Page 23 of Kneel with the King
He’s still holding me, watching my reaction. Like I’m already telling him everything without saying a word. I don’t have it in me to fake anything, so I’m sure my expression gives away the confusion, the ache, the fear of wanting this.
Then he tilts his head, almost amused. Almost fond.
But he doesn’t kiss me.
I should shove him away or say something biting. Make a joke… something. But I don’t. My breath just hitches in my throat, eyes flicking between his and that mouth still so goddamn close to mine.
And then he pulls back just a fraction. Not a lot—just enough to feel the space between us again. Cold water seeps into my chest, causing me to become breathless again, crashing back into my body like a slap.
I glance over his shoulder, pulse thudding in my ears.
Jacques is watching us.
At some point, he and Walter must’ve gotten out, and they’re both wearing the long, heated coats we’re all supposed to wear when this is over.
His arms are crossed over his chest, that sharp little crease between his brows forming as his eyes narrow.
Not confused—calculating.
Like he just witnessed everything along with King and me.
Like he can see right through our facade.
Jacques turns to speak to Walter, murmuring something I can’t hear.
“You’re flushed,” King murmurs, voice low and velvety. “Embarrassed? Or just cold?”
I stiffen, blinking hard and pushing against his chest. “Get off m-me.”
He doesn’t. Not fully. His hand is still at my waist, and now he’s looking at me like he’s found something interesting in my reaction.
“I almost kissed you,” he says, soft but dangerous. “And you would have let me.”
My throat tightens. I glance past him again—Jacques is still angled toward us, maybe listening, maybe not. I can’t tell. I can’t think.
“S-shut up,” I hiss, low and raw.
He grins. “Make me.” My hands clench under the water. I’m shivering so hard now my bones ache. “You still don’t trust me.”
It’s not a question. Something in his voice changes—just slightly. It’s less sharp now.
Like he thought maybe, maybe for a second I did. And now he knows I don’t.
Good.
“I’ll n-never trust you. Not after the s-shit you p-pulled with Trent.”
I expect him to laugh again, or throw something snide back in my face, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he lets me go and swims away, not looking back.
What the hell just happened?
“Lovers’ spat?” Jacques asks, his voice loud from a few feet away.
Walter chuckles as he leads them away, but when Jacques looks over his shoulder, he winks at me.
And I know in an instant that I’m not selling this relationship with King as well as I’d hoped.
