23. King Uncovered
King Uncovered
Asher
I glare at King as the doctor stitches his knee up.
It’s a surface wound—three stitches and he’s good to go.
No concussion—I made them check… twice. In fact, I’ve been pacing and hovering the entire time since the medical team followed me back twenty minutes after I left King on the trail.
He looked so… defeated. He was shivering—probably in shock, or perhaps it was just his body cooling off from the skiing—and something inside of my chest softened as they lifted him onto a stretcher.
The anger I had felt so potently earlier just sort of… dissipated.
Once they apply antibiotic ointment and dress the wound, the nurses help me lift him up. He’s fine putting weight on his injured leg, but he walks with a limp as we exit the medical room. Ava is there, too, and she takes in the way I watch him carefully.
There’s a knowing smirk resting on her lips, and I don’t like the look of it.
King doesn’t say anything as we walk down the path to our suite side by side.
His limp is pronounced, and I slow my pace to match his without thinking.
The sun is setting outside, casting long amber streaks through the pine trees.
It gives everything a golden glow, and something inside of my chest eases just a little bit.
He’s okay.
For a second, I thought…
It doesn’t matter.
Once we’re back in the room, he sighs and collapses onto the bed like his bones are made of sand. He looks exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally—drained in a way I haven’t seen from him.
I hover for a moment, unsure. Then I toss my gloves onto the dresser and sit at the edge of the bed, facing away from him.
“You should’ve been more careful,” I say quietly. “You could’ve killed yourself.”
King shifts behind me. “Unfortunately for you, I am alive and well.”
“Don’t joke about it. You hit your head and you’re lucky you don’t have a concussion.”
“You sound worried, Harrison,” he muses, his tone light.
I turn to face him slowly. “I was worried.”
His mouth parts like he’s about to say something—something cutting, or soft, or self-deprecating—but nothing comes out. Instead, he just watches me. His eyes scan my face like he’s trying to decipher the tension in the room.
“I thought you never wanted to see me again after this week?” he asks, almost as if he doesn’t want to hear the answer.
The anger from earlier sparks inside my chest. “I didn’t mean— You almost killed yourself!” I say, my voice a little too loud.
“You think I wanted to fall down that mountain?” he says, voice hardening. “You think that was part of my master plan?”
“I think you can be careless. In life. At work. With me. You act like everything will just work out. Like there are no repercussions to your actions.”
He sits up straighter, jaw clenched. “And you’re so different, right? Go ahead and pretend you’re above it all, but the truth is you’re addicted to the power struggle just like me.” Climbing out of bed, he stands and glares down at me. “It’s why we’re so good at our jobs.”
I stand and walk over to him so that I’m right in front of him. “Fuck you,” I snap.
“Say it again,” he breathes, the cinnamon smell of him wrapping around me like a cloak. “Go ahead. Hate me.”
“I do.” My voice shakes. “I fucking hate you.”
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do—but my hands are in his hair, his mouth crashes against mine, and the air between us combusts.
His hands pull me down and we fall back onto the bed, mouths colliding, teeth clashing, tongues sliding in the kind of kiss that feels like he’s trying to punish me and ruin me for anyone else.
I straddle him, grinding down hard, both of us fully clothed but past the point of caring. His hands grip my ass, anchoring me in place, and I bite his lip because I want to mark him. Because I want to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he’s made me feel.
“I still hate you,” I growl against his mouth.
“Good,” he rasps. “Use it.”
I grab him by the shirt collar, dragging the fabric up and over his head, then shove mine off as well. The friction of skin against skin lights me up like a match, and my cock throbs inside of my pants, needing to be let out. Needing him.
He flips us suddenly, pinning me to the mattress. He winces, and I realize this position is probably hard on his knee, but he doesn’t shift.
His hand wraps around my throat—not tight, just a reminder. A threat of power. It sends a jolt of pleasure and rage through me. I didn’t think I wanted him in control again—but I do.
I hate that I do.
I buck up against him and snarl. “You asshole.”
He smirks, infuriating and smug and so fucking beautiful it makes me ache everywhere with built-up want.
“You don’t want me to fuck you?” he asks, tilting his head. His hair falls in front of his face, and I let my eyes quickly wander down his bare abdomen.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because I do want that. I want to feel him come apart inside of me. I want to give him that part of myself—the part that no one has ever taken from me.
Before I can answer, he unbuttons his pants and reaches out to do the same to mine.
“You’re going to let me call the shots again, okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low. “First, you’re going to spread your legs for me. And then you’re going to beg.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m already in hell, Harrison,” he breathes into my neck, “and you’re the one who put me there.”
He climbs off the bed and takes his pants off, kicking his boots and socks to the side along with them.
He does me next, quickly ripping my ski pants from my body and pulling my boxers off in one quick motion.
“You might still be in denial,” he murmurs, licking his lips as he looks down at my leaking tip. “But your cock doesn’t lie.”
He walks over to his bag, and a rush of adrenaline courses through me when I see him reach in and grab something, carrying it over to the bed.
A mini bottle of lube.
“I’m not— I’ve never?—”
He cuts me off by placing a hand over my mouth. Looking down at me, his expression softens.
“I know. Let me be the first.”
When he removes his hand, I just lie there, motionless. I don’t know how this works, but I know the basics. My stomach knots with nerves as he dispenses some lube into his hand, coating his index finger.
“As always, you know your safe word. Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs. I take a deep breath and pull my knees to the sides just as a shuddering exhale escapes my mouth. “That’s my good boy,” he purrs, taking one hand and wrapping it around my cock.
I jolt, a flash of shivering pleasure skirting down my spine. I don’t even notice the finger starting to breach my hole.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his pupils darkened as he continues pumping me with one hand and rubbing circles around my asshole with the other. “The more relaxed you are, the easier this will be.”
