Spearcrest Knight: A Dark Academia Bully Romance (Spearcrest Kings)

Sophie

THE FIRST DAY OF the winter term begins under a bleak, dry sort of snowfall. Brittle flakes flutter from a slate-grey sky. As usual, I’ve been hoisted with the duty of taking down the names of latecomers to the headmaster’s assembly. I stand in the archway of the assembly hall entrance, pressing myself deeper into the shadows, hoping the red bricks of the building swallow me into them.

Becoming forever trapped in the brickwork of Spearcrest would still be a better fate than whatever awaits me when I next meet Evan.

Hoping and praying he is already in the assembly hall is a complete waste of my energy, but I do so anyway. The truth is that ever since I woke up this morning I’ve not stopped thinking about him, no matter how hard I’ve tried. All my self-control and discipline snapped, allowing my mind to replay the scene of us tipsy and making out in his living room in a maddening loop.

In the trophy hall of my greatest mistakes, this is by far my biggest, shiniest trophy.

What a catastrophic error—what a devastating lapse in judgement. And it’s not even like I can place the majority of the blame on Evan, because for once, he chose to stand by what he did.

Of all the times Evan would decide to grow a spine and a moral compass and take ownership of his actions, why did he have to choose this particular time? I offered him an easy way out on a silver platter—all he had to do was to take it.

“I kissed you because I fucking wanted to kiss you.”

His words burn in my mind like he’s branded them there with a red-hot iron. What a thing to say.

What a thing to say to somebody whose friendship you threw away like a dirty towel, somebody you’ve treated like absolutely human garbage for several years. How can you be okay with treating someone like shit and then bold-facedly telling them you want to go on a date with them, or that you want to kiss them? Why torture me all these years if his plan was to get me drunk on his living room floor and make me come with his mouth? What exactly did he expect me to think and feel?

I don’t even know what I think or how I feel. I told him I liked somebody else because it was the quickest way out I could think of and because it sort of felt like the truth at the time.

It still does. It’s not a lie that I like Freddy. I do like Freddy. He’s the opposite of everything I hate about Spearcrest kids—about Evan. And he’s smart and kind.

He makes me feel safe.

Evan doesn’t make me feel safe, at all. The opposite. He makes me feel like I’m seconds away from entering into combat to the death. Around him, I’m so on edge my heart beats faster, my breath comes quicker, my skin becomes alive with pinpricks of awareness. Evan definitely didn’t feel safe when he pulled me against him like he was afraid he would die if he let go.

Safe was the last thing I felt when he kissed my neck and licked my nipples and sucked on my thighs. The sudden memory of my brutal orgasm at the tip of his tongue flares in my mind like a war flashback.

I groan and slam the clipboard down over my face. So much for staying under the radar and getting through this year with as few complications as possible. So much for careful planning and stringently faultless behaviour.

Voices reach me and I peer around the archway. My heart drops like a sack of rocks through me, an almost sickening sensation.

Strolling down the path under the anaemic snowfall, the Young Kings are approaching. Some girls accompany them—girls who have relentlessly mocked me throughout my time at Spearcrest: Giselle, Seraphina Rosenthal and her roommate, Camille Ferrera. They all chat and laugh, projecting good cheer and arrogant amusement.

My eyes find Evan like there’s a spotlight shining right on him. He’s the only one not wearing a coat (of course) and he’s walking with his arm slung over Zachary Blackwood’s shoulders. Easy laughter flows from him, and whatever he’s saying seems to amuse Blackwood too, because the granite of his austere face is cracked by a rare smile.

I retreat behind the archway. My heart is slamming against my rib cage, probably desperate to escape and start a new life somewhere far away. I know what I should do to deal with this situation. What I should do is stand there with my clipboard and my down-turned eyes, let whatever unkind comments the Young Kings and their companions want to level my way slip right off me like water off a duck’s back, avoid all eye contact and let the moment become just another tragic memory.

This is what I should do. This is what I would do if I hadn’t made out with one of those stupid so-called Young Kings.

But what I do instead is dive through the nearest doorway and skitter like a startled mouse down the corridor leading to the backstage cupboard where spare tables and podiums and music stands are stored.

