13. King’s Ascent
King’s Ascent
Asher
The door swings shut after him, and I’m left in the deafening confines of the dark storeroom. I don’t move for a full minute after he leaves. My hands are still clenched. My pulse is still a riot in my throat. And my cock— fuck —my cock is still hard.
I want to scream. I want to hit something. I want to kiss him until he shuts up and stops taunting me.
Instead, I pace the small, dark room, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to remember why I came here in the first place. The life-size statue of David Hasselhoff mocks me, grinning brightly and watching me as I lose my mind.
This wasn’t supposed to be how this week went. I was supposed to be here with Brooklyn, the woman I’d been dating casually for a couple of months. We weren’t exclusive, and she was a fun time. It was supposed to be easy—companionship while I courted Walter Davenport.
“Why do you think I paid so much money to be here? It wasn’t to sign Walter. I could’ve done that in my sleep. Too bad Brooklyn couldn’t make it.”
King’s words reverberate in my mind, and I inhale slowly to calm my racing, furious heart.
There’s no way he’s the reason she couldn’t make it, right?
This is crazy. No, I’m going crazy… speculating without proof just because he said something that threw me off my game.
But, what if?
What if he orchestrated this entire thing just to watch me squirm?
What if I played directly into his hands by reacting the way I did? The way I am ?
I grind my teeth, chest tight. There’s no way to tell. No proof. Just the endless game of chess he always plays better than me.
I push the storeroom door open, and nearly run into Ava.
“Sorry,” I mutter, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. “Sorry,” I repeat, flustered.
Her brows pull together as she places a small hand on my bicep. “Hey, you okay?” Her cheeks are flushed, and before I can answer, I see Spencer hovering right behind her.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just— I don’t know. I’m… yeah.”
She nods once, seeming to understand, and squeezes my arm. “Do you want to grab that coffee now?”
I hesitate. On the one hand, Ava knowing anything about King and me means there’s a chance it’ll get back to Ari and Maddox, and therefore my parents. But on the other hand, her eyes are wide and open— kind —and something about the familiarity of her tugs at something in my chest.
“Yeah, sure,” I acquiesce.
We both walk into the restaurant, Spencer following immediately behind us, and grab a two-seater table by the window. The hulk lingers nearby, eyes scanning the room. A female server takes our coffee orders, and Ava also orders banana muffins for us both, which I appreciate.
“So,” she starts, once we’re alone. “What’s wrong? You look pretty flustered.”
She and Ari both have the same little wrinkle between their eyes when they’re concerned. It almost makes me do a double take, and definitely causes the word vomit to rise, out of feigned familiarity.
“Um, hey. Can you not tell Ari and Maddox about…” I trail off, wincing.
Her mouth forms a small ‘O’ as her eyes go wide. “Of course. Oh my god, I’d never out you, Asher.”
I laugh lightly and look away. Out me. As if I’m… not straight.
“Thanks. It’s just that it’s complicated, and I don’t want anything getting back to my family. You understand.”
She nods. “I do. I get it. But you know that Ari, at least, won’t care.”
“No, I-I know. I’m just not ready.”
“Okay. I swear on my life not to say anything.” I don’t answer, but I can feel her eyes on my face. “For what it’s worth, you guys are a very cute couple. Is it new?”
I consider lying. Telling her what King had told Jacques and Walter, about how we’ve been dating for a year.
But there’s something so… innocent… about Ava.
She’s like Snow White—kind, shy, and a little bit sheltered.
Plus, the idea of confiding in someone is appealing.
Of having an ally. Of having someone I can talk to about all of this.
Looking around, I lean in to get closer. Out of the corner of my eye, Spencer pushes off the wall and takes a step toward us.
“Can you keep a secret?” I ask.
Her eyes light up. “Ooh. Always.” Clicking her nails together, she narrows her eyes and gestures for me to continue.
“It’s all fake. The relationship with King and me. We both needed to be here for networking purposes, and… it was easier to lie about being a couple.”
Her mouth drops open. “Scandalous. But… I’m also not surprised.”
I rear back. “Really?”
She laughs, and it’s a deeper, more throaty sound than I expected.
“I mean, I thought you two had just started dating. You’re a bit awkward together.
Physically, I mean. I can sense when a couple has been together for a long time.
They touch each other differently, anticipate each other’s movement in a way that only comes with time.
The two of you didn’t have that. Sorry, I’m rambling now,” she admits, cheeks turning red.
I chuckle. “No offense taken. It is fake, after all.”
