Page 70 of The KING Review

My lips part as I watch him stand, movement graceful despite his size. He closes his book and swipes it up, walking away without another word. All I can do is stare after him.

I jolt as I hear the door to the study section slam shut, and it propels me into action; I’m left with no option other than to go nuclear.

Chapter Twenty-One

Toner and Warm Paper

Neve

Ipack up my shit fast, barely even bothering to throw my notes in the right folder. My thighs are literally shaking from pure, unadulterated horny rage. I can still feel the ghost of his fingers inside me. I’m soaked, ruined, and fucking fuming.

I march down the corridor with murder in my heart, still limping a little because of my ankle, even though I’ve now lost the moon boot. I all but shove past the cleaning cart to duck into the staff print room with the key Cade gave me—Fia would never—hands trembling as I lock the door behind me and flick on the ancient overhead light. The smell in here is toner and warm paper. There’s a copier the size of a minivan in the middle of the room, with a rickety table next to it, covered in a graveyard of anonymous staff memos and unclaimed article printouts with journal watermarks scrolled across them.

I drop my bag, yank my skirt up, and flop against the edge of the table. My legs fall wide, and the scent of my own arousal perfumes the air. I grab my phone, open up our thread, and hit record on a voice note.

“Hey, Daddy,” I murmur, voice syrupy, even as it trembles with the afterimages of what he almost gave me. I want to sound more aloof, but I just sound desperate. Still, I also know this will work. “Just letting you know I’m in the staff print room, touching myself, since you obviously weren’t man enough to finish the job.”

I angle my phone down, just in case he can’t hear the obscene, wet sound of my fingers working my clit. I play up the breathy gasp I can’t stifle, hoping it’s driving him just as insane as his behavior is driving me.

My voice shakes with urgency, but I want him to hear how desperate he’s got me.

“Guess I’ll just have to listen to your voice notes and imagine you’re here,” I pant into the phone. “That’s what you want, right? To know I’m touching myself for you, Daddy? To know I’m so wet for you, your baby girl can barely even think, let alone be good? You don’t really want that, do you? You don’t want me to be good; you just want me to be yours.”

Nobody has ever made me crazed like this. I’m babbling, the pulse in my neck is wild, and my panties are ruined. I want him so bad it’d be legitimately concerning if it didn’t feel so good.

“I’m picturing you right now,” I whisper. “The weight of you, all plush and heated skin, pressing me down until I can’t move. Want your cock pinned against my stomach. I’ve seen you, Daddy, I know you’ll make me sob with it. I want your hands everywhere. Want you inside me, stretching me, teasing me until I’m a mess for you. I want it. I want you.”

The words break, but I force myself to keep going.

“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg,” I whimper. “Is that what you want, Daddy? Your needy baby girl begging for your cock? You hear me? I’m begging. Please, please, please.”

I let the voice note end there, but I don’t slow my fingers in my panties. I watch the message flick to “read.” The dots show up instantly, a little pulse of blue at the bottom of the screen.

Professor Daddy:

Stay right there. Don’t you dare fucking move.

My heart detonates in my chest. The words punch straight through me, heat and panic and wild, rabid satisfaction. Finally. I broke him.

I sag back against the table, legs still spread, skirt hiked around my waist, panties slipping down to my knees. My fingers buzz, but I can’t force myself to stop rolling lazy, torturous circles.

The recycled air in the staff print room is hot and humming as the copier buzzes behind me. My blood is so loud I barely even hear the footsteps, but I sure as hell hear the key crank noisily. Grant King bursts into the room, then kicks the door shut like he’s breaking and entering. He turns and locks it roughly, and the next second, he’s on me.

He grabs my wrist, yanking my hand away from my pussy so hard my entire body jolts. I gasp. He pins me to the rickety table, hips crowding between my thighs, spreading me so wide my adductors sing. His hands are huge and furious as they clamp down on me.

“You don’t touch what’s mine,” he growls. “Do you hear me? This pussy, this body—they belong to me.”

I whimper. I can’t help it. The words send sparks skittering over my skin. “Please.”

“Please what?” he demands, mouth hot at my jaw.

“Please, fuck me, Daddy,” I moan. “I need it. Please.”

Grant yanks my ruined panties the rest of the way down, hauling me right to the edge of the table. My hands scrabble for purchase on the gritty edge of the table, the ancient laminate biting into my palms. He’s so big, all heat and fury and unforgiving presence, looming over me.

There’s nothing gentle in him right now. I feel the blunt, hard bulge of him through the placket of his jeans, nudging my swollen opening, and my hips buck, greedy as hell for it before he’s even unzipped himself. Grant hisses through his teeth, and his hips rock forward.

I choke on my moan. He feels so fucking good, I could cry, and he’s not even inside me yet.