29. Beat the Shit Out of the Entire World
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Beat the Shit Out of the Entire World
Neve
The sun has just started to set when I get to Grant’s place. The hall outside his apartment smells like concrete and rain. I knock, three short taps, then wait.
There’s no response for half a beat. Then, from somewhere inside, his voice cuts through the air. “Come in.” He doesn’t sound like himself, and it makes my stomach do an ugly swoop.
I hesitate, then push the door open, stepping inside.
Instantly, I know something’s off. The apartment’s a little cold, a little heavy.
There’s a weird hush to the air. I pull my jacket tighter around myself on instinct.
The lights are lower than usual, and there’s none of the usual sound from the TV, no music, nothing. Just this… stillness.
I find him on the sofa, slouched low, staring at nothing. Not a drink in his hand. No book. His phone is face down on the coffee table, like it’s in time out for bad behavior.
He doesn’t even look up when I come in. I mean, I know he knows I’m here, because he called for me to come in, but he’s not tracking me with that brilliant green gaze the way he usually does. It’s as if his brain’s unplugged from the world.
My chest goes tight, and I cross the room on tiptoe. “Hey.”
He blinks, as if waking from a dream. “Hey.”
God, I want to fix it for him. I want to beat the shit out of the entire world until it stops hurting him like this. I sit beside him, knees tucked under, my hand finding his thigh. I squeeze, gentle, even if I want to squeeze harder. I want to believe I can squeeze the sadness out.
“Baby…” My voice is a hush, and I swallow hard. “Am I making this harder for you?”
He just stares, like I’ve spoken in an alien dialect.
The pause is cosmic. In that second, I realize nobody has ever asked him that before.
Not just about this, but about anything.
All this time, he’s had to manage everything on his own.
He’s had to be the steel wall, the logistics guy, the emotional bomb squad.
Nobody’s ever looked at Grant King and said, “Hey, is there something I can do to make it easier on you?”
His eyes go glassy, just for a blink. Then he exhales and reaches for me. His arm slides around my waist, hauling me into his lap.
I squeak, caught off guard, and wind up straddling him, my skirt riding high up my thighs. “I’m not really dressed for this.”
He huffs a rough laugh, and I feel his cock thickening in his jeans as he tilts his hips up. “Maybe it’s the perfect skirt for this, baby girl.”
He leans his forehead to mine, holding me close, and we share quiet breaths—nothing more, nothing less.
He smells like rain and his aftershave, a mix of the world outside and the secret, warm core of a man who doesn’t hide how much he wants to be held.
It’s one of my favorite things about him—after stripping away all that self-doubt, Grant says what he means, and he means what he says.
There are no games, except the ones we both choose to play.
I breathe him in, every molecule, and don’t move.
His hands slide to my ass, palms hot and steady, and his mouth finds my temple. I shiver.
He exhales, nose brushing my hairline. “You’re not making anything harder,” he murmurs. “Except maybe my self-control.”
My heart does a full somersault. I try to hide my smile in his neck, but it’s pointless, because he can feel the way my body reacts. I find his jaw with my mouth, then tip his chin up and steal a kiss. “Self-control is overrated.”
I grin, rolling my hips, just a little, just enough to remind both of us that we’re not exactly built for middle distance—if there’s a feeling to have, I want to have all of it.
His hands slide up and down my back, proprietary.
He shakes his head, just enough to make the silver at his temples flash.
“The thing with Marie,” he whispers, “It’s not about you.
I know you know that, but I just wish you didn’t have to be in the middle of it.
I hate that you are. You deserve better, Neve.
I’m trying to make it easier. For Sera, for myself, and…
” The pause is a little earthquake. “For us.”
Something seismic rocks my chest.
I run my hands up his sides, fingers tracing over the soft swell of his hips. I love the way his body yields under my palm, the heat of him, how real he is. I press my hands there, gentle, just mapping the landscape of him because it’s a privilege to know it.
He closes his eyes and melts into my touch.
“I don’t want to make things worse for you,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be a problem you have to solve. I just want to be your—” I choke on the words. “I want to be your person.”
He blinks, then grabs my jaw and kisses me so hard I nearly slide right off his lap.
It’s not a polite kiss. It’s not the kind of kiss that says maybe or later or I’ll think about it. It’s the kind of kiss that says yes, you are my person, and I want you. No hesitation, no brakes, just a raw need that hits me in the chest like a wrecking ball.
