Page 70 of Spearcrest Knight

I close my eyes and open my mouth, leaning into the kiss, but find only air. My eyes blink open, in time to see Sophie pull away, a thoughtful pout on her mouth.

While I feel like I’ve been set on fire with desire, Sophie looks like a mathematician pondering some tedious equation.

“Haha, no,” she finally says, loosening her hold on my shirt. “Definitely doesn’t feel right.”

A spike of annoyance and pain pierces through me. I remember the stunt she pulled on me at the party, running away into the darkness. But it doesn’t shatter the spell of desire I’m under—if anything, it fuels the flames of it. I let her run away last time—I’m not going to let her get away so easily this time.

Wrapping my hand firmly around the nape of Sophie’s neck, I pull her back to me. A tiny gasp of surprise springs from her lips, but I stifle it with mine.

I don’t kiss her like I did in the peace garden—instead I kiss her slowly, achingly, to give myself time to calm down, to allow myself to revel in the taste of her. Then I open my mouth against hers, tilting her head gently with one thumb on her jaw.

“Feels right to me,” I whisper hoarsely against her lips.

I’m shit-scared she’s going to push me off, scramble back, run away—but she doesn’t.

She opens her mouth without resistance. I gently caress her lips with my tongue, tasting wine, and she responds with a soft, low moan.

The rough, sweet sound pulls at the last of my restraint, and then I’m taking her by the waist and pulling her against me. She straddles my lap, burying her fingers in my hair. Now my kisses aren't slow and tender, but hard and hungry and wet.

She pulls back for air, and my name slips from her mouth in a ragged sigh.

“Evan…”

But I’m like someone who’s been starving and finally allowed to eat. I can’t stop.

I kiss her jaw, her neck. I’d kiss every inch of her if she wasn’t wearing so many fucking clothes. She arches against me when I suck gently on the sensitive corner where her jaw meets her neck, and I slip my hands under her impossibly soft sweater.

My fingers glide over hot skin until I reach the soft curve of her breasts. Her nipples are hard underneath the thin fabric of her bra, and I catch them between my fingers, tugging ever so slightly.

A low moan slips from her lips and she pulls away, looking at me in surprise. Her dark eyes are hooded and glittering with desire. I can’t help the slow, arrogant smile that spreads on my face. I lean forward to speak against her ear.

“If you like that,” I breathe, “you have no idea how fucking good I’m about to make you feel.”

Then I take her by her waist and tip her back, laying her down on the carpet. She looks up at me but says nothing. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip—gone is the cocky smirk from the night of the party, or the tipsy sweetness from before.

Now, she looks nervous, but hungry.

I slide down between her raised thighs, kissing her neck, her throat, just like I did in my fantasies when I touched myself the other night. Except reality is far better than fantasy. Her skin is hot and smooth as silk under my lips. My senses are filled with the sweet vanilla scent of her, because the low sound of her breathing is like the husky rush of the ocean.

Tugging on the hem of her sweater, I pull it up. Underneath, I’m barely surprised to find she’s wearing a plain black triangle bra, free of any adornment. It makes my cock twitch in my pants. I swallow hard before pressing my mouth right between her breasts. She arches slightly underneath me and I suppress a groan. Hooking a finger under the underband of her bra, I pull it up and catch my breath.

“Fuck, Sutton…”

Her nipples are the dark pink of crushed berries, the most delicious sight I’ve ever seen. I take her breasts in my hands, first brushing my fingertips gently against her, then dipping down to capture a nipple in my mouth. I’d fantasised about being cruel to Sophie, about punishing bites—but that’s not what I want right now.

Right now, I want to make her molten and aflame with pleasure, so I lick her slowly, teasing her with my tongue, first one nipple than the other, until her back is arching off the floor and her hands are curled into fists and her voice is an incoherent rasp of desire.

Even though I’m achingly, torturously hard, the thought of my own pleasure isn’t important. Right now, there’s only one thing I need—one thing Icrave.

I want to make Sophie come. I want to make her come so hard she can't ever have another orgasm without thinking about me.

So I leave her nipples wet and exposed and I kiss a line down her abdomen, I kiss the ridges of her hip bones and the soft skin of her lower belly. I unbutton her skirt, and look up at her.

“Lift your—” My voice is so rough it breaks. “Lift your hips for me, Sutton.”

She obeys without protest, letting me slide her skirt, tights and underwear off her. She pulls down her sweater, covering herself up, but I grab her wrists with a low groan and push them above her head.

Then I catch her lower lip between my teeth and pull, and I kiss her mouth, her cheek.

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