Kenny King
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Chapter 16 Preview - How I Became The World's Strongest Warrior Book 2!
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 16:00:10 +0000 UTCWitch circled me with a spool of glimmering thread in one hand and a pin clamped between her teeth. The armor, if it could even be called that, clung to my skin like a second layer of nerves. Lightweight, durable, and somehow both cool and warm at the same time.
“Don’t move,” she muttered, mouth half-full. “This stitch will explode if it’s off center.”
That didn’t help.
I stayed still.
Her fingers brushed along my ribs as she anchored a line of the spidersilk just beneath my sternum. Her nails were short but sharp, and her breath was hot against my chest as she leaned in. I could smell the faint ozone of enchantment and whatever smoky herbs she always smelled like.
Then her breasts pressed against my side.
Not fully. Just... casually. Like gravity had made a decision, and she wasn’t going to fight it.
I didn’t react.
I mean, I reacted, but I didn’t say anything.
She crouched to adjust something along my thigh. Her hand slid behind my knee, her shoulder bumped my hip, and her hair brushed across the front of the armor with featherlight pressure.
“You’re tense,” she said.
“I’m trying not to explode,” I replied.
“Mm.” She spat the pin into her hand. “You won’t. I reinforced the glyphs this time.”
Her fingers slipped under the edge of the armor along my lower abdomen. She tugged something tight, then smoothed it flat with both palms. I stared straight ahead at the workshop wall, doing complex math in my head.
Boob contact again. Direct. Pressed right against my back as she reached around to the other side.
“You okay?” she asked, tone distracted. “You’re doing that statue thing again.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Uh-huh.” She leaned closer. Her chin rested against my shoulder for a second as she tightened a loop beneath my arm. “Armor fits well. Better than expected. I was worried about how it would hold up around the upper chest, where there’s too much movement. But it’s anchoring to your core just right.”
Her hands slid down over my sides again. Another bump of her chest. This time both of them, right between my shoulder blades.
I swallowed. “Do your boobs always get involved in the crafting process?”
She blinked up at me. “What?”
“They’ve touched me three times,” I said.
She looked down. Then at me. Then shrugged. “That’s part of the fit test. Organic pressure. Calibration.”
“That’s not a thing.” I shook my head.
“It is if I say it is,” she replied casually. “Now, lift your arms. I need to check the range of motion.”
I did. She stepped in front of me and slid her hands under the armor along my ribs, testing how far it flexed when I stretched.
She was still close. Her breath warmed the base of my throat. Her fingers moved fast and confidently, tugging, smoothing, and pressing seams flat. I could see the slope of her collarbone and the way her chest rose and fell as she concentrated.
None of this was sexual for her.
It was deeply sexual for me.
“Okay,” she said finally, stepping back and giving me a once-over. “Tension rating’s good. Range of motion solid. You might actually survive getting burned now.”
“Glad to hear it,” I replied.
She smiled, pleased with herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll still let you take it off slowly and dramatically when you get back so I can fix it again.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I added, “Do I really do that?”
“Yes, but it’s fine. Anything for my test subject.” She turned back to her workbench, then called over her shoulder, “You can put your pants back on. Or don’t. No judgment.”
Once I had them on, she kept working.
More threads, more glyphs, more light brushes of her fingers over my skin. At some point, she switched from speaking aloud to muttering arcane phrases under her breath, the syllables curling and clicking in that strange half-language she used when focused. Every so often, she’d tug a line tight or adjust the tension in a rune-loop around my shoulder.
Her touch was constant, efficient, and never hesitant, but not impersonal. Like I was a canvas. Or maybe a puzzle she hadn’t finished solving yet.
“You do fittings like this a lot?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Mmhmm,” she said, eyes narrowed in concentration as she traced a glowing line along my chest. “Comes with the job. Armor that fits wrong gets you killed.”
I nodded. “So you’re used to half-naked people standing still while you grope them for enchantment science.”
“Basically.” She tapped a knot of thread against my hip. “But I usually charge a lot more.”
