Page 29 of Kneel with the King
That word punches something low in my gut.
“You did better with this than I expected,” he adds. “Most people would’ve fought harder. You froze. Adapted. Let me lead you here and did everything I asked of you.”
“And this proves, what, exactly?” I ask, my voice a little too callous.
He tilts his head. “Tell me, Harrison… how many times in your life have you wished someone else would just take control?”
“I don’t?—”
“I want to try something else.”
He stands, and when I shift, he helps me into a standing position. His hands are warm—so different from my stiff, frozen fingers.
“Anothergame, I presume?”
“In a way.” He circles me once. Then again, before he stops behind me, voice low and close to my ear. “Follow my lead.”
I scoff. “In your dreams.”
He steps in front of me. His eyes flick over my body, impassive, unreadable. Then—without warning—his hand brushes the heated jacket off my shoulders.
It slips to the floor in a slow, weighted heap, and my entire body shudders as the cold air permeates the damp wet suit.
“It’s time to give in, Harrison. Let go of the pretenses, the past.”
“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not,” I reply.
“I’m not. I’m trying to get us to a place where you trust me.”
I huff a sharp, bitter laugh, but I begin to shake as the cold seeps deeper into my body. “You might be waiting for a long time.”
He circles behind me again. I can feel the heat of him now, just out of reach. “Every solid relationship,” he murmurs, “runson the assumption that if I sayjump, you jump. If I sayrun, you run. If I saykneel…”
He moves in front of me. His steps are slow and measured, and his shoulders are squared. With a straight spine, he has the kind of posture that doesn’t waver.Solid.Occupying the space like he owns it, like usual, to stand in front of me.
“Kneel.”
The word lands like a slap.
I stare at him with wide eyes, disbelief crashing into fury.
His face is calm. His tone mild. He may as well be talking about the weather. But his jaw is set, one brow arched as if quietly challenging me.
“I’m not?—”
“You will,” he says. “Because I said so. Because this is about trust. Aboutsellingus. And because somewhere inside, you want to see what happens if you do.”
My whole body tenses. He steps back, giving me room. But I stay standing.
My jaw aches from clenching it so hard.
“I won’t ask again,” he says, voice still soft. “Kneel, Asher.”
The pause stretches.
And then—God help me—I do it. Slowly. Stiffly. Shoulders tight. Knees lowering to the ground. Snow seeps in through the material of the wet suit, and I begin to shiver harder.
Humiliation burns hot across my face as I kneel before him.
