Page 75 of The KING Review

Grant braces both hands on my hips, holding tight as he fucks me through it—slow and deep and painfully gentle, every grind driving the hot slick of his cum deeper, making me shudder and clench around him with exhausted renewed arousal. My mind is white noise, blown out with it, all I can do is whimper and shake and let him use me.

He slows, then stops, still buried inside me, his body blanketing mine. He’s shaking, too. I can feel it—a fine, full-body tremor, like he’s barely holding on. His breath is hot at my neck, and for a second, neither of us moves.

Then he pulls out, slow, and the loss is a gut-punch. I gasp, heels scrabbling for purchase, but before I can even process the emptiness, his hands are on me, careful. Almost reverent.

He turns me gently, so my ass hits the table, and my legs fall open, wide. I try to catch my breath, thighs still shaking. I should feel exposed, but I don’t. I want him to see all of me. I want him to see what he’s done to me.

Big hands bracket my thighs, spreading me even wider, and then his thumb is right there, smearing his own cum where it’s pooling at my swollen entrance. I gasp, a noise that’s half disbelief. Grant presses his thumb in, slow and deep, shoving all that heat back inside, like he wants to keep it in me forever. Like I’m supposed to be full of him.

“Fuck, Grant,” I breathe, body jerking at the sensation. He watches every second, every twitch of my thighs, like he’s studying me. His eyes are wild, but his hands are gentle. It almost makes me laugh, how he could be scared to break me after all of that.

He smooths his thumb over my clit, soft, just once, and I nearly sob. Then he crowds between my knees, body covering me, his chest and stomach hot against my skin.

I brace for another onslaught of pure filth, but his hand slides up my jaw, fingers threading through my hair, cradling the back of my neck. He waits until my eyes find his, and then he kisses me.

I expect it to be hungry and mean, but it’s… soft. Devastatingly, humiliatingly soft. Like he can’t believe he gets to kiss me at all. His mouth covers mine, gentle and slow, every brush of his lips an apology for every rough thing he’s done to my body.

Fuck, it’s perfect. He is perfect.

It’s not even a kiss, really; it’s more like some kind of confession and apology rolled into one, though I’m hardly sure what he’s confessing to or apologizing for. He lingers, lips ghosting mine, nothing but our breathing and the hazy, static hum of the print room in the background. He tastes like sweat and salt and something sweet. My chest aches.

When he pulls back, his face is open, vulnerable, like he’s afraid I might laugh at him for being soft. He cups my cheek, thumb gentle at my jaw.

“You deserve better than this,” he whispers. “Let me make it up to you.”

My brain short-circuits. I want to tell him this is already more than I’ve ever had, that this is what I want. But I can’t say it, not now. Instead, I just smile, heart pounding.

“No making up necessary,” I say with a nervous, broken laugh. “But I won’t say no.”

His lips twitch. He dips his head and kisses me again, slower this time, deeper. I melt instantly. His beard scrapes my skin, and I open for him, letting him taste me, letting him know exactly how much I want it. How much I want him. It’s not even sexual anymore—I mean, it is, obviously, my insides are still alive and buzzing, and I can feel his cum threatening to drip out of me every time I shift on the stupid table—but this is… more.

He pulls back, breath fanning over my lips. “Good. I’ll send you my address. Come over tonight at seven.”

I blink at him, still not fully returned to Earth. “For what?”

Grant smiles, then he leans in to kiss me once more, tongue stroking slowly over mine. When he breaks away, his lips stay close, brushing mine. “Date night, angel.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Last-Meal-on-Earth Level

Grant

I’m not sure how it’s possible to feel so guilty and still so turned on about what happened in the faculty print room, but here we are.

Don’t:

should I bring anything?

tell me I can bring something, please, or I’ll feel awful

I chuckle at my phone, thumbing a quick response as I check the meat in the pan.

Me:

If you’re really desperate to bring something, maybe red wine? We’re having beef.

As soon as I asked Neve if she was vegetarian or vegan, and she said neither, I knew I wanted to make her vaca frita and tostones. It’s one of my favorite things to make, plus… It’s kind of impressive, and I want to impress her.