“Right. I’m sure you’ve bottomed so many times in your life.”
He huffs a laugh, and before I can react, he slips his finger inside of me. I gasp, arching my back, and when his fingertip brushes against something hot and heady inside of me…
It’s like my whole body lights up like a damn firework, and searing pleasure slides through me like molten lava. My cock throbs and leaks, and I feel the precum drip onto my stomach as I arch my back, as goosebumps erupt along my body.
He curves his finger ever so slightly, and I groan, my eyelashes fluttering.
“F-fuck,” I grunt.
“I’ve been a bottom all of one time and hated it.
I like being in control too much.” He twists his finger inside of me again and I see stars.
More precum leaks out, and I wonder how quickly I could come from just his finger in my asshole.
“Plus, I’ll never get over how you look spread out for me like a feast, sweetheart. ”
I close my eyes and roll my hips so that his finger bumps that sweet spot inside of me again.
Yeah. I’m going to come, and soon.
“You ready for me?” he asks.
“Y-yes,” I hiss, sweat breaking out along my forehead from the intense pleasure coursing through me. “Please.”
“Please what?” he asks, adding a second finger.
The searing sting of being stretched, of being breached, makes every nerve ending shudder. I’m already quaking underneath him, and there’s a puddle of precum sliding down my stomach.
“Please, Daddy,” I whine, my voice a needy whimper.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, scissoring his fingers to prep and stretch me.
I groan again, thrusting my hips upward. “S-stop doing that or I’m going to c-come,” I rush out, my whole body shaking now.
He chuckles. “You make such a beautiful bottom, Asher Harrison. Just like I knew you would.”
He removes his fingers, using the lube still coating them on his shaft. It’s then that I notice he’s made his own mess of precum—it glistens against the metal barbells that drive me fucking crazy. The idea of turning him on enough to make him leak sends a potent shiver through me.
“Oh yeah? Did you think of this scenario often, Ambrose?”
He cocks his head as he looks down at me. “I’ve thought about it every single day since that night ten years ago.”
His words hang heavy between us, and just as I’m about to respond, he spreads my legs as wide as they’ll go, lining his thick, warm head against my pucker. For good measure, he adds some more lube.
“Deep breaths, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, grimacing as he starts to press into me.
“You’re doing so well,” he adds, settling between my legs and guiding his cock into my ass with one hand, and slowly jerks my aching, leaking length with the other.
A low, tortured groan escapes his lips when the head of his shaft pops into me, and when his face goes slack with pleasure and his eyes flutter closed for a second, I watch raptly as a whole-body shudder goes through him.
“Fuuuuuck, Harrison. You’re so fucking tight and warm. I’m not going to last—just warning you now.”
“You and me both,” I say on a gasp as he slides in deeper.
His smooth head feels different—better—than his fingers.
The metal barbells are more subtle than I thought they would be, but his thickness means they rub against that same spot again.
My cock pulses two times, threatening to spill. “Oh fuck, that feels amazing.”
He hums as he glides his cock all the way in, tip to root, and when he’s fully seated inside of me, I feel my body begin to throb.
“King,” I warn, inhaling sharply. “Don’t move or I’m going to come.”
He grins down at me. “Yeah? Fuck, it’s like you were made for this.
Made for me,” he adds, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine.
My body lights up under his praise, and I reach up and place a hand at the back of his head.
When he pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss, his eyes are lazy and hooded— satisfied.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulls most of the way out of me. I hold my breath due to the strange sensation, but when he pushes back in, my eyes roll back.
“F-fuck,” I moan.
“That’s it. You take my cock so well, sweetheart.
” Once he’s all the way in, I feel his cock pulse once inside of me, and the feel of his piercings sliding against me is…
fan-fucking-tastic. “I’ll never get enough of this,” he says, muttering, “I’ll never get tired of being inside of you.
I could live here forever and die the happiest man alive,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out and snapping back.
“Oh god,” I mumble, my voice incoherent.
“Ah, ah, sweetheart. Give credit where credit is due. Who’s fucking you?”
“You are,” I rush out, just as he begins to fuck me in earnest.
“That’s right. I’m fucking you.”
My entire body goes taut as he pounds back into me, and each brush against that magic button has me closer and closer to my climax.
“King, I’m?—”
He places a hand over my mouth, and when my eyes meet his, something snaps inside of me just as he drives into me again. My eyes roll back again, my legs begin to quake, and the tension inside of me waiting for a release explodes like a bomb.
I see white as my cock bows, as my balls pull up, as my toes curl.
King grunts on top of me and the next time he pushes into me, I come apart completely.
It’s unlike any orgasm I’ve ever had. I feel the pleasure in every part of me, lighting up inside of me and spreading to my limbs.
It feels like I’ve been shocked by electricity, and I already know I want to do this again and again and again.
My cum shoots across my chest in thick spurts, and my ragged breathing becomes uneven as King groans. Warmth fills me, and I can tell by the way his hips stutter that he’s coming, too.
Arching my back, I continue coming, pulse after pulse, coating myself, and it feels never-ending. The pleasure continues, lingering with every micro-movement, every twitch of King’s hips, every curve of his cock against my internal walls.
When we both come down from it, moments apart, we’re panting and shuddering. Our foreheads press together, and neither of us speaks. There’s a sticky mess between us, and when King pulls away a few seconds later, I look down.
There looks to be an entire cup of cum on me. He pulls out, and as we lie next to each other, neither of us says anything.
“Okay?” he asks.
All I can do is nod.
As my heart rate slows, and as King gets off the bed to clean us up, all I can think is how utterly we both just lost whatever war was waged between us.