Page 41 of Kneel with the King
Now he’s closer, breath smelling like spearmint and making my mouth water.
I hate him for this, for knowing exactly what he’s doing. For staying composed while I’m one more second away from fucking unraveling.
But I don’t let go, and neither does he.
Our knees are almost touching now, our hands still locked tight between us.
My breath is coming too fast, my skin is too hot, and I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to feel this exact tension with himbehindme instead. Hands still linked. Voice still low. Him whispering “That’s my good fucking boy” in my ear as he presses me down.
I jerk my gaze away, shoving the thought so far down I nearly choke on it.
But it’s too late—he saw whatever it was that flashed across my face, and I’m sure he can see the way my eyes are slightly hooded, the way I keep dipping my gaze to his lips.
He smiles faintly. It’s not kind—it’s something darker. Something knowing.
“You’re shaking,” he says, eyes glinting.
And I am.
Because I hate him.
Because I want him.
Because those two things have never been further apart or closer together in my life.
Ava’s voice cuts through the air, cheerful and oblivious.
“All right, everyone. Take a breath and release each other when you’re ready.”
King is the one to break the contact, fingers sliding from mine like he’s letting me go instead of pulling away. I sit there, fists clenched in my lap, cock hard, and teeth gritting together.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
“How we respond to silence says more than how we speak,” Ava says, her voice gentle. “Stillness is a mirror.”
I don’t hear anything after that. I go through the motions of the class. I tamp down the arousal whenever I have to look at or touch King. And by the time a soft bell rings through the class, I’m ready to bolt.
I need air and space. Probably a cold shower, too. But Ava moves fast for someone who teaches stillness.
She falls into step beside me. “You did well,” she says.
I laugh. “Sure. I only disassociated once.”
“Only once?” she teases.
We stop near the door, where Spencer watches me with a scowl. He takes a step closer, eyes flicking over Ava and me before he decides I must not be a threat, because he steps away.
I look out the window where the snow has started melting into thin rivulets. The sun is pale, like it’s not sure it wants to come out of hiding just yet.
She doesn’t speak again right away. Just stands beside me, arms loose, gaze far-off.
“Have you seen Ezra?”
The name lands sharp. My nephew. Or, I guess…ournephew. My hand goes to the back of my neck before I even realize it, and I look down at the ground.
“No,” I say. “Not since he was born.”
She hums. “You’d like him.”
