Page 102 of Kneel with the King
Asher turns his head enough to look at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “I’m not afraid, Ambrose.”
“Yes, you are,” I snap. “We agreed to do this. To show up. Instead, you’re running off and shrugging your way through anything that makes you uncomfortable. Like therapy. Like this morning.”
His mouth curls, but there’s no humor in it. “You want to talk about showing up? You’ve been half here since day one, King. You’re the last person who should be lecturing me about commitment. When’s the last time you were in a real relationship?”
My pulse ticks faster. “Don’t change the subject. This isn’t about that.”
“No?” He stands up fully, walking over to me so that we’re facing each other on the freezing cold path. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve had one foot out the door since the day we met. You showed up with an agenda—lying through your teeth, pretending this was just business while planning to gut my company. And when you weren’t doing that, you were hiding behind sarcasm and walls so high no one could get close. You want honesty? Start there.”
I take a breath, but it feels like trying to swallow glass. “You think I’m hiding something from you?”
“I think you’re hiding everything from everyone,” he says, voice low and cruel. “Including yourself.”
The words dig in deep, right where I don’t want them.
Right where it hurts the most.
My chest aches, and I open my mouth, ready to fire back with something sharp, something that might actuallycuthim, but the truth gets caught in my throat.
I want to tell him he’s wrong. I want to tell him it’s different with him.
But I don’t, because it’s not.
Because he’s right.
Because I only work in spaces where I can control every aspect as a Dom. Because I haven’t had a relationship outside of the lifestyle in nearly a decade.
I let out a cruel laugh. “You know what? Forget it. This isn’t worth it.”
“Yeah,” he says, bitter now. “Why bother talking when you can just shut down? You’re a hypocrite, you know.”
I stop, my hands flexing uselessly at my sides. “Careful, Harrison. You’re not the only one who knows how to disappear.”
Something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe—but then it’s gone. He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms.
Stubborn asshole.
“I don’t fall asleep with people,” I admit. I’m not sure why I say it, but it feels important to get out. “I never let myself have that vulnerability. I don’t allow that kind of intimacy—ever. And yet I’ve done it with you. Twice, actually.”
Asher’s jaw feathers as his eyes bore into mine, and I continue.
“So imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning and you were gone.”
Something akin to guilt passes over his face, but he doesn’t move.
“I assumed maybe you’d gone out and gotten us coffee. Muffins.Something.But as it got to be an hour of you being gone, I pulled myself out of bed and told myself… this is why. This is why I don’t do it. Because when you show your hand to someone who doesn’t deserve it, it fucking hurts,” I add, chest aching.
Asher, to his credit, looks just as devastated as I feel.
“My father never showed me true love. And my mother didn’t know how to raise a boy who wouldn’t turn into her husband—a religious zealot who only knew how to do two things: hate and breed more babies into her. I left home early because he was emotionally abusive, and I learned how to hone my upbringing into something positive: with consent, domination, and respect.”
I take a step back and hold my hands out. “I can’t believe I thought this could actually be something. Thank you for reminding me why I don’t let people in, Harrison. It’s been a pleasure.”
I turn and walk around before I can change my mind, heading into the woods to clear my head.
And by the time I get back to the cabin a couple of hours later, Asher’s things are gone.
The Misfortune of a King
