#k.d.

-> King Dice revels in control—he loves taking his time, drawing out every little sound from you. It’s the one form of control he has over your spontaneous personality— and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

-> But sometimes, you do something so unexpected, it ruins him.

• Maybe it’s the way you look at him—half-lidded, dazed, drunk on him—and suddenly he’s the one gasping for air.

• Maybe you whisper something back—“hurry up before somebody walks in, handsome,” —and he has to physically stop himself from losing it.

• Maybe your hands are gripping at his suspenders, and he’s too far gone to be ‘suave’ about it.

• That’s when the line between ‘professional’ and ‘unprofessional’ get blurry.

“Fucking hell—just do your thing, angel. I got nowhere to be.”

“Ohh, you are killing me, babygirl—”

“You—fuck—you got no idea what you do to me.”

-> And sometimes? Sometimes he just groans and pins you to the nearest surface like he physically cannot go another second without feeling you.

-> The King doesn’t just strip you—he makes it a performance.

• He unbuttons your shirt one button at a time, pausing to drag his fingers over every newly exposed inch.

• You get impatient and try to help? His hands gently stop yours.

“Ah, ah, babydoll. Let me enjoy my view.”

-> When you strip him?

• He leans back, smirking, watching you with predatory interest.

-> But the moment your hands skim down his chest? He lets out a deep, shuddering exhale.

“You got no clue what you’re startin’, sugar.”

-> He loves toying with you when he kisses you.

• He lingers just before your lips touch, watching you squirm.

• He pulls away way too soon, smirking when you chase after him.

“That desperate for me already, huh?”

-> But when he’s serious?

• His lips meet yours, one hand tangling in your hair, the other holding you like he’s never letting go.

-> They’ll get messy when he’s too into it—low, hungry murmurs against your mouth.

“You better get that pretty lipstick ‘uh yours all over me.”

“Goddamn, baby, you taste too good.”

-> In public, he’s still the smooth-talking performer.

• A hand on your hip, a ‘professional’ smirk, stolen kisses between conversations.

-> But when you catch him staring at you—really staring—his expression flickers. For a split second, he forgets the act.

“Damn, doll face… what am I gonna do with you?”

-> In private, though? The real King comes out.

• He melts into you, sighing like you’re the only safe place in the world.

• He presses kisses against your forehead, your cheek, your shoulder—anywhere he can reach.

-> And sometimes, after a long night, he mumbles sleepy confessions against your skin.

“Ain’t never let anyone in like this, baby.”