Page 81 of The KING Review

“How sexy I think you are.” She grinds her hips down, a little mean, and my cock thickens in my jeans underneath her. I let out a grunt. “All of you.”

I give a soft, nervous laugh. “How do you plan to show me?”

Her smile is a slow-blooming thing, sly and radiant. “I’m gonna need you to take off your shirt.”

I blink. “Right here?”

“I could drag you into the bedroom.” Neve’s mouth quirks. “But I don’t want to wait that long.”

The logical part of my brain knows this is supposed to be a compliment. Still, I feel myself shrink a little, not in the literal sense—I could never be small with her hands on me—but in the old, familiar way. The way that tries to prepare for disappointment, for disgust, for the casual recoil, even though I know she won’t, because she’s seen me before.

But my brain takes that as a single data point—and that has to compete with all the data points that came before it. That’s statistically significant evidence.

Marie always wanted the lights off.

I’m bracing for that even as Neve’s hands roam up under the hem of my shirt, slow, greedy, reverent. Her palms are hot, fingers spreading wide as if she’s trying to measure me, commit every square inch to memory. She nudges the hem higher, and I could argue—I’m good at arguing—but she looks hungry enough to eat me alive, so I let her.

Neve’s nails scrape lightly over my stomach, and instinctively, I tense. My abdomen is soft, nothing like the hard-cut abs guys are supposed to have if they want women to look at them like this. I could go to the gym five days a week for a year, and this body would still be what it is. Not the “ideal.” Just… me. The shape I’ve pretty much always been. I’m strong, but I’m not carved, and I’ve got the evidence around my middle of a lot of indulgent meals like the one I just ate.

She kisses my chin, then my throat, pushing back on her knees as her mouth trails lower. Her hands slide my shirt up as I obediently slip the buttons free to help her, then I drop my arms so she can push it off my shoulders.

There’s a second where I expect her to say something. Or worse, say nothing. I wait for the hesitation, knowing it’ll feel like a shotgun discharge, but Neve lets out a low, throaty sound, and then she’s on me. She presses her mouth to my chest, kisses down, slow, open-mouthed, following the dark hair that runs from my sternum to my navel.

She bites, just enough to make me flinch.

“You have no idea, do you?” she says, voice rough. “I don’t know why I’m asking; you clearly don’t. You have no clue how much it turns me on, getting to touch you like this.”

My heart is a ping-pong ball in my chest. I can barely breathe.

She kisses down, mouthing the curve of my belly, and fuck, she’s not stopping. She slides off the chair, off my lap, until she’s kneeling on the floor in the space between my spread thighs. She palms my stomach, presses kisses to the soft, and nips at the stretch of skin right above my waistband. If the way my hips flare or the way my belly dips over my belt bothers her at all, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she sighs, delighted, and licks a stripe along the crease between my stomach and the waistband of my pants.

I’m so hard it hurts.

Neve glances up, gold eyes molten. She hooks her fingers into the top button of my jeans, popping it open slowly. Her mouth trails kisses along my hip, hot and open, tongue flicking at the salt of my skin.

She drags her mouth across my stomach, leaving a wet stripe just above the waistband of my jeans. Her hands slide over my hips, greedy, but I can’t believe how gentle she is, too. How deliberate. Or maybe I just can’t believe she wants me at all. Not just me, but this—the shape of me. My body. The part nobody else has ever wanted to linger over or acknowledge at all, let alone worship.

Her gaze flicks up, and she gives me a lazy, wicked grin. She palms my cock through the fabric, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. My boxers are doing less than nothing to hide how hard I am for her, and she seems genuinely delighted by it. She traces the outline of my cock with her fingertips, gently at first, then a little rougher, like she’s teasing herself as much as me.

“Fuck, Neve—” One hand finds the back of her neck, fingers weaving through her hair.

She grins up at me. “Can I tell you something?” She strokes me again. “Every single time I’ve gotten myself off since I met you, this is what I thought about. Your body. How much I’ve wanted to taste you, touch you, make you feel good.”

My breath catches. I want to say something clever, but my brain has been dipped in liquid static. I can’t decode any of the signals, other than more, more, more.

Her mouth hovers so close I can feel her breath through the thin cotton. She noses the line of my cock, then mouths along the length, indulgent and intent. “What will it take for me to convince you? Because I’ll spend all night showing you. I’d be happy if all I got to do for the rest of my life was touch you. This is my dream. You’re my dream.”

My heart goes wild in my chest. I let my fingers tangle tighter in her hair, and her claw clip clatters to the floor. She lets me guide her to where I want her, smiling against the fabric as she laps at the damp spot blooming where my cock leaks.

It’s torture. Perfection. I moan, unable to stifle it.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Her voice cuts right to the bone. She looks up at me through her lashes. “Use your words.”

My lips part. Heat crawls up my neck, stinging the tips of my ears. Every thought in my brain is stripped to raw need.

“Christ, Neve,” I rasp, and the tremble in my voice would humiliate me if I had any dignity left.

She grins, thumbs pressing into the crease of my hips. “That’s a start.”