Kneel Your Grace Novels & Stories

Chapter 1672 "How can I persuade you to trust me, Grace? I'm not putting you on. Is it only when I kneel that you can forgive me?" Grace ignored him and watered the plants instead. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace noticed Charlie kneeling. "Men do not bend their knees easily. The more they do it, the cheaper they look," Grace showed no emotion and said coldly. Charlie went rigid and said bitterly, "I don't care that! If you can forgive me, I can kneel for a month!"

I’m not sure how loud I should be. He’s watching me with a tight jaw. His grip on my knees grows firmer every time I moan. "You couldn't come like this?" "No." "Poor baby." Knox gets down on his knees ever so slowly. I can’t shake the thought away. The most powerful man in this city is sinking to his knees between my thighs like I'm his altar. "Let me fix that." His mouth envelops me before I can breathe. He licks through my folds, sucks my clit into his mouth, slides his tongue into my wet hole, fucking me with his tongue until I'm biting back my scream.

Even before he looked at her properly. Even before he dropped to one knee. The room went silent so fast it felt like the music itself had been turned off. Greta’s face drained instantly. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Larry held a small box in his hand, gaze steady, voice cutting clean through the silence. “Greta Williams,” he said. A pause. Every eye in the room locked on them. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” And in that absolute silence, I just stood there, glass still in my hand...

His deep tone sends ripples down my spine. His coarse palm grabs my slender throat, gripping firmly until I throw my head against his chest and gasp for air. Until I become helpless before him. “Kneel.”

“So I will give you a choice. You can follow sweetly and earn reward. Or you can resist and earn correction. Both are mine to give. Which do you choose tonight?” Reward. The word bloomed warm. Correction curled dark and hot at the edges of her mind. “Reward,” she said, breath tight. “Then we begin.” He stepped around to face her again. “Kneel.” Her knees touched the carpet, soft, thick, a shock of surrender going up her spine. He did not touch her. He let the kneel do the work. “What do you call me in private,” he asked. “Sir.” “Again. With breath.”

“Turn around. Present yourself to your God.” She turned on her knees, lifting her dress to bare herself, leaning forward until her forehead touched the cold stone. The position was one of ultimate supplication and ultimate debasement. He mounted her from behind, driving into her with a force that drove a sharp cry from her lungs, which echoed mockingly through the sanctuary.

He dropped to one knee so suddenly that even the guards tensed. “Please.” The word came out raw. “I’m begging you. I know I don’t deserve it. I know I’m the last person who should be standing in a place like this asking for anything. But I love you. I never stopped. Seeing you on that screen with him....watching you smile at another man the way you used to smile at me...it broke something. I can’t live with it. Take me back. We can leave the country. Start over. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right.” The sight of him on his knees should have moved her. Once, it might have.

Grace didn’t even know the definition of the word. *** I look at Grace and remember her “kindness” to me. “Kneel before me,” I demand. “I...will it...I mean if I do …” Grace tried to negotiate with me. “If you do? I ordered you to kneel before me.” I didn’t like being this way but they were forcing me into a corner. Grace kneeled. “Apologise for how you treated me.” “We were you parents. We loved you and treated you well. I don’t know what you mean.”

She moved her hand down my chest, dragging it slowly down the middle of my shirt. "And now I need to know," her voice falling lower, and smoother, "if you're still mine." I swallowed hard. My whole body was stiff, burning. She leaned closer. Her lips brushed my ear. “Kneel.” “Kneel for me,” she repeated, so soft, but there was steel behind it. Like the word wasn’t a request. I lowered myself to the floor. From where I knelt, all I could see was her. Bare. Glowing. Made to be touched.

— On your knees. His order is a lash. I grit my teeth, but obey. The floor is cold beneath my leather knee pads, the dress sliding up my thighs as I kneel, exposing the lace thong that conceals nothing. Murmurs ripple through the audience. Someone snickers. A woman to my right parts her lips, licking her bottom lip, her fingers already buried between her thighs.