I crouch in a darkened corner, hugging my clipboard to my chest. There’s only one thing left for me to do now: wallow in the murky swamp of shame and humiliation my life has become.

How have I ended up like this?

Because I’m a fucking idiot who obviously doesn’t learn from her mistakes. Because—

“Sutton.” I freeze at the sound of his voice, clutching my clipboard so tight the edges dig painfully into my fingers. “I fucking know you’re in here.”

The door opens and I jump to my feet, refusing to be caught crouching in the dark like some cowering animal. I back away quietly, praying the shadows and towers of chairs and furniture will offer me asylum and conceal me from the predator slowly prowling through the door.

I hear his slow footsteps, then the door closing with a dry click.

“Don’t make me look for you, Sutton. It won’t end well.”

This isn’t going to end well regardless of what I do—but I may as well get it over with. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and emerge from my hiding place.

So much for avoiding Evan and leaving Spearcrest without ever seeing him again.

He stands in the dim square of light cast by the small dusty window high in the wall. Gone is the easy laughter, the careless grin. His blue eyes look sharp, not summery, almost cutting in the grey light. His face is pale, the muscles of his jaw twitch, betraying the tension within.

In the space between us stretches everything binding us—everything keeping us apart: our old friendship, so quickly destroyed, every cruel word he’s ever spoken, years of mockery and insults and pain, resentment, humiliation, hatred.

But now we’re facing each other in the darkness, there’s something else between us—something new. Something wild and smouldering, something volatile and terrifying.

Something that makes my breath catch and heat trickle through my body like liquid fire.

“What do you want, Evan?” I ask finally.

I don’t want him to realise how nervous I am, but my voice comes out pathetically low. He steps forward, narrowing the distance between us.

“I want to talk.”

My heart is beating fast and loud, drowning out my own thoughts. Panic sets in, making my breath come out in halting puffs. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He lets out a cold, hollow laugh. My neck prickles at the sound. This isn’t the Evan I’m used to, carefree and cruel. This is something different. I’ve hated Evan before, but I’ve never been afraid of him. Now, I have the sudden, electrifying sense of being in danger. I need to leave, and fast.

“I need to go now,” I say stiffly, brandishing my clipboard like a weapon. “I have to take the reg—”

He yanks the clipboard out of my hand and tosses it aside. In that split moment of distraction, I take my chances. I dash past him in a desperate bid for the door. His arm flashes out, catching me by my waist and spinning me around. He slams my back to the door and pins me to it with his arms framing my head.

His body isn’t close enough to touch, but it’s close enough for the heat of him to radiate against me. I look up at him breathlessly, wishing we were still the same height, wishing he weren’t this strong.

“You fucking coward,” he says, low and husky and hateful.

“I’m not the fucking coward—you are.” I look at him defiantly, so he knows I’m not afraid of him. “We both know you didn’t come here to talk, Evan.”

His jaw twitches as he pierces me with his eyes. “You think you know everything, don’t you, Sutton?”

I might not know everything—but I know more than he guesses. I know what’s thickening the air between us, and I know the warmth currently trickling between my legs. And most importantly, I do know exactly what Evan wants.

He wants what he’s always wanted: what he can never have.

He’s spent so long alienating me and making me the most undesirable girl in Spearcrest that he’s somehow tricked his own stupid brain into wanting me. But he only wants me because I feel unattainable.

If I become attainable in his eyes—if this no longer feels like a game to him because he’s already won—he’ll move on before the sun sets tonight. I’m certain of this.

And if fucking Evan is the only way of getting rid of him, then that’s a bullet I’m ready to take.

So I peel my back away from the door, standing closer to him. With slow, deliberate movements, I loosen my tie and begin to unbutton my school shirt. His gaze follows the movement, his eyes narrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t this what you want, Evan?” He steps sharply away at my words, staring at me with mingled disbelief and anger. But I grab him by the lapel of his blazer, pulling him back to me. I tilt my face to smirk at him. “Who’s the fucking coward now?”

