11. All the King’s Men
All the King’s Men
Asher
I don’t know why I go. Maybe I need to feel something normal. I’ve never been into yoga or meditation, but according to the schedule that someone slid under the door just as I got out of the shower, it’s optional but encouraged for all couples.
REST
FRIDAY 3:30 PM - TRUST HIKE
I’m not expecting much.
The yoga studio smells like some kind of herb I can’t name but makes my nostrils burn. It’s evident I don’t belong here, and when I look down at my casual black slacks and white button-up, I realize I’m wholly overdressed.
At least I have an undershirt on—otherwise, I might overheat in this warm room before the class is over.
Everyone’s barefoot and wearing spandex—even Jacques. Walter is in sweatpants with no shirt—his abdomen surprisingly toned—and my eyes flick over to King briefly, who is wearing the same dark gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt.
He doesn’t look at me, but I notice the extra yoga mat next to his.
I’m three seconds away from faking an illness when the instructor walks in, and my entire nervous system short-circuits.
She’s stunning. Not the usual yoga-glow influencer energy, but something quieter. There’s something familiar about her—dark hair, golden skin, petite frame with muscles that can only be honed from an active yoga lifestyle.
Her hazel eyes sweep the room with calm, practiced detachment—until they land on me.
She pauses, then smiles.
“You’re Asher.”
I feel the whole room turn to stare at me.
I blink. “I— Sorry, have we met?”
“Not quite,” she says softly. “But I’ve heard a lot about you.”
My spine stiffens. I don’t like that—people who know things before I tell them. Between everything happening with King and work, this week has been full of unexpected surprises. As someone who thrives on control, it feels like constant whiplash.
“I’m Avaline,” she adds. “Ava, if it’s easier.”
The name lands like a hammer to the ribs.
“Ari’s sister,” I murmur. Ari—my ex. I’d seen pictures when I met Ari’s parents.
I didn’t know much about her sisters because they lived out of state, and though they were all similar ages, their upbringing meant they weren’t very close as adults.
She didn’t talk about them very much, but then again, we never dove deep into our pasts thanks to me being too busy at work to really take our relationship as serious as Ari deserved.
Her smile flickers just slightly, then returns. “Yes. I recognized your name on the roster for this week.”
Jesus Christ.
She turns before I can ask anything else, kneeling gracefully by the incense bowl at the front of the room. “Let’s get started.”
I walk over and settle onto the mat next to King. As I exhale and try to remember how breathing works, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, just inside the door of the studio.
A man with broad shoulders, built like a mercenary.
Fitted gray shirt, tattoos, and muscles for days…
black ink that snakes up the side of his neck.
He has brown hair, weeks-old scruff, and piercing green eyes.
He’s standing with his arms crossed, watching the room, and something about him gives me the creeps.
Ava begins by telling us to lie down on our mats. I follow directions without looking at King.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ava guiding people into position, and then she walks over to King and me.
“Maybe we could get a coffee or something later today?” she asks me, touching my feet and bending them slightly, which stretches my calves.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Your partner, too,” she says, smiling at King as she does the same to his feet.
“Thanks. We’d love to,” King answers for both of us.
Fuck, what if she tells Ari and Maddox about King?
The man by the door clears his throat loudly, cutting through the tinkling music.
“Who’s the bouncer?” King asks.
“That’s just Spencer,” Ava says casually. “He’s with me.”
“With you?” King asks.
“I had a stalker situation last year,” she says, like she’s discussing the weather. “The resort insisted I hire someone to… keep an eye out.” She barely contains an eye roll, and I have to stifle a laugh at how much she reminds me of Ari.
Seems they both inherited feisty personalities.
“He looks like he wants to kill everyone in this room,” I joke.
Ava laughs. “Because he probably does.”
Before I can figure out how to respond to that , Ava pats me on the shoulder and moves on to adjusting the next couple.
“Why are you so tense? I would’ve assumed you’d be relaxed right now… what, with your release earlier,” King murmurs, low enough for only me to hear.
“Screw you.”
He only chuckles in response. I close my eyes, trying to dispel all of the images of King’s feral expression when he caught me masturbating earlier.
Was he… jealous? Angry?
“Next time, ask.”
Ask what, exactly? For help?
Suddenly, I’m imagining what would’ve happened if I had asked for help. If King had walked over, stood behind me, and placed his large, warm hand around my cock?—
“Okay, everyone.” Ava cuts through my fantasy, and I rub my eyes roughly with the backs of my hands as her voice lilts through the room. “Today’s exercise is about co-regulation. Nervous system syncing. Surrender through stillness.”
I already hate it.
“Please sit up, legs crossed, facing your partner.” I do as she says, unbuttoning my shirt so that I have more flexibility. “You’ll be mirroring each other’s breathing. Palms up. Eyes open. No talking.”
My hands twitch as I look at him. King lays his palms on his knees, and though his eyes are a shade darker than normal, his expression is patient—calm.
I mirror him, throat dry, mind racing. Our knees are barely two inches apart, and I can smell the spice he uses in his bodywash.
Ava guides us through a breathing exercise. “In… two… three… four… and out.”
King’s chest rises slowly, and so does mine. I glance at his mouth, his shoulders, his eyes. My eyes flick across his face, taking him in since I have nothing else to look at.
He doesn’t observe me in the same way. He watches me like he’s clocking every detail about me.
I try not to flinch.
He doesn’t blink, and his breathing never falters. He’s the picture-perfect model for this exercise, and I can’t help but admire the control it must take not to smile, or scowl, or whatever else.
“Now, reach out and hold your partner’s hand. Lace your fingers together, leaning forward so that you’re both pressing against each other. Feel the energy flow through your palms—truly let yourself take it in, uninhibited.”
I act first, holding my hands out. King twines his fingers with mine, and then we both subtly lean forward into each other.
My chest stutters. My pulse jumps. I feel exposed. A coil of heat drops low into my stomach, growing with every passing second. My body wants to run away from this, but again, I’m stuck. Averting my gaze over his shoulder, I see Jacques quickly glance our way.
When I look back at King, he’s sitting like a statue.
I shift slightly, but he doesn’t move.
Our eyes finally lock.
And it’s too much.
Too intimate.
Too quiet.
Too much want.
It flows between us.
My palms are hot and tingling where they are pressing against his, and it’s like there’s a direct line of heat connecting us. My cock tightens, already hard as a rock and begging for a release. Heat curls down my spine. I try to suppress the twitch in my fingers, but he notices.
Of course he notices.
His thumbs press lightly— slowly —into the soft pads of my palms. It’s just enough pressure to be a message.
I suck in a breath. My cock stirs.
His voice is barely audible, spoken on the breath between us. “You feel it.”
I want to look away, but I don’t.
I want to deny it, but I can’t.
He leans in the tiniest fraction—not enough for anyone else to notice—but it shifts the whole axis of the moment.
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 him behind me 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.