Page 61 of Kneel with the King
I turn to look at him finally, facing him fully.
Walter laughs again, oblivious to the emotional warfare happening right in front of him. “Well, whatever happened, it clearly didn’t scare either of you off.”
King’s smile widens, wolfish and serene. “No. I always finish what I start.”
My skin prickles. He’s going to say something. I can feel it. I see the moment he pivots from charming to strategic in his eyes, how he goes from almost teasing to vengeful.
He had the same look on his face right before I dropped to my knees in the cabin.
And then, smiling at Walter, he says lightly, “Actually, I was hoping to ask if you and I might set up a one-on-one meeting later this week. Something off-hours.”
The table goes still, and my stomach drops.
Walter blinks, surprised. “Just you?”
King’s voice is warm, breezy—almost apologetic. “Only if that’s not crossing any lines.”
Jacques raises his wineglass with an elegant shrug. “Not at all. You should absolutely connect.”
Walter chuckles, glancing between us. “Well then. Let’s put something on the calendar before we head out. I’d be curious to hear your pitch… solo.” Then he turns to me, casual as ever. “And if we’re still on for coffee tomorrow morning, I suppose I’ll just have to see who makes the better case, hmm?”
My jaw clenches so tight I swear I hear my molars grind.
King leans back in his chair, swirling the last of his wine. “May the best man win.”
I’m going to fucking kill him.
Not just for undermining me, and not just for taking the moment, but for doing it while his hand is still on the nape of my neck and his thigh is pressed against mine.
And while I can still practically taste his cum in the back of my throat.
I’m furious and hard all at once, and that’s exactly what he always does to me, it seems.
I could kill him.
But instead, I drink.
To Break a King
King
He’sdrunk when we get back. I can see it in the lazy way he shrugs off his coat, in the flush that spreads across the tops of his cheekbones like war paint. He’s looser than I’ve seen him—and even more drunk than he was that night ten years ago.
Not that I’m any better. I matched his every drink with one of my own, and right now, I feel exposed, like a live wire.
Dangerous.
“Careful,” I murmur when he stumbles slightly, one hand catching the wall. “You’ve had a lot to drink, Harrison.”
“Fuck off,” he slurs, but the bite is gone. He kicks off his boots and socks, and then he turns toward me, swaying just slightly. His eyes are glassy with something more dangerous than alcohol. Pupils nearly black, I almost stumble when I see thewantwritten all over his face.
This isn’t going to end well, I can already tell. Especially since we’vebothbeen drinking way too much. My normal control is reed thin, barely hanging on, and one push from Asher is all it will take to lose it.
“I mean it,” I say, stepping closer. “If you’re drunk, you don’t get to beg for things you won’t remember in the morning.”
His mouth parts, lips red, possibly from sucking me off earlier today. That thought makes my cock jump in my pants, and I have to curl my toes to keep my control.
“You’re drunk, too. And… what if I want to forget, Ambrose?”
