Page 62 of Kneel with the King
He says it too quickly. It’s too honest, and throws me for a loop. For a split second, I almost falter. It’s the use of my first name on his lips. He says itsocasually.
“Do you want to forget?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.
But then his hand finds my chest and he shoves me back, weakly, but the intent is still there.
“Asher,” I warn, prying his hand from my chest and trying not to stumble. My nerve endings are buzzing from the alcohol, and I already know this is dangerous. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Bullshit. Don’t pretend you care about being a good guy all of a sudden,” he mumbles.
He’s right. Of course he is. I don’t give two fucks if he’s too drunk to consent or remember tomorrow. I’m sure as hell not. In fact, I can’t seem to draw up any inkling of self-discipline. Normally, I don’t drink during scenes. I like to stay sober, like to stay in control. But I suppose that’s what Asher does.
He makes me fuckinglose control.
I stare down at him, noting the flushed cheeks, slick mouth, darkened pupils—and something inside mesnaps.
I’m not a good man. I never claimed to be.
I step into his space and lean over him, my breath shaky, my voice low. “You think I care about being good?” I ask. “You think I came here to be noble?”
He blinks at me slowly. His drunk expression is confused and…vulnerable.
I can’t look away.
“I didn’t come here to heal. I didn’t come here for closure,” I rasp. “I came to ruin you. To watch you unravel. To take everything you ever wanted, and then take some more until there’s nothing left.”
He’s panting now, body twitching beneath mine like he doesn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.
“I’ve been good my whole fucking life,” I growl, teeth bared. “Graduated high school at sixteen, earned my degree at nineteen fucking years old. Left my family—left everything I knew and loved to start over. I’ve followed the rules for ten goddamn years. I’ve built walls and systems and codes to stay in control. I play it safe. I make sure there’s consent in everything I do. The only person who ever made that control falter isyou,” I hiss. I press a hand to the middle of his chest and feel the frantic hammering of his heart. “And tonight,” I whisper, reaching for the collar on his nightstand and quickly securing it around his neck. “Tonight, I don’t care about that. Tonight, I just want totake.”
The moment his anger twists into hunger, I feel it.
He’s trembling.
I rove my hands up his shirt, feeling the hard, muscled abdomen under my nails before I drag them down his sides—just hard enough to leave red lines.
He lets out a sharp gasp, and his eyes flick to my mouth.
Oh, Asher. You beautiful, predictable man.
“You have no idea what it’s cost me to stay composed around you,” I start, voice slurring slightly. I wobble on my feet a bit, but I don’t even care. “Every second of your bratty, infuriating bullshit—I’ve let you get away with it because I wanted to see how far you’d push me.”
My voice breaks on the next phrase. “And you did.”
I dip my head to his ear, voice shaking now. “So go ahead. Hate me tomorrow. Call me a monster. But I’m done pretending I don’t want you like this.”
I grind my hips against his, rough and unforgiving, and he releases a heady groan.
“Mine,” I murmur, pressing my cock against his as one finger loops under the collar around his neck. I pull on it firmly, as if to drive the point home. Even through our pants, I can feel him—can feel how hard he is, and how much he wants this.
He makes another broken, needy sound that shatters me. I bend down to kiss his throat, just over the leather of the collar, and one of his hands comes to the back of my head. I growl, teeth grazing his jaw and the soft skin under his ear. I feel light and stupid and completely out of control. It feels like the ground is moving, but I can’t focus on anything other than the fact that I want him more than my next breath.
“I’m not going to stop, Asher. Not tonight.”
He chokes out a moan and arches against me, and in that instant, I know he doesn’t want me to.
“You reek of whiskey,” I say softly, kissing his neck again. “I fucking love it. Almost as much as I loved your mouth around my cock earlier.” Pulling back, I stare right into his nearly black eyes. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” he tells me, nose brushing mine. “I liked it.”