The server brings our coffees. An oat milk chai for her, and an espresso for me.
Ava chews on her lower lip as she studies me, holding her mug between both hands. “So, you’re not really dating a man?”
I shake my head and sip my espresso. “Nope.”
“Hmm.”
“ Hmm what?” I ask, smiling easy in her presence. She’s fun to talk to, and it makes me miss all of the crazy antics that Ari used to get up to.
“It’s just… I always kind of wondered. About you, I mean. The things Ari told me about your relationship… and then I saw you with Ambrose, and it was like a light bulb went off, you know?”
I scowl at her. “You think I’m attracted to men, for real?”
She shrugs and sips her chai. “I don’t know. You and Ari dated for so long, and yet things never got serious. I guess I always wondered why.”
Instead of firing back something defensive, which is something I would’ve done with Ari, I process Ava’s words.
“And then I saw you with Ambrose, and it was like a light bulb went off, you know?”
“Well, as far as I know, I’m straight.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“How long have you worked at Altura?” I ask, changing the subject before finishing my espresso.
“Only a couple of months. After everything… happened… I needed to get away from the city for a while.”
“You were in Boston before this, right?”
She nods. “Yep. Got my kinesiology degree from BU a couple of years ago, followed shortly by my yoga certification.”
I nod along. “I remember Ari mentioning you did marathons, right?”
Her face brightens, and her hazel eyes light up. “That’s right. Nice of you to remember.” I smile, and she continues. “I love running. Moving my body. It helps keep my mind settled, you know?”
“I do know.”
“Otherwise it can be… not good.”
I cock my head and watch her as she takes another sip of her chai. “Meaning?”
Chewing on her lower lip, she looks down at the table. “I struggle. Mentally, I mean.”
I don’t say anything. It feels rude to ask. Just as I’m about to change the subject to our nephew, Spencer walks up to our table and clears his throat.
“Ava. It’s almost time for your next class.”
His voice is deeper than I expected, with a lilt of what I think is an Irish accent. It has a roughness that only comes from not talking a lot.
She nods and smiles at me, placing a hand on top of mine. “It was really nice catching up, Asher. Hopefully we can do this again before you leave.”
We both stand up. I open my mouth to reply, but she’s already giving me a firm hug as if we’re good friends.
I close my eyes and hug her back, grateful that she doesn’t hate my guts as much as her and Ari’s father does.
When she pulls back, my eyes find Spencer glaring at me.
Instinctively, I take a step back. “I’ll see you around, Ava.”
“And, Asher? Your secret is safe with me,” she adds over her shoulder, Spencer following close behind her like a giant, scary bouncer.
I have a couple of hours until the trust hike scheduled for the afternoon, so I decide to go back to the suite to relax, take a nap, something.
Lucky for me, King isn’t there when I let myself into the room.
Collapsing onto the bed, I close my eyes and fall asleep a minute later.
The trail is narrow, icy in places, and unforgiving.
We hike in pairs—silent, breathing hard, white puffs coming out of everyone’s mouth, surrounded by couples murmuring affirmations and compliments.
It’s less cold now than it was this morning.
The sun has burned through the clouds, and the snow is melting in places.
King walks just behind me. Close enough that I can feel the heat of him every time I stumble.
“You okay, Harrison?” he murmurs at one point, when I catch myself on a low branch.
“Don’t talk to me.”
He just hums.
Half an hour in, we reach the cliff.
A sheer, twenty-foot rock face framed by pine trees comes into view. Harnesses hang from a metal rack beside the base. The instructors begin handing them out and pairing people up.
“Basic belay climb,” one of them says. “Your partner spots you, checks your knots, walks you up the rope.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Strap me in and call it foreplay.”
King’s already holding a harness, and I hate that he just assumes I’m the one who will go first in whatever the fuck this exercise is.
He raises an eyebrow. “I always knew you had a thing for knots.”
I discard my jacket on the ground and snatch the gear from his hands before he can say anything else. But my fingers shake as I clip the loops in place. He notices, eyebrows arching and a slow, arrogant smile curving his mouth.
“You’re tying it wrong,” he says, stepping closer.
“I know how to harness myself.”
“Clearly.”
And then, without asking, he drops to one knee.
My breath stalls.
He tightens the straps over my thighs slowly, methodically, like he’s done this before. Like it’s not simply securing climbing gear.
It’s just a power play.
His knuckles brush sensitive skin. He’s too close. His head is right at my waist.
