21. Toner and Warm Paper #2
Maybe I actually hit my head on the way in here, and I’m bleeding out on the floor. They’ll find me in the morning.
I drag my teeth over his nipple, then lap at it, slow and teasing, while my hand torments the other side. He gasps, whole body flexing, cock grinding against my pussy, and I can feel him twitch and pulse, even through the denim.
“God, you’re so hot like this,” I breathe, lips brushing his skin. “I could make you come just from playing with your nipples, couldn’t I? I bet I could get you to make a mess in your pants again. I’d hardly even have to try.”
Grant’s whole face is a study in ruin—eyes glassy and bereft, mouth parted, every line drawn tight with want.
I’m doing this to him.
I keep swirling my tongue over his nipple, then nick gently with my teeth.
It seems, apparently, that this is the last straw.
In a burst of movement, he rearranges our bodies, swiping my underwear from the floor—and then his hand is braced around my throat, and my panties are stuffed into my mouth.
“You make me insane,” he growls, face so close to mine I can see the veins of gold in his green eyes.
I pant through the soaked fabric between my teeth, tasting the tang of my own arousal.
“Tell me right now if you want to tap out. You know your safe word, baby girl. Tell Daddy if you’re done, or turn around and put that perfect, pretty ass in the air for me.
I think it’s time I teach you a lesson.”
My heart ricochets up into my mouth. I stare him down, stubborn. I want to spit my panties out just to disobey, but I know if I move wrong, he’ll make me regret it in the best possible way. That kind of makes me want to move wrong.
Grant is all looming shadow and horny rage. The same horny rage I was feeling when I stormed in here, so I’d say mission accomplished. His jaw is set, green eyes wild and fixed on me, like he’s not sure if he wants to throttle me or fuck me into the next dimension. I’d put money on both.
I hold his stare, unflinching. I let him see the dare in my eyes, because I know he likes it.
I turn slowly, keeping my gaze locked on his face until the last possible second without this turning into The Exorcist. With my mouth still stuffed full of my ruined underwear, I brace both hands on the battered tabletop, digging my nails into the gluey laminate.
My knees spread, skirt still rucked helplessly at my waist, ass high, pussy wet and shameless, and my entire body shaking because I want this so bad I can barely see straight.
I want it. I want to be taught a lesson.
I arch my back more, displaying everything, breath hissing out through my nose as the angle makes my clit throb painfully. I know he can see how wet I am.
The air goes electric. I hear his low grunt as he palms his cock through his jeans. There’s a pause, a single, trembling heartbeat where I think maybe he’ll make me wait, maybe he’ll just keep me here, desperate and aching—again.
Then two wide palms slam down on my hips. The force of it tips me forward, the soft of my belly flush to the edge of the table, breasts mashed down, toes barely on the floor in my scuffed sneakers.
Grant squeezes hard, and I feel the finger-shaped bruises bloom under my skin, heat rushing everywhere at once. Then one hand leaves, and I brace, waiting, while he grabs my cheeks and spreads me wider, exposing every soaked, needy inch.
It’s humiliating and perfect. It’s everything I want.
A second later, his fingers are at my pussy, not gentle, shoving in deep—two, then three, working me open without mercy. I moan, high and frantic, the sound mangled by the fabric in my mouth. My hips rock back, greedy, shameless, grinding on him, but he holds me tight, pinning me in place.
He leans down, beard rough against my ear. “You want Daddy’s cock? You want to be fucked like a bad girl?”
I can only whimper, nodding furiously.
“Not yet.” He grunts, hand slipping around my hip, tracing the soft lines of stretch marks painted into my skin. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, do they? What kind of lesson would that be teaching you, angel?”
I can’t answer with my mouth filled with soaked fabric, not with my brain leaking out my ears from the way he’s got three thick fingers working my pussy like I’m just a toy to be used. The humiliation of it is hot and perfect.
Grant smooths his palm over my lower back. Down, down, until one of those rough hands molds to my belly, the heat of him like a brand.
“Fuck, Neve,” he rasps. There’s nothing calm or clinical about this, nothing left of the restrained professor. “You think you’re the only one obsessed?”
His hand roams all over me, splaying wide, greedy. He palms my stomach, cups the soft curve, and squeezes.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes, voice snapping the air. “These curves, this belly. This fucking perfect goddess body. You’re so soft, I lose my mind every time I dream about touching you, but it doesn’t come close to the real thing.”
He skims down, gliding his palm over the round of my stomach to the crease where it meets my hip. He traces it, slow, thumb digging into the line of my stretch marks, then grazes the soft with his knuckles like he’s reading my skin in Braille.
“Look at you.” His other hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back hard enough to make my eyes water.
I moan as he drags me back, so my spine lines up flush against his chest. “You have no idea what you do to me, baby girl,” he murmurs in my ear, breath hot.
“I want every inch of you. All the time. Every part, every soft stretch of you, every mark. You’re flawless. ”
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.