes what he wants.

At some point, I am on my back, still with the sleep mask on, and we’re fucking like animals, crying, losing track of ourselves in this strange dance that we do.

Pleasure detonates through me, an explosion of every forbidden color, every wrong need.

He comes with a guttural grunt, his massive hands holding me in place.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

LUKA

Edie’s dorm is bursting with personality: artsy prints, posters of singers I wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to my head, pastel hats on hooks surrounding a mirror, and a bulletin board full of memorabilia and photos of her with different people. And a harmonica.

She comes over to where I stand, long legs under a red T-shirt, and hands me a small bottle of some sort of flavored water.

There’s a logo on her shirt, some college thing, probably, but it’s not enough to disguise her sexy nipples that I already want to suck again. I already want her again.

“You have... a harmonica.”

“Yeah. Also, I have a bone to pick with you,” she announces. “Taking my phone like that and sending me away? You cut me off like I was nothing after I showed basic human concern.”

I move to the window, looking out at the campus below—this world so different from mine. It’s late, the dark streets nearly vacant. “I don’t do concern.”

“Clearly.”

When I turn back, her green eyes are fixed on me,unwavering. This is what draws me to her—that fearlessness, even facing someone like me.

“It was fucked up,” I say.

She waits, seeming to want more.

I wrack my brains and realize she deserves an apology. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyebrows rise slightly. “Excuse me, what?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.” I step closer to her. “When you talked about my scars, about wanting justice for me... no one’s ever—” I stop, searching for words that don’t come easily. “People don’t usually see that part of me.”

“The part that was hurt?”

“More like vulnerable. Weak.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not weakness, Luka. It’s humanity.”

“In my world, they’re the same thing.” I reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “You cared, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. It’s easier when people are trying to kill me.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you just said that. Don’t I get to care about you? Do you actually hate it when somebody gives a shit about you? Is that the situation here?”

“The caring act usually means they want something from me.”

“Well, maybe I just want you.”