Page 93 of Kneel with the King
I can’t even rut into his hand, because his other hand is holding me down.
“Please,” I whisper, arching my back.
I’m right there, teetering on the edge. My pulse is going crazy, hammering against every vein, and my vision is starting to go white at the edges. My breath’s a broken fucking mess, spilling out in sharp, uneven bursts.Get it together, Asher.But then my hips lift without my permission, chasing the friction, silently begging him to just push me over.
“Please, what?” he asks, his voice thick with arousal.
“Please, King.”
“Is that my name?”
I groan, and the tips of his fingers cup my balls, sending white-hot heat through me. My cock throbs and pulses, begging for release. One or two hard strokes, and I’ll be coming.
He’s teasing me on purpose.
“Please, Daddy.”
“You want to come?” he asks, the dark, velvet purr of his voice sending a thrill through me.
“God—yes!”
His hand gently squeezes my balls once more before stroking my cock again, slow enough to make me want to scream. The pressure is perfect—firm at the base, twisting just slightly at the top, his thumb dragging over the slit to spread the slick there. I go taut from head to toe, like he’s found some kind of hidden switch, and my hands fly to the edge of the table.
The sound that leaves my throat isn’t even a word. It’s just a broken gasp, my jaw hanging slack. He keeps the pace maddeningly steady, never faster, never letting me take that last desperate leap to the finish line. Every muscle in my body is trembling now. My calves ache from the way my toes curl, my forearms burn from how tightly I’m gripping the table. Even my jaw is tense from holding back the flood of noises trying to spill out.
King’s other hand is still clamped at my hip, an unyielding weight that makes it impossible to thrust into his fist. I’m trapped, every stroke wringing me tighter, keeping me pinned at the point right before I lose it.
Another pass—slow up, slow down, twisting slightly—and my stomach clenches so hard it hurts. My toes curl so hard my calves spasm, my hips arching in a desperate, useless bid for more.
This is it, this is it, this is?—
My cock pulses once, twice, and then—nothing.
So. Fucking. Close.
My balls are heavy, tight, my cock twitching helplessly in his grip. I’m dangling there, suspended on a wire so thin it might snap if he so much aslooksat me the right way. He hums lowin his chest, the sound vibrating through me. “That’s enough for now,” he says, voice low and smug.
The warmth disappears, replaced by cool air against my flushed, aching skin. My body bucks instinctively, chasing the touch that isn’t there, but his grip at my hip tightens, holding me still.
“King—” My voice cracks, raw and humiliatingly desperate.
He leans down, his mouth brushing my ear. “Maybe later. If you’re a good boy, that is.”
A shiver rips through me, equal parts in pleasure and frustration. My cock throbs against the table, the ache so sharp it’s almost painful.
It’s not fair. It’storture.
I groan, pressing my hands into my face. My whole body’s still wound tight, buzzing, desperate, and he just… walks away.
The rustle of a blanket, the faint creak of the other table as he sits and gets dressed—all the while I’m left there, hard and panting, with nothing to show for it.
And then, as if I wasn’t already in a complete state of vulnerability, he pulls my collar out of his pocket and slowly wraps it around my neck. Brushing a soft kiss against my jaw, he smiles down at me, but there’s a hardness to his eyes as his hand cups my cheek.
“You won’t touch yourself while collared, sweetheart. Do you understand?”
I groan—it’s all I can do.
“If you do, I’ll know. And I’ll be very disappointed.”
