Page 50 of The KING Review
Grant hums thoughtfully. “You didn’t cross your arms. You just leaned back on the counter and opened your posture to me.” He groans to himself. “You knew you had me, and you enjoyed it.”
I laugh softly. He’s way too good at this.
I hit record on a voice note of my own, in the spirit of giving as good as I get. “I did enjoy it. I wanted your eyes all over me. I still do. Your eyes, and…” I let my voice trail for a second. “And more. Tell me, Doctor, are you touching yourself right now?”
The dots flicker. Silence drags. I can feel the tension all the way down my spine.
A short voice note pops up, just four seconds. “No,” Grant breathes. “But fuck, Neve… I want to.”
I huff a laugh. I have him right in the palm of my hand, and I love it. Bringing this man to his knees is intoxicating. I send back a voice note. “I want you to as well. I want to hear it, too. Will you let me hear it, please?” I demur.
Grant goes radio silent for a few minutes, and an ugly heat plummets into my stomach, worrying I might have pushed him too far too soon at the slightest hint he might be wanting to give in. I know he wants to give in, but I also know he’s been hurt, and I need to let him go at his own pace.
Then my phone screen lights up, but where I expect to see a voice note or a text message, instead, it’s a call.
INCOMING CALL: Professor Daddy
My entire body flushes.
I can barely breathe. As soon as I hit the answer button, Grant’s voice pours through my phone, slow and low, every word scraping over my skin.
“Neve,” he drawls, slow as syrup, my name sticky in his throat, wrapped in warning and promise. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, do you?”
My breath hitches, and I hear a little clip of amusement from his end. I usually hate not being the one in control, and—believe it or not—I’m not much of a brat. But with him, I both want to obey and push back.
“You know, I think I do,” I say softly. “But why don’t you talk me through it, just in case I’ve misread the signs?”
Grant lets out a muffled groan, and I hear the distinct clink of a belt buckle.
I swallow hard. “Are you touching yourself?”
“Are you?” he counters.
“Not yet,” I whisper as I slide my hand beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts. “Do you want me to, Daddy?” My face flushes as I say it, wondering if it was just a stupid joke and I should drop it, but then Grant groans.
“Is that it?” he asks, voice husky with his own arousal. “You want to be Daddy’s baby girl?”
Holy fucking shit.
I don’t realize I’ve moaned out loud until Grant’s laugh rolls over the line. “You like that? You want to be mine?”
“Fuck, yes,” I whimper. “I don’t think I’ve been subtle about that, have I?”
“No. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, Miss Hart, but I like that.” Another creak. He’s shifting on the bed. My core goes molten when a zipper hisses, and he grunts. “God, Neve—if you could see yourself the way I see you… You’d know why I’m losing my mind. The photo you sent me—your leg, the panties—fuck, baby girl, you look so good in blue.”
I make another helpless noise, and Grant soughs out another laugh. “You like me talking,” he says casually, followed by the rustle of fabric.
“Yes.”
“I want you so badly it hurts. If I were there, I’d have you against the nearest surface in less than thirty seconds. Now, you keep your hand between your thighs—I know it’s there already, isn’t it? Touch yourself, but not too fast. I want to make this good for you, okay?”
The sound I make is all breath and heat. My hand skims under the lace hem of my panties. I’m so wet it’s a little embarrassing. The ache is everywhere, pressure building behind my thighs, a tight coil at the base of my spine moving like lava behind my hips.
“Talk to me,” Grant says quietly.
“I—” Words choke off. “I’m wet.”
He groans, and I hear the unmistakable, lewd sound of flesh on flesh as he grips himself. God, I wish I could see him. I want it more than anything. More than I want to come, even. “What would you do if you were here, Grant? Tell me, please?” My voice comes out high, more than a little desperate.
