Page 11 of Kneel with the King
I pull my hand away from under his, ignoring the way my mind is currently spinning. Taking a deep breath to calm my jittery nerves, I try to pay attention to the conversation King is having with Jacques, but my head’s still thinking back to how my body reacted to the way he roughly handled me.
I catch the last part of Walter’s question—something about how I must miss the California weather.
“I—uh—yeah. Sometimes. Truthfully, though, I enjoy the seasons. I’d miss New York a lot if I had to move back.”
“And the people here, I presume?” Jacques asks, winking.
I look at King again, and he leans back and spreads his legs so that our thighs are touching.
“And the people here,” I confirm, giving Jacques what I hope is a genuine smile.
“He’s not allowed to leave,” King says, reaching over and placing a territorial hand on my upper thigh.
Something zings through me again at the contact, but I don’t move or react.
Why is he playing the perfect fake boyfriend all of a sudden? What’s the angle? Is he trying to soften me up for something else? Or is this just another one of his mind games—get me on edge, throw me off-balance, keep me guessing until I screw something up?
We all chat some more, and after an hour of uncomfortable business talk—uncomfortable because of King’s hand inches away from my erection—Walter excuses himself to use the restroom.
Jacques heads to the bar right after, which leaves King and me alone.
He doesn’t immediately remove his hand, so I stand up to get away from him.
“You could’ve said no,” I growl.
“To drinks with the man who… I’m only guessing here… holds your professional fate in his palm?” King murmurs, leaning back casually. Lookingwhollyunaffected. “You’re welcome.”
“Stop helping me.”
He cocks his head slightly. “Why? Is it making you feel things you don’t know how to process?”
I grit my teeth. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“It’s not flattery if it’s accurate.”
Before I can bite back, Walter reappears, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I’d love to have coffee with you on Tuesday, Asher.”
I blink. “Really?”
He nods. “I’ve been meaning to get a better sense of your trajectory,” he says, like this has been in the works for weeks. “Figure this retreat is the perfect place to start, being away from work and feeling relaxed. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find a way to work together in a more official capacity.”
Before I can respond, Jacques returns—just in time to hand King something small and glossy that looks a hell of a lot like a business card. Great. They’re bonding. I swear I catch the wordsdouble datemurmured near King’s ear, followed by an easy laugh that twists in my gut.
“It’s refreshing, honestly,” Walter murmurs. “There aren’t many of us—older gay men—still standing in this industry, at least not without a few scars. When I meet someone who gets the terrain the way you do, I pay attention. I trust that instinct. And I think we could build something solid together.”
“Of course,” I say, shaking his hand, my grip steady even as my mind reels.
Older gay men.
I don’t correct him. Not here. Not now.
But as King’s eyes flick knowingly to mine, I can feel the smile forming behind his lips before it even hits his face.
As Walter and Jacques walk away, I down the rest of my whiskey in one go.
In the Court of Kings
Asher