My words work like magic. In the next moment, he’s lifted me up by my hips and is hurtling through the dim room. He pushes me roughly back against an old oak table, and pulls away only long enough to unbuckle his belt. I knew he would be hard, but I wasn’t quite prepared to see how hard he would be.

I’m definitely not prepared for the dark arousal slithering through me at the sight of his hard cock—surprisingly large for someone with such a fragile ego. I suppress a shiver, but when Evan lowers his face to mine, I block it with my hand.

“I don’t want to look at your face.”

For a moment, he does nothing but stare at me, his expression unreadable.

I push him away and turn around, facing the table, my back to him. The muscles in my stomach twitch. Somehow, this feels ten times more depraved. But I’d rather completely surrender my modesty doing it this way than look Evan in the face while he fucks me.

When it comes to him, I’ll take depravity over intimacy. Anytime.

Reaching under my skirt, I pull down my tights and underwear. The hissing sound of his breath hitching in his throat rushes through the air.

Before I can brace myself, his hand lands on my back and he pushes me roughly down, flattening my chest against the table. The weight of his body leans against my back, and his voice is low and rough in my ear.

“Is this how you fucking want it, Sutton?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything better from you.”

He laughs, low and dark. “Don’t lie to yourself. You’ve been a good girl so long all you want now is to be treated like a dirty little slut.”

Then his weight leaves my body. He yanks my skirt roughly up. He palms my arse, gripping the soft flesh. His fingertips brush the over sensitive skin at top of my thighs and my hips buck uncontrollably. I bite down on a moan—I’d rather die than give him any indication of pleasure. I’d rather die than allow him to think I want this as much as he does.

But then he slides two fingers between my legs. I’m embarrassed at how easily his fingers slip between the sensitive folds. I’m so wet I feel warmth trickling down my thighs.

A dark laugh rumbles from Evan.

“Oh, you want this as much as I do,” he sneers.

“I do,” I say, just because I want to hurt him, “but not from you.”

My blow lands. With a growl of anger, he captures my hair, wrapping it around his fist. He pulls hard, forcing me to arch up from the table. There’s no tenderness, this time. No warm, velvety pleasure.

There’s only anger and resentment and hot, wet lust.

The blunt tip of his cock slides between my legs. It rubs against my pussy, smearing wetness. Then it pushes against my entrance, sending a shudder of mingled dread and desire through me. Dread because it’s Evan doing this to me. Desire because it’s Evan doing this to me.

“You dirty fucking liar,” Evan hisses against my ear. “Look at how fucking wet you are—for me. It was my tongue you came on last time, and it’s my cock you’ll come on this time, Sutton.”

My insides clench at the thought—my own body betraying the truth in his words.

“Stop talking,” I gasp.

He pushes against me and I tense, suddenly nervous.

But he pauses. The flame of his mouth presses against my cheek. He speaks right against my ear.

“Oh, don’t worry, Sutton, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to make you feel good—so fucking good you’ll never get the thought of me out of your head ever again.”

And then he pushes himself slowly inside me. I bite down hard on my lip, forcing myself to remain silent. I’m nervous. This is my first time in a while—my first time with someone as big as him, but I’d rather die than tell Evan this.

Except that Evan, for someone so stupid and so cruel, is surprisingly gentle. He pushes in slowly, giving me time to adjust, until his hips meet the curve of my arse. Then he pauses, buried deep inside me while I relax around him, adjusting to the size of him, to this new sensation. Being impossibly full, being connected to him this intimately, is both terrifying and electrifying. I tremble underneath him, fingers gripping the table, throat tight. He’s still holding my hair in his fist and he pulls lightly, pulling my head back to his.

“All right, Sutton?” His voice is a low shudder in my ear—too soft, too full of emotion.

I force my voice through the thorny tunnel of my throat. “I barely feel a thing.”

It’s a lie, of course, but I don’t want Evan to forget what this is. If he does, I might forget too. I won’t be another one of Evan’s conquests, another one of his string of jilted girlfriends and hapless admirers.

He can fuck me and forget me—I’ll forget him faster.

“Fucking liar.” His voice is angry, but his cock stiffens inside me.

