32. Kiss the King
Kiss the King
Asher
At the end of my workday, I make my way to King’s large office, which is on the other side of the floor.
As I walk up to the door, I watch him scowling at his computer screen as he clicks and types, the bright light of the screen reflecting off his various piercings.
Something inside my chest tightens when I think of what’s next for us, but instead of running from it, I decide to let the butterflies scatter inside me and see where they fall.
“Do you need something, Harrison?” he asks without looking up from his computer, a hint of playfulness to his tone.
“I’m just about to head out. I wanted to see if you needed anything before I go.”
His eyes flick over to me, and I make sure I rub my mouth with the hand.
I clock the way his pupils flare when he sees the collar around my wrist, the same one from the retreat.
Unbeknownst to him, I’d been carrying it in my suit jacket for the last few days as something to remember him by.
But now that we’ve kind of, sort of reconciled, I figure there’s another use for it again.
“Did you see the official acceptance letter from Walter?” he asks, ignoring the collar.
Something akin to disappointment sinks deep inside of me, and I clear my throat, nodding. “I did. Congratulations, Ambrose.”
“We both acquired him, Asher,” he replies quickly. “You got your wish in the end.”
I nod solemnly. “I suppose I did.”
Pushing back from his desk, he places his hands behind his head. I do my best not to let my eyes rove over his strong chest, or the way his muscular thighs contract as he stretches in his chair.
“Now what?” he asks, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Shrugging, I take a step closer. I don’t blame him for being cautious. I was the one to walk away, after all. We both said things we can’t take back, but I was the coward—twice. So now, I need to show him that even though it fucking terrifies me, I’m all in.
“I had a look at the company fraternization rules,” I say slowly, placing my hands in the pockets of my trousers.
“Hmm, is that so?” he asks, his face neutral and not daring to give anything away.
I nod. “Yes. Turns out, intracompany romantic relationships are fine, as long as they began before we started working together.”
“Interesting,” he muses.
“And,” I add, taking another step closer. “It’s a good thing we’re both in senior management, because while it’s not against policy, it is frowned upon to date people who are higher up or lower down on the management scale.”
“That is a very convenient coincidence,” he murmurs, his pupils growing darker the closer I get to his desk.
“I thought so, too. Which is why I emailed HR just to clarify our relationship.”
“Oh?” he asks, voice husky. “And what did they say?”
I shrug. “They gave us the go-ahead, and also asked if we’d like to participate in the Pride Month partnership initiative. Something about featuring diverse leadership in the company’s LGBTQIA+ visibility campaign.”
King’s eyebrows lift. “That’s a big step for someone who told me only two and a half weeks ago that you weren’t gay.”
His words sting, despite expecting this kind of reaction.
Unlike him, who has been out and comfortable in his skin for years, this is all new territory for me.
I’m going to need to show him that I’m okay with publicly outing myself, because I am.
Because these last two weeks have been a huge lesson for me, with the help of Ava.
Who needs therapy when you have your ex’s yogi sister on speed dial?
“I know. But I figured I could speak on a panel about bi erasure, or something. Use my face and my title for something useful.”
His gaze sharpens, assessing me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m bluffing. “And that doesn’t scare you?” he asks, voice low.
“Everything about this scares me,” I admit, stepping closer until the edge of his desk presses into my thigh. “But losing you scares me more.”
The air between us shifts. His posture changes—still guarded, but not as rigid. His fingers drum once against the arm of his chair before stilling.
“You think one HR email and a Pride panel make up for walking away? Twice, I might add. I don’t think I’ll survive a third time, Asher,” he adds, voice going soft. Vulnerable.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Nothing I can say or do will make up for walking away. But this is a start. And I’m hoping you’ll let me keep proving it to you.”
He doesn’t move for a long moment, just studies me like he’s trying to decide if I’m real. Then his eyes drop to my wrist.
“You brought the collar,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret between us. He reaches out, fingers brushing over the leather wrapped twice around my wrist slowly, and my breath catches.
“Yeah,” I manage.
The next thing I know, he’s out from behind his desk and right in front of me, closing the distance like it was never there.
One big hand fists the front of my suit jacket, pushing me, and then my back hits the door with a solid thud.