“All you need to do is ask for help,” he murmurs, tugging a strap into place with a sharp snap.
“Next time, ask.”
I flinch at the memory just as he looks up, eyes gleaming.
“All set.”
“’Kay.”
“You want to check my knots, or do you trust me not to fall?” he asks.
I roll my eyes as a reply, but I watch as he discards his jacket on top of mine and threads his legs through the loops.
Tightening the straps himself, his fingers work with surgical calm, muscles flexing under his thin long-sleeve shirt.
My mouth is dry. He pulls the waist belt snug, then looks over his shoulder at me.
“How’s this?”
I shrug. If he falls to his death, so be it. Then again, I might actually be a little sad if something happened to him.
“Looks good to me.”
“You should check it,” Jacques suggests from a few feet away. There’s a mischievous glint in his brown eyes, and I grind my jaw as I walk closer to King.
I don’t speak. I crouch, eyes on the knot at his waist. His hips. The material of his pants. Anything but the large bulge looming in front of my face.
My fingers move with a little more pressure than necessary as I rethread the rope through the figure-eight loop and cinch it tight. A little too tight.
He sucks in a breath.
“Too much?” I ask flatly, not looking up.
“No,” he says, voice low. “I like it snug.”
I glance up then. His eyes are already on me. Heavy and bright all at once… unreadable.
“You’ll feel it every time you move,” I say, standing slowly.
“I know.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. And he doesn’t loosen the knot.
Rolling my shoulders, I attempt to quell the arousal flaring through me. I hate that part of me still burns where we touched. My hands on his hard body. His on mine—his cool fingertips brushing so close to my cock I forgot how to breathe for a second.
Focus.
I follow the other people who are strapped into the base of the rock wall.
The instructor double-checks our harnesses and knots, thoroughly ensuring we’re all safe, and hands us helmets to put on.
We’re the last to climb—of course we are.
Jacques and Walter go before us, and I watch as they giggle and snort their way up, having fun while I feel like I’m in my own personal hell.
King stands just behind me, checking the rope with practiced ease, humming low in his throat like this is all part of a morning ritual. Like he hasn’t spent the last forty-eight hours making me question everything.
“After you,” he says, gesturing toward the rock like a gentleman offering his jacket.
I don’t respond. I just start climbing.
The wall isn’t high, but it feels vertical. Jagged holds, damp stone, and King right behind me. Each time I stretch, I hear the rope tighten. Each time I falter, I feel the tension in the way he’s holding the rope.
His breath stutters each time the rope tightens around his waist as he shifts his weight below me.
“Left foot higher. That one. No—higher,” he directs from below me.
“Don’t tell me how to climb.”
“Would you prefer I tell you how to fall?”
My fingers clench harder around the hold. I want to hurl myself off the wall just to spite him. But I don’t. I keep going.
When I reach the top ledge, I pause, breathing hard. Cold air hits my face. My hands shake, and despite being warm, the tips of my fingers are numb from the cold.
“You good up there?” he calls from below.
“I’m fine.”
“Let me rephrase,” he says. “Do you trust me to bring you down?”
I glance down. He’s a shadow, barely a silhouette against the bright, afternoon sun. Jacques and Walter are a good twenty feet away, so it feels like we’re all alone out here.
“No,” I say flatly.
A pause. “Too bad.”
The rope jerks slightly—controlled, but enough to make my stomach flip.
“You fucking prick?—”
“You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”
He begins lowering me—slow, steady, just enough sway to keep me off-center. The ground rises beneath me, but I can’t relax. Not with him in control.
When my feet hit dirt, I spin to face him, yanking the helmet from my head.
“You enjoyed that.”
His expression is unreadable. “Maybe.”
“You could’ve dropped me.”
“I didn’t.”
I step in. Close enough to shove, or kiss, or scream in his face.
“Don’t push me,” I mutter so that people don’t overhear me.
King’s gaze drags down my face. Lingers at my mouth.
“You don’t need a push,” he says, voice low. “You’re already on the edge.”
He brushes a speck of dirt off my chest—so soft, so calculated, it might as well be a threat.
Before I can respond, someone calls out nearby—Walter, I think. “King! Asher! Group circle in five!”
King steps back, cool as a fucking cucumber. “Better pull it together,” he says. “Wouldn’t want Walter to think you’re falling apart again. You already made a scene earlier at brunch with that broken mug.”
He turns, walking away, leaving me both breathless and furious.
And the worst part of all? I’m still fucking hard.