Page 51 of The KING Review

He swallows a low growl, and it almost undoes me.

“I’d take my time—you know that by now, don’t you, baby girl?” He lets the question hang, chuckling when I loose a breathless, needy little sound—as good as assent, in any case. “That’s right. I wouldn’t ever want to rush it with you. I want to enjoy you. You’re fucking perfect, Neve. I’d start with your neck. I bet you like to be kissed there, don’t you? Do you want to be marked there, too?”

My fingers speed up. “Grant, I⁠—”

He hums, a disapproving sound, and I freeze on instinct. “Don’t go too fast,” he reminds me. “That’s it. Slow down. Feel it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper.

“Good girl,” he praises. “So good for me.”

Oh, God.

“I think you’d let me move you wherever I want you,” he continues, sounding almost disinterested, and for some reason, that only amps me up higher. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Would you want me to manhandle you?”

The sound I make is barely human. I’m so wet it’s obscene. He must be able to hear it. I slow my movements for a second, straining to listen over the line, and I can hear the distinct noise of him stroking himself—long, indulgent sweeps over his length.

God, I bet he’s big.

I want him inside me so badly.

Grant lets out a low, rumbling laugh. “What are you thinking about, angel?”

“You,” I gasp. “I want⁠—”

“Mm, I know,” he murmurs, cutting me off. I stifle my gasp. “But we’re not rushing here. I want you open for me, Neve. Let me take care of you, okay?”

My hips roll up. The phone flops face down against my chest, and stars dance behind my eyes as I picture his hands on me, his mouth, his teeth. That voice, right in my ear, his beard rasping at my overheated skin.

“Are you touching yourself slowly, like I told you?” His tone goes hard, all command. “You better not be going too fast.”

I can barely get the words out, I’m panting so hard. The crackle of the call catches and amplifies the embarrassing hitch of my breath, but if there’s anything I want to show this man, it’s how much I want him, how he brings me utterly to my knees. “Yes. I’m touching myself. It’s all I can think about. What would you do next? Please, tell me.”

My body is on fire. I press harder against my clit, but don’t let myself come. I don’t want this to be over yet. It can’t be.

Grant’s voice is a rasp when he speaks again. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you? Gorgeous, desperate—God, I wish I could see you. I want to taste you so badly, put my mouth on you, and make you beg. You want to beg for it, don’t you, Neve?”

Much to my mortification, the sound that comes out of me is a whine; there’s no other word for it. “Yes. Please, please. I want you.”

“Go a little further for me, angel,” he says, low and rough. “Slide your fingers inside. Don’t rush. I want to hear how wet you are. I want to hear you fuck yourself, and I want you to imagine they’re my fingers inside you.”

My cheeks flame. I’m not sure what’s more obscene—the throbbing between my legs, or how much I want to show him I’m good at following instructions.

I do as he says. Two fingers, slow. I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, no exaggeration, and the lewd, soaked sound of it nearly makes me gasp in and of itself. My pulse ricochets from my throat to my temples to my pussy. I want to tell him how desperate I am, but all that comes out is a little whimper.

“Neve,” Grant rumbles, and the sound of my name in his mouth is almost enough to get me off. “Is this what you sound like when you’re fucking yourself for me?”

I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Yes. I’m so close already.”

“Don’t come yet.” The command is resolute, and my thighs shake with resistance. “You’re going to stay right on the edge for me, until I say otherwise. You think you can do that?”

No. Yes. I don’t know, but I want to.

I want to be good for him. It’s embarrassing how much I want that, but I can’t make myself pretend otherwise. “Yes.”

He groans softly. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I say automatically, mortified as soon as I do. As if on cue, my need to claw back some control reasserts itself. “Tell me how you’re touching yourself. I want to know.”