Page 34 of Kneel with the King
“I think we both know you wanted me to.”
“You’re nineteen.”
“True. But you already knew that.”
His throat moves like he’s having trouble swallowing. “This doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “If it happens.”
I nod. “Okay.”
His gaze flicks to the door behind me. “You can still leave.”
I step forward instead. The space between us is small. So small. My heart’s in my throat, pounding like I just ran here.
“You want me to leave?”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.
Just looks at me like I’m the worst mistake he’s ever wanted to make.
And then he walks over to the door and locks it.
I take another step forward. We’re only inches apart now. His breath stirs the space between us—smelling like spearmint or peppermint. He reaches up slowly, giving me all the time in the world to back away.
I don’t.
His fingers graze the side of my neck. Rest against my jaw. Still no movement. Just contact.
“I’m going to regret this,” he whispers, breathing heavily. He looks haunted yet turned on—stressed, but with dilated pupils. He wants this and is terrified, all at the same time. “I always do.”
“Me too,” I breathe. “Probably, I mean. I’ve never—you’re the first?—”
He cuts me off by kissing me. It’s not soft or sweet. It’s desperate, like something inside him cracked wide open and this is what spilled out. His hands are on me before I can think, fisting the front of my jacket like he’s angry at it, or at me, or maybe at himself.
His mouth moves against mine like it’s punishment.
Like he needs this to hurt.
He tastes like whiskey and adrenaline, and it’s intoxicating.
His tongue slides past my lips, uninvited but not unwelcome, like he’s trying to carve the moment into muscle memory.
Like if he kisses me hard enough, maybe it won’t count.
A low, guttural sound rips straight from his throat. A growl, or a moan. Maybe both.
Whatever it is, I feel it all the way down to my spine—and my cock.
His breath stutters against mine as he presses in closer—too close, too much. It’s suffocating and also the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Out of instinct, despite never doing this before, I reach forward and touch his belt. I can feel his hard length behind the material of his pants. He groans again, his teeth roughly nibbling my lower lip, and I buck against him once.
Just when I think he might fall apart, he pulls away.
It’s abrupt and leaves me breathless. His gaze doesn’t meet mine as his jaw tightens. His hand falls from my chest like it never belonged there in the first place.
And in that awful, echoing second after he breaks the kiss, I know.
He already regrets it.