“Because you’re talented?” I asked.
“Because sometimes people get weird about it. Pervy. Especially when the girls are built like me.” She gestured vaguely at her chest, then leaned in again, completely unbothered by the way her chest brushed against my arm. “If you’re gonna stare, you can at least pay me triple.”
I smirked. “So I’m getting the special treatment.”
She grinned. “Of course. You’re special.”
It came out as a joke. But not entirely.
There was a hitch in her voice, just a fraction of a beat where the tone shifted. I looked at her. She was already focused again, pretending she hadn’t said anything at all. I didn’t push it.
She crouched to adjust a seam at my knee, her hand sliding down my thigh as she checked the connection points. The armor shimmered faintly, reacting to her touch. She muttered another incantation, then stepped back to observe her work.
Something shifted.
The armor flickered… just for a moment. The threads across my left side lost cohesion, the enchantment fuzzing out like a frayed signal. She frowned.
“Damn it,” she said, mostly to herself. “That channel’s off-balance. I must’ve misaligned the core knot.”
She stepped back, hands on her hips, biting her lower lip as she studied me like a prototype she’d built and didn’t expect to feel this much for. The flicker resolved. Then rippled again.
“It’s not syncing to your nervous system the way it should,” she murmured, pacing around me. “Something about your baseline frequency is… different. Stronger?”
Her fingers brushed the back of my neck, then paused there, just resting. Her thumb moved once, lightly, like she was grounding herself.
Then, she paced in a tight circle around me, muttering calculations. Her brow furrowed deeper with each pass. The armor pulsed again, faintly this time, but the flicker still made my skin crawl.
“It’s your frequency,” she said finally, turning to face me. “The armor’s supposed to harmonize with your ambient magical signature, but yours is... off. Not chaotic… just... tuned differently.”
“Is that bad?” I asked.
“No. It’s inconvenient.” She cracked her knuckles. “It means I have to recalibrate manually.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
She stepped in close, very close, and pressed her palm flat to the center of my chest.
Warmth flooded through the armor. Through me.
“I need to sync with you. Just for a second,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “No spells. No words. Just... resonance.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She didn’t move for a moment. Just stood there, one hand on my chest, the other resting at my side. Her breath was slow. Steady. Measured.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
I did.
Her other hand came up to my back, palm flat between my shoulder blades. She leaned in, her forehead brushing against mine, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us.
“Don’t talk,” she whispered. “Just match me.”
She inhaled.
I followed.
She exhaled.
I mirrored.
The magic shifted, soft and low, like a tone humming just beneath hearing. I felt her pulse in her fingertips. I felt mine trying to match it.
The armor warmed. Tightened.
Her fingers spread wider across my back, gripping lightly. Her chest pressed fully against mine, the curve of her breasts settling as if they belonged there. She was still fully focused, but the contact was dizzying.
I kept my breath synced to hers.
In.
Out.
Magic pulsed again, stronger now. My skin buzzed beneath the armor.
Then she slipped her hand around the back of my neck and pulled me just a little closer. Our noses brushed. Her lips were nearly touching mine, not kissing, not teasing. Just there.
I opened my eyes.
Hers were already on me.
Neither of us moved.
The armor shimmered again, brighter this time, alive with energy, but she didn’t flinch. She held me there, forehead to forehead, her breath shaking just slightly now.
“It’s working,” she whispered.
But she didn’t sound relieved.
She sounded... overwhelmed.
And she still hadn’t let go.
The shimmer of the armor stabilized for a moment, just long enough for her to shift, reaching toward the runic seam along my lower back.
“Don’t move,” she murmured, leaning in.
Her fingers slid down, cool against my skin.
And then her foot slipped.
There was no grace to it. One second, she was adjusting a thread, and the next, we were both falling, tangled in the half-charged armor, limbs knocking into each other, her cloak tangling around us. I caught myself, barely, hands braced on either side of her shoulders, our faces inches apart. Her hair was splayed beneath her like a halo of static. Her chest rose and fell against mine, still pressed together from the impact.
