Page 47 of Kneel with the King
I grip his throat tighter and press my thigh between his legs so that he can’t move. With my mouth brushing his ear, I keep my voice as sharp as a blade’s edge.
“And now that you’re here—angry, desperate, needing me—I’m going to take what I want.”
He exhales like a man punched in the chest. “Fuck you.”
“I will,” I say, dragging my fingers down his side, just hard enough to make him shiver. “And I’ll make you beg for it.”
He lets out a short, sharp breath, and his fists grip my shirt. “I’d rather die than beg you for sex.”
I smile. “Who said anything about begging for sex?” I murmur. “You’ll beg forme.”
His eyes go wide, but only for a second. He tries again to twist out of my hold, but my thigh keeps him pinned, the friction between us undeniable. His cock presses against mine through layers of fabric—inconvenient proof he wants this even if he hates it.
I lean back just enough to look him in the eye. “You think I’m doing this for Walter?” I ask, voice low. “If I wanted him, I’d already have him.”
Asher flinches, but recovers fast. “Then why the fuck are you here?”
I tilt my head. “Because you are. Why do you think I paid so much money to be here? It wasn’t to sign Walter. I could’ve done that in my sleep.” My smile widens. “Too bad Brooklyn couldn’t make it.”
A beat passes, heavy and loaded.
Then I let him go, giving him time for my words to sink in.
He doesn’t move.
“I don’t need to fuck you,” I say, straightening my sweater. “Watching you unravel is better.”
His eyes flash. “You think I’d sabotage my own pitch with Walter over this?”
“I think,” I say slowly, “you’re one breath away from either kissing me or killing me. And if I’m right—Walter’s going to see the wreckage on your face long before he signs anything.”
Asher opens his mouth but says nothing. He just stands there, breathing heavily.
Flushed. Furious.Hard.
I remove my hand from his throat, and I swear something close to a whimper settles in his chest. When I take a step back, he nearly follows me.
I have him right where I want him.
Walking to the door, I pull it open. “Better pull it together, Harrison,” I say over my shoulder. Then I pause—just long enough to twist the knife. “Oh, and wipe the drool off your mouth.”
Then I’m gone.
King’s Ascent
Asher
The door swingsshut after him, and I’m left in the deafening confines of the dark storeroom. I don’t move for a full minute after he leaves. My hands are still clenched. My pulse is still a riot in my throat. And my cock—fuck—my cock is still hard.
I want to scream. I want to hit something. I want to kiss him until he shuts up and stops taunting me.
Instead, I pace the small, dark room, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to remember why I came here in the first place. The life-size statue of David Hasselhoff mocks me, grinning brightly and watching me as I lose my mind.
This wasn’t supposed to be how this week went. I was supposed to be here with Brooklyn, the woman I’d been dating casually for a couple of months. We weren’t exclusive, and she was a fun time. It wassupposedto be easy—companionship while I courted Walter Davenport.
“Why do you think I paid so much money to be here? It wasn’t to sign Walter. I could’ve done that in my sleep. Too bad Brooklyn couldn’t make it.”
King’s words reverberate in my mind, and I inhale slowly to calm my racing, furious heart.
