Page 101 of Kneel with the King
That finally gets his attention. His brows pull together. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” I answer, hanging my coat on the peg a little harder than necessary.
He sits up, wary now. “What’s your problem?”
I turn to face him. “My problem? You’re the one bailing on the one activity where we might actually have to talk to each other like adults.”
He scoffs. “It’s couples therapy, King. We’re not a real couple. It’s pretend. Or have you forgotten?”
The words land like a slap, even though I’ve been telling myself the same thing all week. I take a step closer, my hands balling into fists in my pockets. “Funny how it’s only pretendwhen it’s convenient for you. But when you’re moaning my name and swallowing my cum, it feels pretty damn real.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s just sex.”
“Is it?” I bite out. “Because last night felt pretty damn real.”
He blinks at that, something sharp flashing in his eyes. “You’re impossible to read. Half the time I can’t even tell if you like me, and the other half you’re acting like you own me. Which is it?”
I don’t answer. Not because I don’t know, but because the answer isn’t something I can say without tearing open more than I’m willing to. Withoutadmittingmore than I want to.
He shakes his head, grabbing his phone and shoving it in his pocket. “You really want me to play the doting boyfriend for the rest of the retreat?”
My mouth drops open before I respond. “Isn’t that the plan?”
“And what if I don’t want to do it anymore?”
“It’s a little late for that, Harrison,” I growl.
“Why? Can’t I just feign illness? You’re acquiring my company. Walter is yours. What’s the point of me continuing this charade?”
I don’t have an answer for him, but he continues nonetheless.
“If Walter asks, just tell him we broke up.”
I stare at him. He has it all planned out, and that control I was so afraid of losing is slipping between my fingers like sand.
“Is that what you really want?” I ask, my voice hard.
“Maybe it is.”
The air between us is sharp enough to cut skin.
I take a step back, the fight bleeding into something colder. “You’re right. This was all pretend, anyway.”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, his jaw working like he’s holding back something he’ll regret. Without another word, he grabs his boots and jacket, opening the front door and slamming it behind him.
I stand there for a long moment, breathing heavily as my heart races.
The silence stretches until I can feel it pressing against my skin. I should let it die here, save the rest for another day. But I can’t.
I march out after him, fury licking every nerve ending.
He hasn’t gotten far—he’s struggling with tying the laces of his boot several feet ahead on the path.
“Tell me one thing,” I say caustically.
He looks up at me apathetically. “Okay.”
“If you weren’t so afraid of this, what would you want from me?”
