Page 57 of Spearcrest Knight

Then I turn around and walk away from her. And it might just be the alcohol, but for the first time, I realise there isn’t a single person at this party I actually want to spend time with.

Well—one person—but no matter how close I get to her, she’s forever out of reach.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself, and leave.

I’mcrossingthenarrowbelt of trees on the way back to the dorms when I collide with a figure as it emerges from behind the enormous trunk of an oak. I throw my hands out to catch the figure as it stumbles back and look down into a pair of dark, hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” Sophie gives a low, lazy laugh. “Why is it always you?”

She lays a palm on my chest and pushes me away, but I keep a hold of her arms. Now my eyes have adjusted to the shadows, I can see a little more clearly. Her hair is still parted down the middle severely, but her cheeks are flushed and her lips are gleaming.

She smells of vanilla and coconut rum.

She smells fucking divine. I have to use all my willpower not to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in like some deranged sicko.

“Where are you going, Sutton?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain light.

Her hand is still on my chest, but instead of pushing me away again, she curls her fingers into my T-shirt, digging into my chest. “I’m leaving before I get myself in trouble.”

Her rough voice claws across my skin. With the alcohol still in my system, my barriers have all crumbled down, and there’s nothing to protect me from the effect of that unbearable fucking voice. Blood rushes straight to my cock, and I grow so hard so fast I have to clench my jaw to suppress a groan.

“Trouble, Sutton?” I slide my hands slowly from her arms to her shoulders, gently cradling her neck and slowly drawing aside strands of her hair so my fingers can rest against her skin. She doesn’t make an attempt to stop me. “What kind of trouble?”

I slide my thumb gently up and down her neck, my eyes on her lips. They’re wet and parted in a scornful half-smile—they look good enough to fucking eat, and for a moment I have the wild urge to slide my thumb into her mouth, to part her lips just so I can press my finger against her tongue.

I want to taste the alcohol on her breath, I want to claim her mouth with mine, to kiss her so fucking good she’ll never be able to even dream of kissing anybody else.

But Sophie with some alcohol in her is bolder than I could ever have expected. She tilts her head back and arches her neck, watching me from under her heavy eyelids.

With her hand still fisted in my T-shirt, she lifts the fabric, exposing my stomach to the cold. Her eyes rake over my skin, my abs.

She smirks. “More trouble than it’s worth, I reckon.” And then she drops my T-shirt and pats my chest with supreme condescension.

I tilt my head, keeping my voice low and calm. "Liar. Everybody knows you want me, Sutton."

She must have either had too many drinks or she's got low tolerance, because instead of her usual glare, she laughs. "You're about as wanted as a brain tumor."

“You're one vicious little fucker, aren't you?” I tighten my fingers around her throat ever so slightly, but she doesn’t seem alarmed at all. Her cheeks are darkly flushed now, and her teeth tug slowly on her bottom lip.

“Oh no,” she says, low and rough and mocking, “I’m not going to make you cry, am I?”

“In your dreams.”

“You don’t belong in my dreams, Evan Knight,” she rasps. “You belong in my fucking nightmares.”

And then, to my complete and utter surprise, she fists my collar and pulls me down, dragging my lips to hers. I open my mouth in a half-moan. Her lips part and I glide my tongue against hers, tasting rum and sugar.

I’m so fucking hard I’m certain I could come without being touched. My mind is a crimson blur of urgent lust. Lifting her up against me, I hurtle forward, slamming her back against a tree trunk. Her legs hug my hips the way they did in the pool. Her fingers dig into my neck, pulling me closer.

“Fuck, Sutton,” I groan against her mouth. “You taste so fucking good.”

Kissing Sophie Sutton feels exactly as dangerous and forbidden and exhilarating as I always imagined it would. But it also feels completely right, profoundly satisfying, like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place.

And it feels good, so good I could fucking die.

Her open mouth and the squeeze of her thighs around my hips tells me she’s enjoying this as much as I am. Who would have thought Sophie Sutton could be like this? Austere Sophie, tightly wound, so fucking controlled—would would have thought she could kiss so good, arch her back with such abandon?

I want more—so much more. Now I know how good it feels to kiss her mouth, I want to kiss the rest of her—every part. I want to touch her, taste her. I want—Ineed—more of this, more ofher.

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