Page 97 of Spearcrest Queen

“I missed you every day. I missed you whenI woke up and when I went to bed. I missed you every evening I spent alone in the library and every time I was surrounded by people that weren’tyou. And I missed you every time I won something I wanted because you weren’t even there to celebrate with me. I… I destroyed those three at Harvard, for what they did, I ate them up and spat them out, but I was still hungry; I’ve been so hungry without you, like it didn’t matter how much I ate because I was stillstarving.”

Evan’s fingers tighten around my waist, a silent acknowledgement. But I can’t stop, I can’t believe how good it feels to tell him the truth, to spill my feelings into his cupped hands, to let him hold my very heart in his fingers.

“And I can’t do it anymore. Iwantyou. I love you. I fucking love you so much I couldn’t stop if I tried—and I tried, I did, but—”

My voice breaks, catches. I force the words out in a ragged rasp.

“You’re mine.” His eyes darken at my words. I tighten my fists around his collar, clenching my jaw, eyes boring into his. “You’re mine. I love you, I don’t want to live without you, I don’t think Ican. I fucking love you, and you belong to me, you belong tome.”

He shudders against me, his fingers pressing hard into my hips, his breath coming out in a hectic rush, his eyes drowning with love and want andrelief, like he’s needed to hear those words for as long as I’ve needed to say them.

And then, softly, like he’s taken my heart and is now giving me his in a single syllable, he sighs.

“Yes.”

In a rush ofelation and desire, Evan pins me up against the furs, my fingers tangled into golden curls, his mouth hot and starving against mine. My thighs are locked around his hips, my entire existence reduced to a wet, feverish mess of deep kisses and stifled moans.

Somewhere in the simmering haze, a memory flutters to life: the first time Evan ever touched me like this. Spearcrest’s gym pool, the night sky above, blue dapples and cold water. His arm tight around my waist, pinning me to him protectively, possessively, like he never wanted to let me go.

Did I love him even then?

Maybe I’ve always loved him.

How could I not? He kisses me with a dizzying mixture of hunger and reverence and fear, like he’s drowning, like he might die without this, like he’d rip the entire world apart if I pulled away. I moan into his mouth, pressing harder against him, craving more of him, his body, his heat, the comforting, inescapable weight of him, but it’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, and I’m starting to realise there may never be a time in my life where I don’t crave him, need him with every fibre of my being.

Everywhere he kisses me feels like it could burst into gold, and he kisses me everywhere.

He groans when I arch into him, his hands dragging up my thighs, over my hips, memorising me, claiming me. His fingers slide between my legs; he finds me hot and molten wet, and he lets out a low, broken sound.

“Fuck, Sophie.”

His forehead falls against mine as he drags in a ragged breath.

“Now,” I whisper into his ear, digging my nails into his neck. “Now, Evan. Please.Please.”

He obeys with a thrust, burying himself to the hilt, hips slamming into mine. My eyes roll into the back of my head from the sensation of it—of him, the thickness and solidity of him, stretching me open, finding the dark, empty place inside me that only he can reach, only he can fill.

His jaw tightens, hands wrapping around my waist. He doesn’t move at first, just stays buried inside me, trembling, panting in sharp, shallow breaths.

Then he lets out a broken sigh.

“God, I want you,” he says as he thrusts into me. And I nod, whimpering with each powerful thrust. “I want all of you.”

And because he’s still got me pinned between the wall and his body, my thighs around his hips, there’s nowhere for me to go, nowhere to escape, each thrust slamming home with such force it crushes the breath out of my lungs, and my eyes are squeezed shut as I hold on to him will all my strength, pleasure building in a maddening pulse, Evan’s words a mad out spill.

“I want to date you, Sutton,” he says. “I want to take you out.”

“Evan—”

“I want to fuck you when you’re happy”—he punctuates this with a punishing thrust—“and hold you when you’re sad.” He kisses me with desperate tenderness. “I want to celebrate your wins, I want to drive you home from parties, I want to wipe off your make-up when you’re drunk and take you to bed—my bed—ourbed.” He buries his face into my neck, sucks on the delicate skin right over my pulse, and against the bruised, sensitive flesh, he pants words out like a confession, and mybody tenses as his words, my pleasure a wave now, curling, rising—“Want to live with you, Sophie. Marry you.”

My entire body trembles, but Evan holds me firm and steady, pinning me in place, as if he’d die before letting me go.

And he says, voice deep and earnest:

“Want you to have my kids.”

A sob escapes my chest, a ragged, broken noise, stolen from deep inside my heart. Evan swallows it, kissing me with such complete adoration and tenderness I could die from it.

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