Page 66 of Kneel with the King
Cleaning us up, I hand him his boxers before walking to the bathroom on shaky legs.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I take in my flushed expression and wild eyes.
I want him again.
And not just like this.
After getting ready for bed, I walk back into the suite, only to find Asher curled up on his side, sound asleep. His dress shirt is discarded off to the side of the bed, and I can see the band of his boxers just under the edge of the duvet.
I turn the main light off before sitting on the edge of the bed in only my boxer briefs. As I watch him breathe, lips parted, lashes fanned against flushed cheeks, all I can think is,This is what he took from me. Ten years ago, he could’ve had all of me. And he walked away.
And now?
Only a few minutes ago, he moaned into my mouth like he wanted to be broken open.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, watching the rise and fall of his chest. My cock is already getting hard again, just from watching him. Just from remembering the way his breath hitched when I wrapped my hand around our cocks, the way he said a muffled “Please” around the cotton of his boxers like he’d choke on them just to be good.
It’s not enough.
None of this is enough.
I want more. I want himbeggingfor it when he’s stone-cold sober, and I want to take him when I’m not drunk, either. When I have a chance to remember every detail. Because right now, everything is still fuzzy around the edges, and my body feels heavy.
I want him admitting it—out loud—that he wants me more than his job, more than his pride, more than his polished little facade.
I want him to want me as much as I want him.
Maybe it’s the alcohol making me come to terms with it, but I hate myself for finally admitting that I never wanted revenge.
I just wanted…him.
The King’s Mirror
Asher
The cozy warmthwrapped around me dulls the pounding headache pulsing behind my eyes. I don’t want to get out of bed, so I attempt to doze off again just to keep myself in this pleasant bubble of comfort. I know the instant I let consciousness return it’ll be ripped from me, and I’m not ready.
Something soft slithers over my waist—a hand, or fingers, maybe—and my eyes snap open.
The warmth radiating from my back is, in fact, another person.
And judging by the hard rod poking me in the ass, it seems to be someone with a very large cock.
I roll away from the comfy body, and they let out a low, displeased groan. When I spin around to look down, ice slithers over my skin.
King is sleeping, his face relaxed, and his cock pressing against the tight, black material of his boxer briefs.
What the?—
“Don’t freak out,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “You fell asleep.”
I run a hand down my face. “Last night is fuzzy?—”
“I bet. We probably drank an entire distillery between the two of us.” King opens his eyes and looks at me with an expression I can’t decipher.
“Did we…” I look around the room for any clues. My pants and button-up are haphazardly strewn on the floor near the bed, and my boots are a few feet away from each other, like I kicked them off in the heat of the moment.
Oh god.
