Page 14 of Kneel with the King
The collar is snug. Not uncomfortably so, but just enough that I feel it every time I breathe. Every time I swallow. Every time I shift slightly on the thick woven blanket beneath us. Kinghasn’t touched me again. Not physically. Not since he buckled the clasp with a kind of calm precision that made my pulse race.
But I can feel the heat of his presence behind me. And if someone were looking at us, it wouldn’t seem sexual—not explicitly, at least.
But there’s sometimeundeniablypossessive in the way he hasn’t said a word since.
The instructor’s voice is low and soothing. He’s still talking about trust. About surrender. About how, in a dynamic partnership, one person protects. One person steers the other safely through unfamiliar terrain.
“Think of the collar,” he says, “as a reminder. Of who’s holding the leash. Of who you’ve chosen to trust.”
My ears burn.
This is absurd, but for some reason, my body hasn’t gotten the memo that this is just a game.
My breathing turns shallow, and suddenly the collar feels too tight.
It’s him—King.A man I don’t trust. A man who is my biggest competitor. So why the hell does this feel…fine?
My palms sweat. My neck itches. My breathing won’t slow.
“You may now assign a safe word,” the instructor says softly. “Something clear and simple.”
I exhale shakily. King doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He’s giving me nothing.
Which is, somehow, worse.
He’s letting me sit here. Letting me stew in it. Inhim.
“What’ll it be, Harrison?” King asks, his voice low—almost lazy. But there’s something in it. Heat, or desire, and it’s barely leashed. Like he already knows I’ll give him exactly what he wants.
My spine straightens, and defiance rears its head. “Tax season,” I say, deadpan. “If that doesn’t kill the mood, nothing will.”
There’s a beat of silence before King exhales. If he were anyone else, I might mistake the sound for a laugh. But the way his eyes glint dangerously tells me he’s not amused.
“Bold choice,” he murmurs. “Let’s see if you remember it when you actually need it.”
Something white-hot flickers low in my stomach. I don’t know if it’s embarrassment… or arousal. Maybe both.
Fuck.
I think about ripping the damn thing off. Standing up. Storming out. But that would be worse. That would make it athing.That would give him power he doesn’t deserve.
I close my eyes and try to breathe. Try to ignore the way my thoughts spiral.
Is he enjoying this?
Does he know what he’s doing?
Who am I kidding? Of course he does. This isn’t the first time he’s worn control like a second skin, if that book in his bag is any indication.
And it’s definitely not the first time I’ve let someone lead while pretending I didn’t want it.
The instructor continues. “There is freedom in surrender,” he says. “But only when it’s earned. Only when the one you yield to… understands the weight of what they’re holding.”
I feel something shift behind me, and a second later, King’s breath feathers against the back of my neck.
“You look good with a collar,” he whispers.
I go still, my spine straightening as blood roars in my ears.
