Page 101 of Spearcrest Knight

She must be close to orgasm, because her hips have stopped twitching and she’s grown very still, her entire body trembling, her eyes wide and glassy. Lowering myself against her, I pick up her hips, lifting her delicious pussy to my mouth.

“Come on, Sutton. Hate my guts and come for me.”

I flatten my tongue against her, tasting her, teasing her. Her hips roll against me, sensual, demanding, irresistible. So I kiss my way up her pussy, and stroke her clit with my tongue, slow at first, just to torment her. Her breath hitches, her thighs quiver around me. I sense how close she is to coming. It’s utterly tantalising—the only time I ever have Sophie truly within my power.

This power—the power of keeping her suspended on the edge of an orgasm, the power of making her come so hard she crumbles into a trembling mess—is like a fucking drug. I can’t get enough of it. I pick up the pace, stroking faster. It only takes a few laps of my tongue to send her crashing into her orgasm.

A hoarse cry tears from her lips and she bucks against me, her fingers curling in my hair. She grinds herself against my mouth, her trembling thighs squeezing my head. Then she slumps back down limply. She’s shaking all over, but she immediately shoves herself off the desk.

Her cheeks are crimson, and her tidy ponytail is dishevelled, dark strands sliding loose. She throws me a look that’s a mixture between shame and fury, and immediately begins to straighten his uniform.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she says, her voice low and harsh. “We’re both old enough to know that sex has nothing to do with emotion.”

My heart is beating wildly—the taste of her is still on my tongue, which is blurring the clarity of thought I need right now. In the end, the only thing I can say is the truth. The painful, horrible truth.

“Don’t you know how much I like you?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re all I fucking think about, all the time. I’d do anything you asked, Sophie, if only you…” I stop to brush my hand back through my hair. It’s damp with sweat. “If you were with me, you could have anything you wanted.”

“Right, I could have anything I wanted,” Sophie rasps, and her voice is much quieter now, and her eyes are sparkling almost like she’s about to cry, “up until the point you decide to move on and throw me aside like I’m nothing.”

I recoil. “I would never do that!”

“You fucking idiot!” she exclaims. She sounds furious, but tears are hanging like crystal pearls on her eyelashes. “Youdiddo that!”

This stops me in my tracks. I drop her gaze because seeing her eyes full of tears again hurts like shit.

“That was different.”

“Sure,” she sneers, wiping her sleeve angrily across her face. “I’m sure you genuinely believe that.”

How can I tell her the truth? That I loved being friends with her, but that I had to choose between our friendship or Spearcrest? That I chose to keep Luca away from her over protecting her? That everything I’ve done so far has been a misguided attempt to keep her safe from him?

That even when I hated her, I still only ever wanted her?

In the end, between Sophie being happy and having Sophie to myself, I chose the latter. There’s no way I can explain any of this to her without sounding pathetic, and she already despises me enough.

She thinks I’m selfish and stupid and a liar—and some of those things are true—but she doesn’t need to realise every stupid choice I made was calculated to make her mine. Because ultimately, every choice I’ve made has only pushed her away.

Even making her come only seems to make her hate me more.

“I’m not going to beg you to be mine,” I say finally. “Not when I could have any girl I wanted.”

Hearing myself say this is like watching myself jump off a cliff into a shark-infested ocean. I watch myself hurtle to my doom without even being able to stop, knowing full well my pride, and not my brain, has just taken charge.

She smiles. Even before she can grab her stuff off her desk I can tell she’s done with the conversation.

“Then do exactly that,” she says, quite calmly, her rough voice like nails scratching along my skin, sending shivers down my back. “Haveeverygirl you want, Evan. Enjoy yourself. And while you’re doing that, I’m going to spend time with someone I actually like, who actually likes me, and doesn’t try to hurt me at every chance he gets.”

She shoulders her backpack and then tries to barge past me, but I stop her, grabbing her arm.

“He’ll never make you feel the way I do,” I say in a low growl.

“No, you’re right.” She shakes her arm free from my grasp. The flush of her orgasm is still colouring her cheeks and neck, but her eyes are cold. “He’ll make me feel so much better.”

And then she leaves, slamming the study hall door loudly behind her.

32

Greek Tragedy

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