Page 113 of Kneel with the King
“Not like that,” he murmurs, voice low but commanding. He moves my hand for me, setting the rhythm he wants—firm, punishing strokes, his thumb guiding mine over the head until he groans.
“Eyes on me,” he says, and I look up without thinking.
It’s a mistake. Or maybe it’s exactly what he wants, because the second our eyes lock, deep inside me stirs. His gaze is molten, almost lazy in its hunger, like he’s savoring every inch of me. His pupils are blown wide, and when my stroke hits just right, his lips part on a sharp inhale.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, like he’s talking more to himself than to me. “Just like that. You’re perfect like this.”
The words shouldn’t affect me the way they do, but my chest goes tight, my cock twitching even though I just came. I keep my eyes on him, watching every shift in his expression. How his brows pinch for a second, how his jaw slackens when my thumb drags through the wetness at the tip. His breathing goes uneven, his hips rolling up into my fist like he can’t help it.
“Faster,” he mutters, and I obey without thinking. His gaze never leaves mine, and it’s so intimate, so raw, it makes my stomach clench.
“Fuck, Asher…” His voice cracks on my name.
The moment hits fast; his entire body goes taut, his mouth falling open like the air’s been punched out of him, eyes still locked on mine. It’s the most unguarded I’ve ever seen him, and it turns me on so hard I nearly groan.
His cock jerks in my fist as he comes, hot and thick over my hand, and I don’t stop. I keep stroking him through it, watching his face soften, his lashes fluttering like he’s fighting to keep looking at me.
When it’s over, his grip on my wrist loosens, but he doesn’t let go completely. His forehead tips to mine, breath warm, eyes heavy lidded but still holding mine like he’s not ready to break whatever’s between us.
“You’re mine,” he says, quiet but certain.
And for the first time, I don’t feel the urge to argue.
His breathing slows, and I can feel the way he settles back into his body. But his eyes don’t leave mine. Not even when he reaches down, fingers curling around my hand, the one still wrapped loosely around him. Without a word, he guides it up, his gaze dropping briefly to where my knuckles are glistening with his cum. Then he brings my wrist to his mouth.
My pulse kicks hard.
He keeps eye contact as his tongue drags slowly over my skin, tasting himself from my hand like it’s nothing, like it’s normal. His mouth is warm and deliberate, lips brushing over each finger before sucking them clean one by one. It’s obscene and intimate all at once.
When he’s finished, he doesn’t let go. He holds my hand between both of his, thumbs stroking the inside of my wrist, right over the collar.
“You see this?” he murmurs, his voice so low it feels like it vibrates through me. “You wearing this for me… doing that for me… it means something.”
I swallow hard, unable to look away from him. “I know.”
“Good.” His mouth softens into something dangerously close to a smile, and he presses a slow kiss to the inside of my wrist before finally releasing me.
My shirt is rumpled, my tie hanging loose around my neck, and he’s not much better—jacket half off, hair mussed like I’ve been running my hands through it for hours.
I don’t even remember touching his hair when he was blowing me, but I must’ve.
“People are going to wonder if we walk out together,” I murmur, voice still a little rough.
“Let them,” he says easily, smoothing my collar as if he’s not the reason it’s crooked in the first place. “They’re going to need to get used to it.”
We both straighten our jackets, and I reach down to fasten my belt. My hands are steady now, but just barely. He’s still watching me, and when I glance up, there’s something in his expression that makes my chest tighten, like he’s committing me to memory.
It’s the most open I’ve ever seen him, and if I wanted to, I feel like I could ask him anything right now.
I clear my throat. “We should probably…” I gesture vaguely toward the door.
“In a minute.”
He closes the distance again, just enough to press his lips to mine. The kiss is unhurried, and a complete contrast to everything we just did. It’s not about heat this time, or chasing a release, or proving something.
It’s aclaiming.
When he pulls away, his hand lingers at my jaw, thumb brushing over the edge of my mouth. “Don’t make me wait another two weeks for that again.”