The heat of his body, the scent of his cologne—sweet, spicy, cinnamon—makes my head swim.
“You don’t get to run again,” he says, voice low and dangerous.
“I’m not,” I breathe, because it’s the truth this time. “I won’t?—”
He cuts me off and kisses me hard, all teeth and heat and weeks of frustration. I melt into it before I can think better of it, my hands gripping the fabric at his hips, my chest pressing flush to his. It’s messy and desperate, and I can feel every second we spent apart burning up between us.
He crowds closer, his thigh pressing between mine until I’m grinding down without meaning to. The friction makes me groan into his mouth, my head tipping back against the door. His hand catches my jaw, tilting me up so he can take more, like he’s making up for lost time.
“You miss this?” he murmurs, lips brushing mine.
“Yes,” I gasp, the word practically pulled out of me without permission.
His mouth curves in that smug, infuriating way, but before I can glare at him, he’s pressing me harder against the door.
I brace myself on the polished wood with one hand, my heart hammering as he steps into me completely.
The heat of him right here is dizzying. One hand is digging into my hip, and the other is sliding down my arm until his fingers curl around the collar.
“I like it here,” he murmurs, giving it the lightest tug. “It’s discreet. But I love how it looks around your neck, sweetheart.”
The jolt that shoots through me is immediate and embarrassing. “King?—”
“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no real bite to it. Just raw need, like I’m not the only one who’s been restless for the past two weeks.
He tugs the collar lightly against my wrist again, then lets it go, his hand drifting down to my waist. Instead of pushing further, he steps back just enough to look at me.
“You could’ve shown up here, played nice for Walter, and gone back to pretending this never happened,” he says. “Instead, you’re standing in my office wearing this.” His gaze drops to my wrist again. “That means something.”
I swallow hard. “I told you… I’m trying. I don’t know what this looks like long-term. I’m still figuring that out. But I know I want?—”
He takes my hand, thumb brushing against the leather. My heart stutters in my chest as his fingers curl around the leather at my wrist, the smallest tug sending a shiver up my spine.
“I thought…” My throat feels tight, but I force the words out. “I thought if I left, I could convince myself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just sex.”
He tilts his head. “And?”
“And it was a lie,” I admit, my voice low. It’s not much, but it’s the truest thing I’ve said in weeks.
I expect him to gloat, to smirk, to throw it back in my face, but instead, he steps closer—close enough that I can feel his breath against my jaw.
“You think you’re the only one who’s scared shitless here?” he says, his voice almost rough. “You think I make a habit of letting people in? Letting them see me first thing in the morning? Telling them about my childhood?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Exactly.” His eyes are sharp, but they’re not cold. “But I did with you. I let you in, Harrison. And I was furious that you walked out, but I’m more furious that I still want you here anyway.”
The words land like a punch, because I feel the exact same way. “You say that like you didn’t push me, too,” I counter. “Like you weren’t holding things back and hiding the truth just to see how far you could push me. I mean, you said it yourself. This all started as revenge.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it. “Maybe it started that way. But it very quickly turned into something else. Something I’ve only just come to terms with, despite obsessing over you for ten years.”
I let out a breathless laugh. “Maybe we both underestimated this whole thing.”
He smiles. “Perhaps.”
The air between us crackles. My back is still against his door, his body caging mine in, and I’m not sure if we’re about to argue again or?—
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I say, my voice quieter now.
“I want to figure out what the hell this is, and stop pretending like I don’t need you.
” Something shifts in his expression, just a fraction, but it’s enough to loosen my chest. Enough to make me believe he wants that too.
“I missed you,” I tell him before I can stop myself.
It’s bare and ugly and terrifying, but it’s also the truth.
His eyes squeeze shut for a beat, like it costs him something to hear it. “I missed you too,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t catch it.
And that’s all it takes. The restraint snaps.
I grab him by his tie and yank him to me, my mouth crashing into his.
Our mouths are hungry, searching, sloppy.
His hands are everywhere—my jaw, my hair, my lower back—pulling me in until there’s no space left between us.
Until I can’t feel anything but his cock pressed against mine, and the feel of his hard, warm body.