Page 17 of Spearcrest Queen

I’ve been thinking about it, mostly so that I don’t have to see my parents all the time, and to avoid the awkwardness after I inevitably crash and burn through my three-month probation.

“If I get an apartment in New York”—I hold Sophie’s chin in my hand; she has a fleck of caramel trailing over her bottom lip, and I have the dirty urge to clean it with the tip of my cock—“would you come visit?”

“Of course.” She agrees readily because she’s tipsy, and maybe she senses the nature of my thoughts because she wipes at her bottom lip with a finger before sliding it into her mouth, sucking off the caramel in a slow, tantalising motion. Blood rushes between my legs, my easily persuaded cock twitching tolife. “You’re gonna fly me out in a fancy private jet just to get me into your bed?”

As if she doesn’t know I would. As if I’m not going to be imagining that exact scenario non-stop from now on.

“What’s the point of putting up with me if you’re not getting treated like a princess?”

She leans into me, invading my personal space, and the heat of her skin and the smokiness of her voice whirl like hot gold magic around me, making the restaurant and the patrons and waiters all disappear into nothing—nothing else matters except her.

“Is that why rich kids like you pick loser girls like me?” she says. “To play fairy godmother?”

There’s venom in her words, but, ah—Sophie can sink her teeth into me all she wants. Haven’t I always adored being hurt by her? She could rip me apart, dig her claws into me until I bled out right here at the table, and I’d probably still crawl after her, begging for more.

“The only loser at this table is me.”

I say it mostly to please her. Her smile melts from cruelty to fondness, like I’ve been promoted from object of torment to adored pet.

“Not just a loser,” she says, dropping a light kiss on my cheek. “Myloser.”

Afterwards, Sophie is inthe mood for drinks and dancing, so I take her for drinks and dancing. She keeps ordering for both of us, but I stick to the same drink, alternating each sip with water. Sophie’s getting wasted enough for the both of us.

The nightclub we end up in is loud, dark, chaotic. Lights flash erratically, carving her outline in fractured bursts of colour. The air is thick with heat and desperation. Sophie slams back drinks and presses into me, moving like she’s trying to outrun her own thoughts.

Sophieneedsto get wasted, I realise as she drags me to the writhing mess of the dance floor. Because Sophie lives her life under such a crushing weight of pressure, and because her every emotion is kept on such a tight leash, and because she is both oppressedandher own oppressor. This is the only way she can ever feel free: with alcohol pumping hot and heady through her veins in the dizzying darkness of a club.

This is the only time Sophie can truly let go, and since I’ve not been drinking anywhere near as much as her, I’m sober enough to understand exactly what she’s doing. My chest aches as I follow her to the dance floor and let her press the length of her body into mine.

But it’s so fucking easy, following her lead, moving to the pounding beat of the music, running my hands down her waist and hips, feeling her hot skin beneath the delicate satin of her dress. It doesn’t take any effort at all to let her rub her body against mine, to let her laugh a throaty, sleazy laugh against my neck when she palms the hard bulge in my trousers.

“Disgusting,” she rasps into my ear, mocking yet affectionate. “Pathetic.”

And I know that she means it, deep down, and Istilllet her lead me out of the club by my belt, like a horny dog. I let her smear sloppy kisses along my jaw in the back of the cab on our way back to the hotel and I tremble with excitement and want, holding her like I never want to lether go.

Sophie doesn’t even wait for us to get to our room. She shoves me back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, arms thrown around my back, and kisses me hot and hungry.

And because I’m hungry enough to be willing to feast on crumbs, I drag her up against me, letting her wrap her long legs around my waist. I open my mouth to her tongue and I taste the Cherry Manhattans she’s been drinking. I don’t let her go when we reach our floor. I carry her with one arm around her waist all the way to our room, to the bed, where we both collapse in a tangle of heated skin and gasping breaths.

“Ah, Sophie, fuck.” I barely recognise the sound of my own voice, disintegrated into a low whine. “Missed you so much. Need you so bad.”

She laughs like I’ve just said something funny. Neither of us bothered to turn on the lamps, but the distant city lights and the stars cast a silver glow through the floor-length windows. In that dim, eerie glow, Sophie’s eyes are almost black, her skin like mother-of-pearl. She grabs me by my hair, pulls.

“Stop talking,” she rasps. “Take off your clothes.”

I obey. She props herself on her elbows to watch me, half-fascinated, half-triumphant. I undress quickly, my cock heavy against my thigh. Stepping out of my discarded clothes, I drop my knee onto the bed and pull Sophie to me by her waist.

“Your turn.”

She shakes her head and pushes me off her, using all her strength to shift the weight of my body back. I watch her, frowning as she raises her skirt and pulls off her black underwear. It’s the only thing she takes off—she’s still wearing her black boots, her satin slip dress, her oversized blazer.

Maybethisis the kink: her fully clothed and me naked, the scales of power tipped in her favour. I can tell by her biting kisses that Sophie wants to fuck, but that’s not whatIwant.I want to make love to her, to kiss her slow and hungry, make her come with my mouth and then take her slowly, savouring the sensation of her body, her skin, the heat and perfume of her. She’s made me wait too long, and now I need to feed the addiction.

But Sophie doesn’t let me hold her, and she doesn’t let me kiss her mouth soft and deep. She bites my bottom lip hard, and when I pull back in surprise, she hisses, “I don’t want to fuck like some old married couple.”

Her words cut clean as a scalpel, leaving me gaping raw and red. I’m not as stupid as she thinks. I know what she’s really asking for.

Pleasure but distance. Intimacy but control.

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