Page 72 of The KING Review

Maybe I actually hit my head on the way in here, and I’m bleeding out on the floor. They’ll find me in the morning.

I drag my teeth over his nipple, then lap at it, slow and teasing, while my hand torments the other side. He gasps, whole body flexing, cock grinding against my pussy, and I can feel him twitch and pulse, even through the denim.

“God, you’re so hot like this,” I breathe, lips brushing his skin. “I could make you come just from playing with your nipples, couldn’t I? I bet I could get you to make a mess in your pants again. I’d hardly even have to try.”

Grant’s whole face is a study in ruin—eyes glassy and bereft, mouth parted, every line drawn tight with want.

I’m doing this to him.

I keep swirling my tongue over his nipple, then nick gently with my teeth.

It seems, apparently, that this is the last straw.

In a burst of movement, he rearranges our bodies, swiping my underwear from the floor—and then his hand is braced around my throat, and my panties are stuffed into my mouth.

“You make me insane,” he growls, face so close to mine I can see the veins of gold in his green eyes. I pant through the soaked fabric between my teeth, tasting the tang of my own arousal. “Tell me right now if you want to tap out. You know your safe word, baby girl. Tell Daddy if you’re done, or turn around and put that perfect, pretty ass in the air for me. I think it’s time I teach you a lesson.”

My heart ricochets up into my mouth. I stare him down, stubborn. I want to spit my panties out just to disobey, but I know if I move wrong, he’ll make me regret it in the best possible way. That kind of makes me want to move wrong.

Grant is all looming shadow and horny rage. The same horny rage I was feeling when I stormed in here, so I’d say mission accomplished. His jaw is set, green eyes wild and fixed on me, like he’s not sure if he wants to throttle me or fuck me into the next dimension. I’d put money on both.

I hold his stare, unflinching. I let him see the dare in my eyes, because I know he likes it.

I turn slowly, keeping my gaze locked on his face until the last possible second without this turning into The Exorcist. With my mouth still stuffed full of my ruined underwear, I brace both hands on the battered tabletop, digging my nails into the gluey laminate. My knees spread, skirt still rucked helplessly at my waist, ass high, pussy wet and shameless, and my entire body shaking because I want this so bad I can barely see straight.

I want it. I want to be taught a lesson.

I arch my back more, displaying everything, breath hissing out through my nose as the angle makes my clit throb painfully. I know he can see how wet I am.

The air goes electric. I hear his low grunt as he palms his cock through his jeans. There’s a pause, a single, trembling heartbeat where I think maybe he’ll make me wait, maybe he’ll just keep me here, desperate and aching—again.

Then two wide palms slam down on my hips. The force of it tips me forward, the soft of my belly flush to the edge of the table, breasts mashed down, toes barely on the floor in my scuffed sneakers.

Grant squeezes hard, and I feel the finger-shaped bruises bloom under my skin, heat rushing everywhere at once. Then one hand leaves, and I brace, waiting, while he grabs my cheeks and spreads me wider, exposing every soaked, needy inch.

It’s humiliating and perfect. It’s everything I want.

A second later, his fingers are at my pussy, not gentle, shoving in deep—two, then three, working me open without mercy. I moan, high and frantic, the sound mangled by the fabric in my mouth. My hips rock back, greedy, shameless, grinding on him, but he holds me tight, pinning me in place.

He leans down, beard rough against my ear. “You want Daddy’s cock? You want to be fucked like a bad girl?”

I can only whimper, nodding furiously.

“Not yet.” He grunts, hand slipping around my hip, tracing the soft lines of stretch marks painted into my skin. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, do they? What kind of lesson would that be teaching you, angel?”

I can’t answer with my mouth filled with soaked fabric, not with my brain leaking out my ears from the way he’s got three thick fingers working my pussy like I’m just a toy to be used. The humiliation of it is hot and perfect.

Grant smooths his palm over my lower back. Down, down, until one of those rough hands molds to my belly, the heat of him like a brand.

“Fuck, Neve,” he rasps. There’s nothing calm or clinical about this, nothing left of the restrained professor. “You think you’re the only one obsessed?”

His hand roams all over me, splaying wide, greedy. He palms my stomach, cups the soft curve, and squeezes.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, voice snapping the air. “These curves, this belly. This fucking perfect goddess body. You’re so soft, I lose my mind every time I dream about touching you, but it doesn’t come close to the real thing.”

He skims down, gliding his palm over the round of my stomach to the crease where it meets my hip. He traces it, slow, thumb digging into the line of my stretch marks, then grazes the soft with his knuckles like he’s reading my skin in Braille.

“Look at you.” His other hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back hard enough to make my eyes water. I moan as he drags me back, so my spine lines up flush against his chest. “You have no idea what you do to me, baby girl,” he murmurs in my ear, breath hot. “I want every inch of you. All the time. Every part, every soft stretch of you, every mark. You’re flawless.”