Page 73 of The KING Review

He hauls me closer, impossibly closer, until my spine bows something wicked. Both hands are everywhere now, hungry and rough, like he can’t decide where to worship first or worship most. He grabs my breasts through my hoodie, palms full, squeezing so tight it borders on painful.

“Perfect,” he mutters, voice all gravel. “Fucking perfect. But I’m a simple guy, Neve. Do you want to know my favorite part?”

His hands drop, dragging down my sides, over the spread of my belly and the curve of my hips.

“This ass,” he says, his voice a soft breath right at my ear. “This perfect fucking ass was made to wear my handprint. Isn’t that right, baby girl?”

I want to answer—and the answer is yes, obviously—but I’m practically shaking apart already. I nod, desperate to give him my affirmative, and desperate for anything he’ll give me in return. My skin prickles, and my breath comes out through my nose in hot, stuttery bursts. I spit the panties onto the table, slicked with drool. “Yes. Please, yes.”

He groans behind me.

“Yes, what?” The words crack like a whip. “You don’t get to brat your way out of this, not after the way you’ve been acting. Yes, what?”

I arch my back, spreading wider, offering everything. “Yes, Daddy. Please. I want your hand on me. Please.”

“Good girl.” His palm lands hard on my ass. The slap echoes off the cinderblock walls, and I gasp as the strike sets off a white-hot bloom under my skin. “You know, I’m not usually one for impact play—but this ass is so pretty, I just can’t fucking help myself. Now count.”

“One,” I choke out, instinctive. The sting is so good, so hot, it throbs with my heartbeat.

“Tell me why you deserve it,” he demands. “I’ll start—one, for making me admit you were the first person to call me beautiful. For making me feel pathetic and ten-feet tall all at once.”

Another slap, even harder. I choke on the sensation and on his words.

“Two,” I breathe. “For teasing you in the study session.”

He grunts, then delivers a third.

“Three,” I moan. “For… for sending you that voice note and making you come find me like this. For making you crazy.”

A hand closes around my hair, tugging my head back. “Let me fuck you, Neve. Tell me I can.”

Four. Neither of us ascribes reason to it, beyond the perfect heat of his hand on my skin.

My ass is on fire. The ghost of the impacts is a line of heat, deep and perfect, and I can feel my pussy clenching on nothing. The pain rolls in waves, each one chasing the other, and I want to drown in it.

Five.

This time, he does speak, a spiked hiss in my ear. “For calling me Daddy and meaning it. For letting me see inside your head and ruining me for anyone else.”

My body dissolves. I melt. I’m gone.

My hips rock back. “Please.” It’s half beg, half demand. I need it. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Daddy. Please. I need it. I need you. I⁠—”

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby girl.” He smooths a hand over my hair, gentle, and then dots a kiss on my throat. My eyes roll back.

Then I hear the clink of a belt buckle, and the hiss of his zipper.

I’m practically vibrating with need, draped over this busted-up staff table, ass in the air, skirt wrinkled around my hips, the air hot and crackling with toner and paper dust, and Grant King’s body crowding behind me. He’s huge. He’s everywhere. He spits into his hand, loud, no apology, and the slap of it sends a jolt through me that leaves my knees trembling. I try to look back over my shoulder, and he just presses a hand to my nape, warm and so gentle. He smooths his palm over my neck, thumb tracing up under my jaw, and for a beat, all the air in the room goes soft.

He bends over me, mouth at my ear. “You good, angel?” His voice is low, the sound of a man about to lose his mind if I say yes, but doubly so if I were to say no.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m good.”

His nose brushes my hair. He dots a kiss to my temple, then another to my throat, and then he’s right there, the fat head of his cock pressing thick and hot against the wet line of my pussy. He’s careful. Like, painfully careful. But I wouldn’t have expected anything else from him, really.

“God, Neve,” he mutters, rolling the head over my slit, collecting all that slick. “You’re so pretty like this. Spread open for me. So fucking perfect. You feel it?”

I can’t answer; I’m already gone.