Her eyes were wide. Lips parted.
I didn’t move.
Neither did she.
Then, quietly, breath catching, she let out a short, nervous laugh.
“Well,” she said, voice light and shaky, “if you wanted to be on top, you could’ve just asked.”
I blinked. Still too close. Still staring.
She smiled, a little too fast. “Or if you wanted to fuck, you should’ve just said something.”
It was a joke.
Except it wasn’t.
I saw it in the way her throat moved when she swallowed. The flicker of something uncertain in her eyes. The way her hands hovered at my sides, not pushing me off.
So I said, quietly, “I didn’t realize that was an option.”
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then her expression cracked, not into a grin, but something softer. It was a little stunned and a little scared.
“I don’t know if it is,” she said. “I think it might be.”
We didn’t move.
Her fingers found the edge of the armor again, like she was grounding herself. The magic pulsed faintly between us.
“Still wanna fix the armor?” I asked.
She looked up at me, searching my face, her breathing still uneven.
“Not yet,” she said.
I looked down at her.
Her hair was spread out around her face, her cheeks were flushed, and her pupils were wide. She hadn’t moved. Neither had I. The armor buzzed faintly between us, still half-charged and forgotten.
“I’m going to kiss you,” I said.
She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay.”
So I did.
Her lips were warm and soft, parting instantly against mine like she’d been waiting for this longer than she realized. Her hands slid up my sides, fingers curling against my ribs as she pulled me closer. Her body arched into mine as her mouth opened wider, tongue brushing against mine, hungry and unsure at the same time. She moaned, quiet, surprised, and that sound lit something electric in my chest.
I deepened the kiss, hand bracing the back of her neck, her cloak tangling around our legs as the weight of me pressed down on her. Her chest pushed against mine with every breath, those impossible curves trapping heat between us, skin to skin beneath the half-finished armor.
When we finally pulled apart, she didn’t let go.
Her eyes were glassy and her lips were wet. Her voice was a whisper. “That felt like a very bad idea.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I still want to do it again.”
Her smile was slow. “Then you better.”
I kissed her again, deeper this time. My hand slid from the curve of her waist and up her side, my fingertips tracing the edge of her ribs. She gasped softly against my mouth, and I felt her chest rise against me unconsciously, almost like her body was answering for her.
Then my hand settled on her breast.
She froze. But not in fear.
I pulled back just enough to speak. “Is this okay?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes searched mine. Then she let out a breath, shaky and low.
“I mean… your shirt is off too.” She tried to shrug.
“It’s not the same,” I replied.
She gave a nervous little laugh. “No. It’s not.”
Still, she nodded.
Permission.
So I moved slowly. With one hand, I reached behind her to loosen the clasps of her top, those absurd enchanted leather straps that always looked like they were one sneeze away from surrendering to physics. She arched her back slightly to help, and the moment the last strap came undone her breasts spilled free—full, heavy, and ridiculous in the most divine way.
“You’re beautiful,” I said. Not as a line, just as the truth. “I told the succubi that, and it made them mad.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t look away.
I lowered my head and kissed the swell of her breast, then again, lower this time. Her breath caught. I took my time, trailing my mouth across soft skin, letting her feel the attention. When my lips closed around her nipple, she made a sound that was half whimper, half curse.
“Oh gods,” she whispered. “That’s… okay. That’s really okay.”
I sucked gently, then with more purpose, letting my tongue swirl and flick. Her back arched beneath me and her thighs shifted restlessly under the armor and cloak, caught between control and sensation.
“You’re really into that,” she breathed, half-dazed. “Is that, like, a thing for you?”
“Yes,” I said, mouth still against her skin.
“Well.” She swallowed. “Good. Because I… I think I might melt if you stop.”
So I didn’t.
I lavished her, kissing her like she was sacred. I switched to the other side, earning another soft moan as her fingers dug into the back of my neck. She kept squirming… just a little. Not to get away, but because she didn’t know where to put the feeling.
And through it all, she never made another joke.
