Kingpin (Bride of the Billionaire)

“Fine,” he tells me. “But listen, gorgeous. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m a bad, bad man.”

3

Sasha

I call in more men for the ride home, and Ella and I ride in my bulletproof SUV. The windows are completely blacked out. I don’t want anyone to see her.

This type of possessive feeling is not typical of me. Not at all.

I glance over at her, and although she looks adorably sexy in her cheerleader’s outfit, her plump tits shaking slightly with each bump in the road, I ask myself: What’s an innocent, barely-legal teen doing in the back of my truck with me?

She may look out of place, but she feels so right. And I’ve barely even scratched the surface.

But what am I doing? Corrupting her? This girl has a bright future ahead of her. She’s gorgeous, obviously popular, smart. She should be off to college in the fall, not hanging around with a monster like me.

This is wrong.

But at the same time, I can already feel myself changing around her. Simply her presence, her innocence, her beauty—they’re all like an invading army of warmth intent on capturing my heart, and that scares me. I closed my heart off for a reason.

Weakness.

I can’t afford to be weak. Not in this lifestyle. Not in this town. Weakness, warmth, love—those things get you killed. And I have too many enemies to let myself slip.

But then again, what if I wasn’t in this life? What if I wasn’t in this town? What if I wasn’t Sasha the Ice Man Kumarin?

Jesus, am I already thinking about changing my life? Who is this girl and how is she doing this to me?

I should get rid of her right now. Have the driver pull over, drop her on the corner with enough cash for an Uber back to the stadium, and then forget about her. But then what? Leave her for some other man to claim? Some jock, frat boy who doesn’t know how to handle a woman like her?

I’m supposed to let him spread her open for the first time and claim her sweet cherry? Fuck, I’d be lying awake every night thinking about it and regretting my decision to let her go.

No way in hell. She has to be mine.

But then what? Bring her into this dangerous life with me? Put a target on her back? My enemies would be after her in a second. That’s just another reason why I’ve been single all this time. I’d have to shuttle her around with bodyguards and bulletproof trucks. Or confine her to my home like a treasure. That’s no kind of life for a girl.

“So this is what it’s like to be a kingpin,” she says beside me. “Watching the world through tinted windows?”

I want to tell her the world is dark, just like the tint, but that would be cruel. She’s young and still believes in good, and I’m a jaded monster whose cynicism could poison her.

“I prefer the view inside,” I counter. And it’s true. Her thighs peeking out from beneath that skirt have my cock pulsing. It’s Los Angeles, with all its light pollution, but I could swear to God I can see the stars in her eyes.

The plump mounds of her teenage tits have me gasping. I wonder what her nipples look like and how my cock would feel sliding back in forth in her cleavage.

“Are we going to your house?” she asks me.

“My club,” I reply. It seems natural, but when I see her expression, I realize I’ve made the wrong decision. This isn’t some 20-year-old who’s been around the block. This is a fresh, untainted girl. She doesn’t want to be impressed by bottle service at a kingpin’s club.

“That’s your idea of romance?” she replies. Her question startles me, not just because of how brazen it is, but because of how quickly it makes me realize I don’t know shit about romance.

“I haven’t romanced a girl in a long time, Ella.”

What an admission. I never let my feelings known, not to anyone, and here I am spilling my guts for this girl. If not for the bulletproof SUV and my driver, I could almost convince myself I wasn’t a wicked man.

“I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”

“What are your plans?” I ask her.

“For right now?”