Page 60 of Kneel with the King
Except King.
His fingers flex slightly, just enough to remind me who’s touching me. Whoownsthe space between us.
Who owns… me.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice a quiet purr of mock concern, too soft for the others to catch.
I hate that it sounds good. I hate that he knows exactly what he’s doing. And worst of all, I hate that it’s working.
That my body is responding.
That I seem to…likethis.
I keep my expression neutral when I answer. “Peachy.”
He doesn’t move his hand, and I don’t ask him to. It’s not until I go to force a bite of shrimp into my mouth that his fingers pinch the back of my neck.
It doesn’t hurt, but it does surprise me.
I lean forward to get away from his touch, feeling like my entire body is on fire all of a sudden.
“I have to say,” Walter starts, gesturing with his wineglass. “This retreat has already paid for itself in entertainment alone. You two are something else.”
“We get that a lot,” King murmurs, low and velvety, like he’s being modest.
Jacques grins at us. “It’s nice, honestly. Seeing a couple that can challenge each other.”
“Oh, Asher challenges me constantly,” King answers, still too soft for them to realize the way it’s meant. “He’s very… resistant,” he adds, almost like an afterthought.
My blood is boiling, furious but also wanting the feel of his hand on my neck again. The heavy weight, the guiding force.
“That’s one word for it,” I mutter.
“I preferwillful,” King replies smoothly. “But it’s fine. He breaks beautifully.”
Jacques laughs like he’s heard a romantic joke. I nearly tip my plate into his lap.
“Tell me about the meet cute. Obviously we know about Trent, buthowdid it happen?” Walter asks, clearly amused.
King beats me to it, which is good because his hand slowly comes back to my neck and squeezes once.
I’ve lost all ability to think clearly.
“Technically, we met ten years ago. He was my boss,” he admits, and I nearly drop my fork. “Internship just out of Columbia.”
Columbia? Wasn’t he nineteen?
My spine snaps straight, but King just keeps sipping his wine, smiling at Jacques and Walter.
“Oh?” Walter lifts a brow, intrigued. “I didn’t realize it went back that far.”
King hums. “It didn’t end well.”
“You quit,” I say, tone flat and dangerous, not wanting to get into our history in front of them.
“You fired me,” he counters, voice still pleasant.
The table goes quiet for a moment, and King leans in again, his lips nearly brushing my ear. “But that’s okay. Maybe I’ll forgive you one day.”
