Page 28 of Kneel with the King
The common denominator isn’t them.
Which leaves me with a question I’ve never fully let myself ask.
What if the problem wasn’t what they wanted, but who I wanted it from?
The thought unsettles me. I’ve gotten drunk and kissed womenandmen, but I always thought that was normal.
I’m obviously attracted to King. To other men, in the past.
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
None of these thoughts feel right, but they sure as fuck don’t feel wrong, either.
I shake it off, or I try to, anyway. Now isn’t the time for an identity crisis.
So, fuck it. If we need to sell this as a believable relationship, maybe it couldn’t hurt to see if this helps.
“Fine,” I say, sighing.
His chin dips slightly. “I’m not going to touch you. But I want you to do something for me.”
I swallow. “Okay?”
“Put the collar on.”
“What? No?—”
“Trust me. No games. No snark. Just you and me, sitting in the quiet, while you wear the thing that scares you. No one else is coming. No audience. It’s just me.”
I pull the collar out of my pocket. It feels heavier now. I stare at it. At the bench. At the ground, the snow… anywhere but at him. My pulse drums in my throat.
“I’m still not sure what you’re getting out of this,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.
He gives me a lopsided smirk. “It’s all a game for me, remember? Come on, Harrison. What are you so afraid of?”
I don’t know what makes me move. Spite, maybe. Or defiance disguised as surrender.
But a second later, I slide the collar around my neck, buckling it myself. It clicks shut, and the sound is loud in the clearing.
I don’t know if we’re starting the witness thing or not, but King doesn’t say anything. His eyes just bore into mine, and his expression is neutral.
The silence stretches, thick and unnerving.
I hate how my body reacts. The prickling heat across my skin. The way my breath shortens. The way my fists want to unclench.
He sees it—he seeseverything. I watch him clock every single one of my movements, from the blinking of my eyes to the rise and fall of my chest.
A second later, he starts to chuckle.
I glare at him. My whole body rushes with a feeling I don’t understand as my throat brushes against the collar.
“You’ve always been reactive. Quick to anger, and slow to listen.” He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “But I do appreciate how well you take direction.”
“So thiswasa game?” I ask, looking around.
“I wanted to see how you’d handle it. No context. No warning. Just surrender.”
Surrender.