I whimper against his mouth, then pull back, forehead pressing to his. My pulse is a drumline in my throat.
“You are my person,” he says. “I want that. I want you.”
My heart seizes, and I tip my chin, searching his face. “Is that what this is?”
He blinks, confusion flickering. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we haven’t really talked about it, you know?
What this is. I just want you to know, in case I haven’t been clear—I want you.
Not just for the sex, though, obviously, yes, the sex is amazing, and you’re amazing, but I want you for real.
Like, the real thing. I know people think I don’t know what I want, or that I’m impulsive, or flighty, or whatever, but I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, because I literally want all of you, and if that’s not what you want, then… ”
His hand clamps at my hip, like he’s physically anchoring me. “Stop,” he says quickly. “I don’t think that about you, Neve. You should know that.”
I do know it, as soon as he says it. I believe him so instantly that my chest nearly bursts from it.
“I feel the same,” he says. “Okay? Yeah, maybe it’s fast. It’s impulsive as hell, definitely.
But I don’t think that makes it bad or wrong.
The same way I don’t think the age gap makes it bad or wrong, or the fact that you’re my student, or that I have a kid.
None of those are dealbreakers for me, if they’re not for you. I want to be with you. All the way.”
He kisses me, and a giggle bursts out of me. “So does that make you my boyfriend?”
Grant’s laugh rumbles through me. “I think I might be too old to be your boyfriend, baby girl.”
I smirk. “So, what, my ‘man-friend’? That’s even worse. It sounds like you’re volunteering to fix my Wi-Fi and assemble my IKEA furniture, but you know you’re never going to get any.”
He growls, the sound low and dirty, and nips at my lower lip, tugging just hard enough to make me shiver. “How about partner?” His voice is a rough scrape, dark and deliberate.
Something inside me goes hot and liquid. The word is too big, too real, but it fits him like a custom suit. I melt, breathing it right against his mouth. “Yeah. I like that.”
We hang suspended for a second, his mouth hovering over mine. But there’s a flicker in his eyes, a hesitation I don’t like that crawls under my skin.
I let my thumb trace his cheekbone. “What’s wrong?”
He swallows, the muscle in his throat jumping. “You’re really not worried I might manipulate you?”
My chest cracks open. I hate that he thinks he needs to protect me from himself. “No, baby, why would you say that?”
He looks away, jaw tight. “I know I wouldn’t do it intentionally. I know you know that. But what if I do it… accidentally? Because of my work, because of my research, because of the dynamic, because of—”
“Because of what your ex-wife made you believe?” I cut him off.
He blinks, thrown. I kiss him, not giving him the chance to argue, holding his face in both hands. “No, Grant. I’m not worried. I can’t think of a single person I’d be less worried about manipulating me. I trust you, all the way. Okay?”
He looks at me like he could cry.
I kiss him again, slowly. “Hey, how about we just…” I let it trail off because I know he’ll chase it. My hands slide down, crafty, working his belt open, then his jeans. He’s hard under my palm. I want him.
He tries to catch my wrist when I flip the elastic waistband down, freeing him. “What are you doing?” he whispers, breath hot on my throat.
I stroke him slowly, thumb circling the wet head.
His whole body goes tense under me, a shudder rolling through him. I love it when he lets me see how much he wants it, unabashed, unashamed. I want that part of him. I want every part of him.
I can’t believe I’m doing this to him.
I grind down as I line up his dick, the delicious friction making me gasp. I love the way the head of his cock bumps slick against my pussy through my panties.
I love the way he looks at me like I’m dangerous.
I nuzzle at his neck, cheek pressed to the rough line of his jaw. “Grant, baby?” My voice comes out a little shaky. “Can I just… Please? I want to be close.”
I slide my panties to the side, lining him up. He groans, low and broken, bracing both hands at my hips. “You want it like this? Baby girl, we can go to bed—”
I shake my head, and Grant’s mouth clicks shut as he gazes up at me.
“I don’t want to fuck,” I whisper, lips brushing his. “I won’t complain if we do, but… I just want to hold you. Is that okay?”
The words hang in the air. They’re vulnerable, even for me, and it takes him a second to process them, but then he nods. “Yeah, angel. Please.”
