24. Yes, This, More, Please
Chapter Twenty-Four
Yes, This, More, Please
Neve
He comes so hard, I swear I nearly come just from watching him. I wanted to touch myself while I was sucking his cock, but both my hands were busy.
I let him ride it out, swallowing him down until he starts going soft in my mouth.
I let him go—with one last lick for good measure—then wipe my lips and sit back on my heels. My dress is still on, but the top of it is basically around my waist, and Grant looks like he’s been run over by a truck.
I smirk. “You good?”
He huffs a laugh, and for a second, his hand is gentle in my hair, thumb stroking my cheekbone lazily, almost like he’s not fully aware he’s doing it. God, he’s cute like this. Absolutely fucked out, chest rising and falling slowly as he tries to pull himself together.
I love that I did that to him.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, still on my knees between his legs, and rest my arms on his thighs. I’m not trying for full after-school-special porn visual, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this looks like.
He finally blinks at me, eyes a little wild. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I grin. “That’s the plan.”
His mouth twitches, and I can tell he’s trying to be all serious and disciplinary, but the current effect is “hungry, slightly panicked, and definitely thinking about round two.”
I give his thigh a little squeeze. “Hey. Just so you know… it’s not a big deal. I’ve had partners before who, like, panic came when I touched their ass. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Sorry if it’s not your thing. No pressure.”
He flinches, barely. It’s almost cute. I think everything about him is cute, actually.
“One,” he says, holding up a finger. “Do not talk to me about your past partners. The thought of other men having their hands on you makes me crazy.”
I laugh—can’t help it. “Men and women, baby.”
He gives me this look, like I’m deliberately torturing him, then rubs a hand over his jaw as he exhales. “Two. I didn’t ‘panic come.’ I liked it. I do like it, I just…” He trails off, face gone all red, the tips of his ears burning.
He’s so fucking cute like this, I want to roll around on the floor. This man is literally a kink researcher, and he’s shy talking about butt stuff when I just had his cock in my mouth.
Adorable.
I lean in, resting my chin on his thigh, watching him try to recover. “You know you can just say you want it, right? Like, it’s not weird. I think it’s hot.”
He shakes his head, but I see the way his pupils blow wide, wanting. “You’re shameless.”
“Obviously. Have you met me?”
His lips curl, albeit grudgingly. “You’re going to make me insane.”
“I got that part,” I whisper, nuzzling closer. “I just think it’s… funny, you know? You’re a kink researcher who’s getting all shy about butt stuff when I just had your dick in my mouth.”
His body jolts, and he jerks upright, like I’ve hit some kind of override on his processor. There’s a second where we just stare at each other, me half-laughing, him looking at me like I’ve short-circuited his actual neurons.
He tries to glare, but the expression is more like dazed hunger. “If you keep talking like that, angel, I’ll make you eat it.”
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.
When he glances down at me, his eyes are blacked out and hungry. I hold his gaze as I tongue-fuck him, shameless and greedy. I want all of him. I want to crawl inside his chest cavity and live there, lined with the velvet dark of his want and the taste of him still hot on my tongue.
I go harder, deeper, savoring the flutter in his thighs and the way the muscles lock and tremble under my hands.
He’s making a wreck of himself, panting sweet nothings for me, but I want more.
I want him to lose words, lose language entirely, lose any pretense of control.
I want to be the one who does it to him, who makes Grant King go wild and wordless.
My plan is to get him there again, but then his grip on my hair tightens, and he’s hauling me up and over him until his mouth is hot at my ear. “Enough, baby girl. You’re done. My turn.”
My heart nearly combusts out of my chest.
For a second, I blink, trying to process the whiplash of taking him apart turning into being taken apart by him, but he just manhandles me, flipping himself onto his back and dragging me with him.
“Up here, now,” he demands. “I want you on my face.”