Her nipples were flushed deep pink, taut and responsive, hardening further every time my tongue circled them. They weren’t small. They were prominent, like the rest of her, and also like the rest of her they were sensitive and expressive. When I flicked one lightly, she gasped. When I sucked deep and slow, she mewled, arching beneath me like her body was trying to chase the sensation. She tasted like magic and sweat and something wild I couldn’t name.
I was rock hard.
Pressed against her through the charged silk of the half-finished armor, the tension was building like a coiled storm between us. I could feel her heat radiating through the fabric—wet, undeniable heat where her thighs had parted slightly under mine. The friction between us made me groan low in my throat.
She must have felt it because her hips shifted, then shifted again. Her next grind was slower and intentional, dragging the warmth of her center along the length of me. The silk flexed with the pressure. My breath caught in my throat, and she gasped, her eyes wide.
And then she did it again.
This time it was with more pressure. Her lips parted in a silent moan as her hands clutched at my back, nails pressing just slightly into my skin. She rolled her hips against me again, and when she groaned her eyes flew open.
Her eyes locked onto mine, pupils blown wide, her lips trembling.
“Oh—”
Her hips were still moving against me, like her body had taken over and left her mind scrambling to catch up.
“I… I’m a lesbian,” she gasped, half-laughing, half-panicked. “I don’t—I don’t do this. This isn’t… gods, what am I doing?”
I didn’t answer.
I was still kissing her breasts. One after the other, tongue swirling, lips dragging over those flushed, sensitive nipples like they were the only thing that mattered. She arched under me again with a helpless moan, her fingers tangling in my hair.
“I mean… statistically, this doesn’t even make sense,” she babbled, breath hitching. “I don’t like men, I don’t like any of this, except… except I do, and you’re so hard, and gods, I can feel you—”
Her hand slipped down between us and she cupped me through my pants.
“Oh my gods,” she whispered. “You’re so hard. Is that… because of me?”
“Yes. What do you want to do?” I asked.
She stared at me, mouth slightly open, hand still curled around my length through the thin fabric. Her thighs shifted again beneath me. Her pupils were huge and her chest was rising fast.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know, I just—”
But she didn’t pull away, she just kept stroking me through the fabric, her hips moving the whole time.
Between gasps she finally whispered, “Take it out.”
I lifted my head from her breast, her nipple half in my mouth, then met her gaze again.
“You sure?”
She nodded fast, almost like she was afraid she’d stop herself if she waited too long.
I shifted, sliding back just enough to unfasten my pants. Her hand stayed there, lingering until I moved hers aside. As I pulled down the fabric, I caught sight of her how dark, thin, and absolutely soaked her own underwear were. The silk clung to her like a second skin, the wetness stark against her thighs. I exhaled, slow and deep, and looked up at her again.
“Can you take those off?” I asked.
“Why?” she asked, small and uncertain.
“I want to see you,” I said.
Her lips parted, and she stared at me like that was the wrong answer. Or, like it was the exact right one, and that’s what scared her.
“Guys always want to see me,” she said, her voice soft and strange, like she was repeating a phrase she’d heard a hundred times.
I simply waited, not responding, not pressing, just… still. If she wanted to be seen, it would be her choice. For a few moments she just laid there under me, her legs slightly parted, silk panties still clinging between her thighs soaked and glued to her skin with want. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, arms loose at her sides, her fingers twitching with indecision.
Still, I waited.
Then, slowly, she hooked her thumbs beneath the sides of her panties and slid them down. The silk peeled away from her body, dragging a shimmering thread of slickness between her thighs before falling to her knees. Then, she wiggled them off entirely, her eyes on mine expectantly.
Her legs parted just a little more instinctively, revealing her. There was a neatly trimmed patch of hair above, leading down to where her lips parted slightly with the heat of her need.
“I hope it seems okay,” she said, voice so quiet it barely reached me. “D-Do you want to see more?”
I simply nodded, letting her decide on her own just how much she wanted to show me. She bit her lip, nervous again, but not scared. Her knees shifted wider apart as her hand moved down, fingers trailing over her belly, between her thighs.