I roll my hips, slow, and sink down on him. I gasp at the shock of it—the way it burns a little, just on the edge of pain, then settles into something sweet and perfect. Like him.
I brace my hands on his chest, nails digging into the soft cotton of his shirt. “I love how you feel inside me.”
He shudders, and I spread my legs further, sliding down a little more. I’m greedy for everything I can get, savoring the stretch. My pussy clenches around him, and I rock my hips to help him slip deeper.
“Neve,” he groans, hands flexing at my ass. “You’re perfect, so fucking perfect.”
I grin, rolling my hips again. I said we weren’t fucking, but I can’t help it. He feels too good. I love how every time I sink down, the stretch gets a shade more delicious.
“Does it feel good?” I whisper, even though I know the answer.
“So, so good,” he breathes. “But it feels like I should be fucking you in bed. You deserve better than this.”
“I don’t care where we are. I just want you. Your hands on me, your eyes on me, your mind on me. That’s all I need. But if you take me to bed after and keep going, so much the better.”
His arms flex, locking me tight to his chest, and his mouth finds my neck. He kisses me there, open and desperate, then lower, breath hot against my collarbone, then up again, nipping my jaw.
“God, yes,” he rasps. “If it were up to me, you’d never leave my damn bed. I’d keep you there forever.”
I let my mouth ghost over his. “No objections here, Daddy.” The words are syrupy, slow, but my grin is mean. “Lock me up and throw away the key. Fuck, I’d love that.”
His eyes squeeze shut. “Don’t brat right now, angel. I thought this was supposed to be slow and sweet?”
He says that, but his cock pulses hard inside me, like he’s arguing with his own thesis.
A bark of laughter escapes me. “I don’t remember saying that.”
Grant’s laugh is a broken thing. I swallow it in a kiss.
I slide my hand down, fast, fingers spreading over my entrance, feeling the obscene stretch of him, thick and hot and slick with me. I rub my clit with two fingers, circling slowly, and the friction is so sweet I see stars.
When I pull them away, my fingers are shiny with slick. I bring them up to his mouth, painting his lips with the mess he’s making of me.
He blinks, drunk on it, and his mouth opens on instinct. God, he’s beautiful like this—all dark eyes and flushed cheeks. I want to ruin him. I want to see if he’ll let me do it.
I know he will.
“Come on, Daddy,” I whisper. “Be a good boy and suck.”
His tongue darts out, lapping at my fingertips, and I shiver at the sight. He sucks my fingers into his mouth, greedy, and his eyes lock on mine as his cheeks hollow. The sight of it makes my clit throb so hard I nearly come on the spot.
“That’s it,” I praise, rocking down on him. “You like how I taste, don’t you?”
He groans again, the sound vibrating up my hand. His beard scrapes my knuckles, and he sucks harder, like he’s starving for it.
“God, baby, look at you.” My voice goes liquid, words barely more than breath and air. “You look so fucking pretty with my pussy all over your mouth.”
He moans, and it goes straight between my thighs. I’m obsessed with the way he lets go, the way he lets me see him like this. All wrecked, all mine. I want to keep him like this forever.
I pull my fingers out, trailing them down his jaw, and he pants, lips shiny. I can’t help but lean in and kiss him, filthy and deep, tasting the tang of myself on his tongue.
If I could ride this feeling into battle, the world would probably be mine in a week.
Grant’s hands clamp at my hips, huge and hot, fingers digging in as he rocks up into me. The movement is hungry enough to border on desperate, lifting me and dropping me back down roughly.
“Thought we weren’t fucking,” I pant.
“It was you who said that, not me,” he grunts, and then his pace goes from indulgent to savage in a heartbeat.
A laugh skitters out of me, and Grant sets a rhythm, rough and relentless, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the quiet apartment.
He brings a hand between us, fingers searching for my clit.
When he finds it, he circles tight, relentless.
The friction is slick and sliding, and I clench, the pleasure so high and hot it borders on pain, and I lean in, forehead pressed hard to his, desperate for something to anchor me.
He’s close, I can feel it—his cock swells inside me, his jaw flexes, and his breath stutters ragged against my throat. The sound he makes when he comes is almost a whimper, hands locking on my hips as he pulses deep inside me, flooding me with heat.
He buries his face in my neck, mouth open on my skin, and I feel his words as much as I hear them as he murmurs, “God, Neve Hart, I think I’m falling for you.”