Page 118 of Spearcrest Knight

With a low, hungry growl, he thrusts inside me. My back arches off the bed as I claw the blanket.

He fucks me exactly as he described before: in long, slow, torturous strokes. He watches his cock slowly move in and out of me and bites his lip, stifling a groan of satisfaction. Then he looks up. Our eyes meet, and an unspeakable expression melts on his features. Pleasure, want, and something terrible and beautiful, too close to love for comfort.

I try to turn away, but he growls, “No.”

He’s so deep inside me I can barely breathe, and just like that, he pulls closer to me, cradling me in his arms. He kisses my cheeks, my jaw, my lips.

“Look at me, Sophie.”

I look at him. My face is burning, my mind foggy with pleasure. A distant siren seems to be ringing, alerting me to the danger I’m in. The danger of giving in to Evan, of believing the expression on his face, of letting him completely in.

His eyes are vividly blue when I meet his gaze. I lick my lips nervously.

“Say my name.”

I swallow hard. “Evan.”

He hardens inside me. He moves his hips, fucking me in long, slow strokes.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Say it again.”

“Evan.” It’s almost a relief to be saying his name. Evan—the boy I’ve loved, the boy I’ve hated. Evan, the only person to have ever made me feel this way. Evan, undeniable, irresistible, inevitable. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, tangle my fingers in his hair. “Evan.”

“God, fuck.” His thrusts grow more frantic, less controlled. “Fuck, Sophie, I l—”

I close his mouth with a kiss, brushing his tongue with mine. I arch against him, taking all of him. Wrapped in the heat of him, the smell of him, my senses are filled with him, overwhelmed. He fills every empty part of me until I’m full—complete.

Emotion wells up inside me—inexplicably, my eyes burn with sudden tears.

Burying my head in the crook of Evan’s neck, I pull him closer to me. I whisper his name one more time, my voice muffled by his skin. His arms tighten around me and his hips buck. He comes with a broken cry. For a moment, his thrusts are frantic, desperate.

Then they slow, then he grows still.

We hold each other in the silver light, the rushing sound of our pants mingling in the air. We are holding on to each other so tight our pulses seem to beat as one. We stay like this for a long time, saying nothing at all.

Later, Evan gets up and cleans me up with a towel soaked in warm water. Then he gets back on the bed and pulls me into his arms, and just holds me. His breath flutters strands of hair against my temple, tickling me. Sleep darkens the edges of my consciousness, pulling at me.

A whispered question reaches me through my torpor. “Do you still hate me?”

“Mm. Of course. I hate everything about you.”

“Everything? Even my good looks?”

“Especiallyyour good looks.” I suppress a yawn. “I hate your stupid blue eyes, your stupid smile. I hate how American you are, I hate the way you speak, the way you laugh at everything. I hate your confidence, your stubbornness, your golden boy energy. I hate everything you do.”

He lets out a low laugh. “Even the things I do to you?”

“Especiallythe things you do to me.”

“Does that mean I need to stop?”

“No.” I nestle closer into him. We’re going to have to leave the infirmary soon, but I don’t want the moment to end just yet. “You have to keep going. Otherwise how am I going to keep hating them?”

36

Paralysis

Sophie

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