Page 84 of The KING Review

My brain stutters, then goes into full meltdown. I bite my lip, and I know I’m smirking, but I can’t help it. I want to say something clever, something that’ll push him, but all I can do is smile, wide and a little mean. “Oh my gosh,” I say, voice a sarcastic syrup. “Whatever shall I do? Forced to eat my hot professor’s ass? Oh no!”

He looks like he wants to die.

I don’t move right away. I want to see if he’ll really make me do it—not that he’ll have to make me—or if this is just another bluff. It’s not. His hand tangles in my hair, firmer now, the edge of his palm painting heat against my jaw. He leans down, mouth rough at my ear. “Get your tongue on me, Neve. Now.”

Christ, that voice.

What choice do I have but to indulge him?

I slide down, slow, letting my hands stroke over the broad muscle of his thighs. His skin is hot, the hair there rough and masculine. He’s already half hard again, cock spent but twitching back to life against his flushed stomach.

I nuzzle lower, kissing a path that makes him shiver, goosebumps springing up. His hand tightens in my hair, and his breath saws out. “Neve, fuck, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

I roll my eyes. “Obviously, I want to. Why do you think I’m still kneeling here?”

He groans. I press kisses along his hip, then nudge his thighs wider, and he lets me, collapsing back against the couch with an exhale that sounds like he’s been punched in the gut. I love this, that I can do this to him. Make him lose all the careful, professional distance and just turn into a guy who wants things. Who wants me.

He’s tense under my hands, but not with nerves—it’s pure, uncut, brain-melting want.

I want to say something bitchy and hot, like, “You know, I always wanted to do this to a professor,” but the truth is, I just want to watch him process it. I want to see the moment he realizes I’m not teasing, not bluffing, not about to back off. I want to see him surrender. I want to see that hunger cut loose from the moorings.

I glance up, just to check if he’s still with me. Grant’s eyes are dark, rimmed with green but nearly black with want. He’s watching me like I’m a fever dream.

“Celebrating a little victory, baby?” I ask, just to check in.

He huffs a truly tortured laugh, then shakes his head. “Huge victory,” he rasps.

“Yeah?” I ask, breath hot against his skin. “What’s that?”

His lips quirk. “You’re here.”

Heat flushes my body, and I dart my gaze away because his gaze feels too heavy on me. I can’t return it right now without this all becoming too much, and I’m always afraid of being too much.

I angle his cock up, slow, and the soft crown glides against his stomach. He hisses but doesn’t stop me. I nuzzle under his balls, tongue flicking, teasing, and he lets his thighs fall wider, obedient.

Fuck, that’s hot.

I trace my tongue along the seam, slow, savoring the little trembles, the way the coarse hair tickles my chin, the way the soft skin yields under the press of my mouth. I know he’s trying to hold still—I know he’s not sure how to react, but I want him to let go. I want him to lose it.

Another long, greedy lick, this time more deliberate. My tongue circles, slow at first, then firmer, lapping at his sensitive rim. He jolts, hips jerking up, and the sound that grates out of him isn’t even a word. It’s just a raw, animal sound.

Good.

“Neve. Oh, baby girl—” His voice is a mess, shredded and soft, like he can’t decide if he wants to beg or command.

I don’t wait for him to decide. I want to see what it takes to shatter the last of his composure, so I lean in and trace a slow, greedy circle with my tongue, just to watch the tremor run through the length of him. His hips arch, a helpless surge, and the sound he makes is half-choked, like he can’t process the pleasure fast enough to regulate his breathing.

“Fuck, Neve.” His hand anchors in my hair. I love the vulnerability of it—the way this man is wide open under my mouth, letting me have every inch of him. I flatten my tongue, lapping slowly, then firmer, savoring the way he tenses under my palms.

My nails drag up the inside of his thigh, chasing the shiver. I lap at the tight, sensitive ring, circling lazily at first, just to tease. His breath catches. Another ripple, this one sharper, like he’s on the edge of fight-or-flight but too far gone to choose either. All he can do is take it.

The scent of him is obscene and delicious, sweat and sex and the salt heat of skin. I want to memorize it, burn it into my synapses. I push my tongue firmer now, pressing into the tight rim, and he lets out a guttural, wild sound I’ve never heard from him before. I wish I could bottle that noise.

I lick again, firmer, flicking the tip of my tongue over his hole before circling and pressing in. His hips jerk, cock twitching against his stomach, already leaking for me again. I could die happy just seeing him like this, a mess for me, not even pretending to be in control.

He tries to say something, but it dies in his throat. All he can do is moan, the sound ragged and helpless, fingers gripping my hair so tight it borders on pain, but I love it. It’s a silent plea: don’t stop.

I lap and tease, alternating between soft, kittenish flicks and deeper, firmer pressure, pushing my tongue in and savoring the way he opens for me. Grant’s body locks, then shudders, over and over, every muscle singing with tension. I want to break him, I want to see the moment he falls apart. I want to be the one who does it to him.