And then she spread herself.
Her folds parted under her fingers, glistening and wet, pink and swollen with arousal. Her inner lips were slick, soft, and delicate. Her clit sat nestled above, flushed and half-hidden.
She looked up at me, breath catching. Her cheeks were red. “Is that how I’m supposed to do it?”
“Yes,” I said, and I meant it.
Her fingers stayed there, holding herself open. Her thighs trembled slightly beneath her own hand.
Then, after a pause, “Do you want to taste me?”
That landed like an explosion in my chest. I wasted no time leaning in, kissing the inside of her thigh first. Her breath hitched, fingers still holding herself open. I watched the way her body reacted, watched the twitches and shallow gasps and let those guide me.
When I finally leaned in and pressed my tongue to her, she let out a sharp, stunned sound. Her whole body tremored. I started slowly. Long, soft licks, the flat of my tongue dragging from her entrance to the swollen nub of her clit. I didn’t rush. I didn’t tease. I just… tasted her.
She was soaked.
Warm and sweet and sharp all at once, her slickness coating my lips, my chin. I groaned softly against her, and she responded with a helpless little gasp, hips shifting against the pressure.
And then she whispered, voice shaky and confused, “This is so weird.”
I paused, glancing up. “Bad?”
“No,” she breathed. “It’s just… it’s not like when girls do it.”
That made sense. I went back to it, focusing on her clit now, tongue flicking, then sucking gently. Her thighs squeezed slightly around my head. Her hand found my hair, holding on like reins.
“I’ve had girls do this so many times,” she whispered, head tipping back. “It’s always been good. Familiar. Safe. But this…”
I sucked again, slower, firmer.
She literally cried out.
“This is so different. It’s okay. I thought I’d hate this part. I thought I’d panic. But I don’t. I can’t even think—oh, fuck—”
She was close. I could feel it in the way her thighs kept tightening around my head, rhythmic, involuntary, like waves crashing closer and closer together. Her hand fully gripped my hair now, fingers tangled in the strands, her other hand braced on her own stomach like she was holding herself in place.
My tongue worked her clit in steady, deliberate circles. I didn’t let up. I wanted to hear her come apart.
She was panting now, speaking in fragments:
“Oh—fuck—okay—wait, wait, don’t stop—don’t—”
I sucked again. Firm. Warm. Constant.
And that’s when her body locked.
Her hips bucked once, sharp and helpless, and then her whole body shuddered like a spell had passed through her. She cried out, high and breathless and half-strangled, and clapped her hand over her own mouth like she hadn’t meant to make the sound.
Her back arched, and she came against my mouth in a sudden, rolling wave, slick and pulsing and messy. Her breath hitched in tiny sobbing gasps, each one higher than the last. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
I didn’t stop until her body twitched again, and she yelped… too sensitive, too much.
I pulled back slowly, kissed the inside of her thigh again, and looked up.
She was sprawled out above me, chest rising in sharp, rapid breaths, eyes glassy and wide, hair tangled across her face and neck like she'd just barely survived a storm. One hand still rested between her legs, covering herself now more out of instinct than modesty.
“What the fuck?” she whispered.
I waited.
“I just came from a guy’s mouth,” she said, completely stunned. “A guy. With a penis. That’s not supposed to happen.”
I smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be smug. I’m in a sexual identity crisis.”
“Still welcome,” I said, crawling up beside her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
She rolled onto her side, face flushed and unreadable. Then she groaned and threw a hand over her eyes.
“We are so not done, are we?”
“No,” I said softly. “Not even close.”
She lay there for a long moment, dazed and flushed. “I, um—” she started, then winced. “I need a minute.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“It’s just… gods, that was a lot. I mean, physically, I’m kind of twitchy and like… super sensitive right now. Like if you breathe near my clit again, I might scream. Not in a fun way. In a ‘my soul just left my body’ kind of way.”
I didn’t say anything.
