Page 40 of Kneel with the King
Suddenly, I’m imagining what would’ve happened if I had asked for help. If King had walked over, stood behind me, and placed his large, warm hand around my cock?—
“Okay, everyone.” Ava cuts through my fantasy, and I rub my eyes roughly with the backs of my hands as her voice lilts through the room. “Today’s exercise is about co-regulation. Nervous system syncing. Surrender through stillness.”
I already hate it.
“Please sit up, legs crossed, facing your partner.” I do as she says, unbuttoning my shirt so that I have more flexibility. “You’ll be mirroring each other’s breathing. Palms up. Eyes open. No talking.”
My hands twitch as I look at him. King lays his palms on his knees, and though his eyes are a shade darker than normal, his expression is patient—calm.
I mirror him, throat dry, mind racing. Our knees are barely two inches apart, and I can smell the spice he uses in his bodywash.
Ava guides us through a breathing exercise. “In… two… three… four… and out.”
King’s chest rises slowly, and so does mine. I glance at his mouth, his shoulders, his eyes. My eyes flick across his face, taking him in since I have nothing else to look at.
He doesn’t observe me in the same way. Hewatchesme like he’s clocking every detail about me.
I try not to flinch.
He doesn’t blink, and his breathing never falters. He’s the picture-perfect model for this exercise, and I can’t help but admire the control it must take not to smile, or scowl, or whatever else.
“Now, reach out and hold your partner’s hand. Lace your fingers together, leaning forward so that you’re both pressing against each other. Feel the energy flow through your palms—truly let yourself take it in, uninhibited.”
I act first, holding my hands out. King twines his fingers with mine, and then we both subtly lean forward into each other.
My chest stutters. My pulse jumps. I feel exposed. A coil of heat drops low into my stomach, growing with every passing second. My body wants to run away from this, but again, I’m stuck. Averting my gaze over his shoulder, I see Jacques quickly glance our way.
When I look back at King, he’s sitting like a statue.
I shift slightly, but he doesn’t move.
Our eyes finally lock.
And it’s too much.
Too intimate.
Too quiet.
Too muchwant.
It flows between us.
My palms are hot and tingling where they are pressing against his, and it’s like there’s a direct line of heat connectingus. My cock tightens, already hard as a rock and begging for a release. Heat curls down my spine. I try to suppress the twitch in my fingers, but he notices.
Of course he notices.
His thumbs press lightly—slowly—into the soft pads of my palms. It’s just enough pressure to be a message.
I suck in a breath. My cock stirs.
His voice is barely audible, spoken on the breath between us. “You feel it.”
I want to look away, but I don’t.
I want to deny it, but I can’t.
He leans in the tiniest fraction—not enough for anyone else to notice—but it shifts the whole axis of the moment.
