Page 31 of Spearcrest Queen

He brushes his hair back with a hand. Standing in my small room, he looks bigger in comparison, filling up the space, his shoulders ridiculously broad. The air seems to smell like him, like his cologne and skin, like his body heat. I have a sudden surge of hunger, like I want to sink my teeth into his skin and take out a bite.

“I go to Harvard,” I tell him. “I’m too clever to be fucked silly.”

He grins, eyes lingering shamelessly over my body, which is dressed in a cropped black jumper and thigh-high socks, my skirt still bunched around my waist.

“Yeah,” he says, “it’d sure as hell be worth a try, though.”

I spread my legs, just a little, just enough for him to see the glimpse of wetness he left smeared between my thighs. “So why don’t you?”

“Because, you greedy little witch,” he says, shoving his hood over his hair, “I have to go.”

He leans down to give me a kiss, but I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him back to the bed, where he braces himself with his arms framing my body.

“You’re leaving already?” I murmur.

“I have to.” His jaw clenches. “It’s three hours back to the city and I have work in the morning.”

“Boo,” I say without real feeling, because I can tell he definitely wishes he didn’t have to leave. “Who’s going to fuck me silly now?”

He gives a sharp smirk. “Anyone with a death wish.”

“Guess I’ll have to take matters into my own hands, then.”

He wraps one big hand around my neck, digging his fingers in ever so slightly. “This weekend wasn’t enough for you?”

“It just made me want more.”

He lets out a raspy laugh. I don’t even need to touch him to know he’s hard: his desire is clear on his face, in the dull spark of his eyes, in his flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids.

“You know what you have to do then, don’t you?” he says thickly.

I swallow, squeezing my legs in anticipation. “Enlighten me, Knight.”

He lets out a halting, raspy laugh. He releases my neck and stands suddenly.

“You’re just going to have to come up with another flimsy excuse to get me to come see you.”

“Flimsy excuse?” I sit up, glaring at him as he makes his way to my window.

“Well, you could just tell me you’re in the mood for a good hard fuck.” He pulls the window open with one hand and turns back to me. “But your pride would never allow you.”

“Mypride?” I stand up, tugging my skirt down, outraged. “Really? That’s the note you’re leaving on?”

He turns back. Behind him, the sky is dark, and snowflakes are whirling in through the window already, melting as they meet the warm air. The room already feels colder, emptier, losing the warmth and comfort Evan brought with him. He has the audacity to grin at me.

“Why not?” he says. “You like me best when you hate me.”

I shake my head and open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong, but he turns suddenly, grabbing my Harvard jumper off my wardrobe door.

“Here.” He yanks his black sweatshirt up over his head, revealing a glimpse of smooth muscles and a dusting of golden hair as he does. Then he tosses me his sweatshirt and puts mine on instead.

I frown at him. “What’s that for?”

“Something to remember me by whenever you feel like touching yourself.” He grins winningly, like there’s no doubt in his mind I’ll be doing so. “It’ll keep you warm while you try not to say my name when you come.”

“Your arrogance will be your downfall,” I mutter, but I hug the sweatshirt to my chest. It smells like cedarwood and his warm skin and fresh snow, and the butterfly wings are back in my chest, more fluttery than ever.

“Fine by me,” Evan says, glancing down out the window. “So long as I don’tactuallyfall.”

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