She kept going. “Also, I might cry? Or laugh? I don’t know what’s going on. That was intense. And you were just… you, doing that with your mouth like it was nothing. Meanwhile, I’m over here coming apart like a teenager. I’ve never felt it like that before, not from—”
I kissed her.
Soft. Slow. Full mouth. No rush.
She went completely still.
When I pulled back, her eyes were wide, blinking up at me like I’d just flipped the script on reality.
Her lips parted, and after a long beat, she whispered, “I don’t know why it’s so weird when you do that.”
“Weird bad?” I asked.
“No,” she said quickly. Then, quieter, “Weird good. Weird too good. Like I want you to do it again, but also I feel like I’m floating through space and maybe made of static now.”
I smiled. “You still need that minute?”
“Yes,” she groaned. “Please. Before I spontaneously combust or propose to you.”
She lay on her back, chest rising and falling in deep, unsteady breaths, her skin still flushed and damp with sweat. Her legs twitched once, like they were still trying to remember how to work. Her gaze drifted down, and her eyes widened suddenly.
She gave a guilty little grimace. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think… like, I had a full meltdown, and you’re still sitting here at full capacity.”
“You don’t have to—”
She cut me off. “Do you want me to suck it?”
I blinked. “Do you want to?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Part of me wants to repay the favor. Part of me wants to take a nap for like eight days and never talk about any of this again. And another part of me is just kind of… staring at your dick like it’s a problem I don’t know how to solve.”
“Sounds like you're still figuring it out,” I said.
She nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
I didn’t move.
Neither did she.
Then, a beat later, she said, “But… if I did suck it, would that be okay?”
I nodded. “If it’s what you want to do? Yes.”
She stared at me for a moment longer.
Then exhaled. “Okay. Maybe I’ll just… try.”
She shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. Her hair was a mess, her skin flushed, and her expression was somewhere between nervous and determined.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m gonna do this now. Just… don’t make it weird.”
“I won’t,” I said.
“Because it’s already weird,” she added, wagging a finger at me. “So… don’t make it worse.”
I nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. No weirder than it already is.”
She gave me a look, then reached for the waistband of my pants and eased them down. My cock sprang free. I was still rock hard, twitching slightly from the anticipation, glistening at the tip with a little pre-cum.
She stared at it.
“You’re seriously still this hard?” she asked.
“You’re kind of a lot.” I shrugged.
“Rude,” she muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Her fingers wrapped around my shaft, tentative but steady. She stroked once. Twice. Then leaned in. The first lick was soft and more exploratory than anything else. She made a little humming sound like she was analyzing flavor, then flicked her tongue again before fully taking me in.
It was warm, wet, and a little clumsy. But it was her, and she was trying, not out of obligation, but from that same weird spark that had been growing between us since the beginning.
She bobbed her head slowly, adjusting her angle, one hand stroking what she couldn’t fit. Her tongue flattened along the underside of my cock, her eyes occasionally flicking up to mine.
“Better?” I asked quietly.
She pulled back, licking her lips. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
“You’re doing great.” I smiled at her.
She rolled her eyes but smiled, just a little, and then went back down, this time with more confidence.
Her movements got slower, lazier, but more focused. Her jaw worked in small, steady motions, her tongue slick and careful. She kept one hand at the base, the other braced on my thigh for leverage. Every time I groaned, she adjusted. Reacted. Trying to solve me.
And eventually—
I came.
Hard.
In her mouth.
She took it again, like she had before. Her throat moved in a quick swallow, then another. She pulled off with a wet breath and flopped back onto the blankets beside me, arm flung over her eyes.
“Finally,” she muttered. “My jaw hurts.”
I looked over, still panting. “Way to really sell the mood.”
She sat up, rolled her eyes, smacked my bare chest with a weak slap, then slid closer. “Hold me.”
Without hesitation, I pulled her in, letting her settle against me. Her skin was warm. Her hair smelled like smoke, herbs, and the faintest bit of sweat. She sighed, long and low, and pressed her face against my shoulder.
Within seconds, her breathing evened out.
I followed her into sleep, still holding her.
