Page 71 of Spearcrest Knight

“Don’t fucking move,” I command against her ear. “I’ve waited too fucking long for this.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her hips squirm, and the way she’s squeezing her thighs together tells me how much she wants this.

I part her thighs and lower myself between them, kissing her hips, her thighs. I suck on the tender skin there, and pull away to see tiny crimson marks on the silken fresh. It makes my cock twitch with satisfaction.

Then I move my mouth to her pretty pussy, the triangle of dark, shiny hair. I slide my tongue along the slit; she’s dripping wet. Wet forme.

“Fuck, Sutton.” I groan against her. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Stop talking,” she hisses.

“Or what?” I stare at her defiantly, my mouth inches from her pussy. “Youarewet, Sutton, so fucking wet I can see it trickling down your thighs. And I’m going to enjoy every drop, and I’m going to fuck you so good with my tongue you’ll be begging me to make you come.”

I bury my face against her pussy. She tastes exactly as I expected, sweet and addictive. I can’t get enough. I feast on her, triumph burning through me. Because I’m between Sutton’s legs, tasting Sutton’s pussy. Uptight, perfectly behaved Sutton, who hates me so much. I lick her in long, slow strokes, finding the tiny, wet point of her clit. I flick it with the tip of my tongue until her hips are bucking so hard I have no choice but to pin them to the floor with my hands.

“Where are your manners, Sutton?” I ask, looking up with a smirk. “Say please.”

She glared down at me. Her cheeks are flushed, her lower lip wet and bruised where she’s been biting down on it. “Fuck you,” she rasps.

“Yeah?”

My eyes still on hers, I lick up and down her pussy, building a slow, torturous rhythm with my tongue. I don’t stop until Sophie’s hips are struggling against my hands, until her thighs begin to quiver.

Then I stop and look up.

“Come on, Sutton, be a good girl. Say it.”

Sophie’s head is thrown back, her back is arched. Her hands are still above her head, her fingers clawing the floor. When she looks at me this time, her expression is both pitiful and imperious.

“Please,” she rasps. “Please, Evan.”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck you—please, I wanna come—God, you fucking bastard, please let me come.”

With a groan of pleasure, I bury my face between her thighs, Sutton’s mixture of pleas and insults urging me on. My fingers digging into her hips, I lick her delicious pussy, slow and firm until she’s shaking, then faster, until her voice explodes into a harsh cry and her hips are bucking uncontrollably.

She comes on my tongue, grinding herself against my face, riding the waves of her orgasm. My cock twitches and I have to resist the urge to slip my hand into my boxers and stroke myself to her sounds of pleasure.

When she finally grows still, I lower her hips back to the floor and sit up. Her trembling thighs meet and fall to the side. I stare down at her, wiping her juices from my mouth with the back of my hand.

Sophie post-orgasm in a grey sweater is the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen, and my cock strains at the sight of her. All I can think of right now is parting her trembling thighs, pulling out my cock and burying it deep into her hot, dripping wet pussy.

But Sophie sits up, startling me. Her hooded eyes have become wide, and her mouth is open and trembling. Loose strands of hair frame her face, and her lips dark and wet and bruised with kisses. But then she brushes her fingers over her mouth and begins tucking her hair behind her ears and shaking her head.

“Fuck,” she says. “Fuck, Evan.”

I frown, and my heart sinks. Already, pleasure is giving way to horror on her beautiful face. She sits up and grabs the pile of her discarded clothing, hugging it to her chest as she says, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

My stomach is clenched. I curl my hands into fists so she doesn’t realise they’re trembling. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats “Look, um, obviously, we drank too much, so…”

She scrambles to her feet and stands, her legs still trembling. Hot arousal and cold anger rage inside me, battling each other.

If she wants to explain and justify her way out of this, she can try. But I’m not going to make it easy for her. Not when pleasure and want are still rushing through me, coursing through my veins like poison.

“You’re not stupid, Sophie,” I say, my voice low and hoarse. “You know how much I like you.”

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