Page 92 of The KING Review

I can only whimper. My face is hot, soaked with steam. I might actually cry from this wanting, so huge and raw. I want to give him my tears, and I never knew that was a thing I’d be into until exactly right fucking now.

“Daddy, please,” I gasp, voice cracking. I don’t try to hide the sound of tears trembling.

“That’s it. Let me hear it, angel,” he praises. “You want to cry for me? You want me to fuck you so hard you can’t help it?”

The words shatter through me. I can feel my throat lock up.

“Yes,” I whimper, and my voice breaks all over again. “Please, Grant, please just fuck me.”

The tears beg, hot and wild at the corners of my eyes.

He pushes in, the head stretching me, but still not nearly enough. “You’re so fucking needy,” he groans. “Look at you. You’re crying already, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

I blink, and the first tear scalds down my cheek. Grant licks it from my face. Literally bends down and drags his tongue up the wet track of my cheek, catching the tear just as it falls. The sound I make is—I don’t even know. Not human. Maybe a little bit destroyed.

“That’s it,” he growls, licking another tear as it bursts free. “Such a good girl.”

I’m liquefied, undone. I’m all tears and pulse and the need to be turned inside out for him. I’m not okay—I mean, I am, but I am absolutely not. I am a thousand leagues beyond okay. I’m somewhere in the Mariana Trench of want, and the pressure here is crushing, and I have never, not once in my life, wanted something so fucking badly.

A low, dangerous sound rumbles in his chest. “You know what I think about every time I touch my cock? I think about you bent over, sobbing, begging for it. I think about how fucking perfect your pussy would look, so wet and swollen around me while you’re dripping tears down your pretty face. You want that, angel? You want to be Daddy’s perfect little crybaby?”

I can’t speak. My voice is just a string of whimpers, tears streaming as I nod, frantic, arching my hips back, desperate for friction. He slides in, and the pressure is blinding, sweet, and aching, the perfect slice of pain buried in the pleasure. My pussy clenches, greedy, and he just rocks in deeper.

His grip at my throat tightens, and the world narrows to a pinpoint: my body, his cock, and the tears still leaking down my cheeks.

“That’s it. Such a good girl. My girl. All mine.”

“Yours,” I gasp, an automatic response. “I’m all yours, baby.”

His hand flexes tighter at my throat. The words work like a spell. I can feel the pulse in my neck, galloping wild under his grip.

“Let go for me,” he rasps. “I want to feel you come around my cock. Come on, baby girl, make a mess for Daddy.”

I don’t even get a breath between the order and the orgasm detonating through my body. There’s no time to build, no room for logic, just the sharp, animal clench of my pussy choking his cock and the world shattering into white-hot shards.

Grant licks the tears from my cheek, slow, like he’s savoring it, and the filthy sweetness of that moment is so hot on top of everything else that I almost black out.

He fucks me through it, hips grinding, every thrust a relentless, perfect stretch. There’s no mercy. I feel him swell inside me, the heat blooming, a rush as he comes deep, then he melts around me, his body blanketing mine, both of us crushed to the tile, still trembling.

My brain is toast, blood singing in my ears. Slick runs down my thighs, Grant is pressed tight to my back, and underneath it all, I feel this crazed joy, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Eventually, my brain reconnects to my mouth. I bark a laugh, breathless and a little hysterical. “Holy shit.”

Grant’s lips graze my wet cheek. He’s breathing just as hard as I am. “What’s funny?”

I laugh again, the sound bouncing off the tile. “I just—wow. I had no idea I’d be into that.”

He noses my hairline, beard scratchy and perfect. “Into what?”

I snort, totally unfiltered. “The whole… crybaby thing? You licking the tears off my face? Fuck, Grant. That was hot. Like, criminally hot.” I laugh again; I can’t help it.

He laughs, rumbling and warm, and I can feel it through every point of contact. His chest pressed to my shoulder blades, his belly pressed to the curve of my spine, his hips pressed to mine while he’s still buried balls deep inside me.

“Yeah, neither did I,” he murmurs. “But I am. Do you want to know the other part of my research? The feedback loop can help you discover new things about your sexuality—with someone you trust. It’s about playing off the real-time response, letting go of what you thought you liked, and learning what you really like. With a safe partner.”

His beard scratches the side of my throat, lips gentle as he kisses right under my ear, then down, slow, savoring. “You know you’re safe with me, don’t you, angel?”

“Yeah, baby. I know.” I twist my head, smearing my cheek against the cold tile until I catch his gaze. Everything in his face is open, vulnerable, beautiful. “You know you’re safe with me, too, right?”