He pins my hips to the table with both hands, and moves, thrusting in and out. His movements grow more desperate, more angry. But each brutal thrust comes with an explosion of sensations, the pain trailing behind shimmering pleasure, until I’m forced to bite down on my own cries, until my nails are digging into the polished wood of the table.

“Feel that, Sutton? My hard cock inside you? How good it feels in your wet pussy?”

He buries inside me with a hard, punishing thrust and a pathetic sound of pleasure slips past my lips. This isn’t the wet, soft pleasure of Evan’s mouth on me, his tongue lapping luxuriously at my clit. This is something altogether different: like being invaded and made hollow, like being hurt and satisfied all at once. I squirm my hips to escape his harsh thrusts, and yet arch my back every time he slows down, craving more.

“Ah, fuck Sutton.” Evan’s voice is so hoarse it’s almost a snarl. “You fucking want this—you want me, I know you do.”

He suddenly pulls me up against him, one arm wrapped around my waist, one hand around my neck. There’s no pressure in his fingers; he’s simply holding me against him, my head falling back against his shoulders. He thrusts inside me with a low groan. His mouth moves against my temple, my hair. He bites my earlobe and pulls, then kisses my neck, sucking on the skin there, sending hot, sharp pleasure spearing through me.

Like water through a dam, a moan finally breaks through my barrier of silence.

I stifle it, but not in time. Evan hears it—I know because he suddenly pulls out of me, startling a gasp from me. He flips me around, propping me up on the edge of the table by my hips.

Our eyes meet.

His expression is wild with hunger—with something else. I turn away. I don’t want this—he pulls me to him, and thrusts into me, fucking me with fervour, with aggression—with insistence, as if daring me to ignore him.

He reaches for my face, grasping it in his hand, forcing me to face him.

“Look at me,” he commands. “Fuck, Sophie—”

He falls forward—his mouth almost catches mine but I turn at the last minute. He buries his face in the crook of my neck as his thrusts become frantic, desperate. I arch against him, bracing against each thrust. His mouth moves in hot, hungry kisses against my neck, making me tremble with pleasure. I reach up, grabbing a handful of his hair. I pull sharply, yanking his head away from me.

He looks down, our gazes meet.

His blue eyes widen. “Ah—God, Sophie, I—fuck!”

Even though I’m on the pill, the thought of Evan coming inside me is so shockingly intimate it sends a bolt of terror through me. I push his hips away in sudden panic, but he’s already pulling out. He takes his cock in his fist and pulls, and falls forward against me. Hot liquid spurts against my abdomen, but I’m too shocked to move, surprised by his orgasm, by my own pleasure, by the unexpected intimacy of watching Evan Knight come.

His face is a mask of pained pleasure, his eyes wide underneath the fallen golden curls and shiny, his mouth open in an expression akin to surprise.

Who would have thought he would look so pure and beautiful while he came?

I should push him away from me, but I wait for a moment. His forehead rests against my shoulder. His face is hidden from view but I can hear the chaos of his pants. Finally, he pulls himself up; I don’t dare look him in the face.

I slide off the table and turn, facing away from him, pulling a tissue from my blazer pocket. I clean myself up as best as I can, even though I’m painfully aware of what I smell like right now: like Evan’s sweat, cologne and come.

Like I’m his.

Once I’m as clean as I’m going to be, I button up my school shirt and straighten my uniform. My hands shake as I do, and my thighs are still trembling uncontrollably. I’m sore and hot between my legs—still, somehow, agonisingly turned on.

I ignore the sensation, reminding myself of what this is. Just sex—nothing more.

Sex with someone I don’t even really like, someone I never want to see again.

By the time I’ve turned around, Evan’s already fixed his trousers and is standing staring at me, his hand pushing his hair from his face in a nervous gesture. He hesitates, the ghost of words moving on his lips, but I’m the first to speak.

“We’re done, okay?” I meet his gaze directly, firmly. “You got what you wanted—you win. You get to tell all your cool friends you fucked the stuck-up prefect, tick another name off for your stupid bet. You can tell them all how desperate I was, that you only did this out of pity, you can use every insult in your repertory—I don’t care. Just stay away from me.”

And with that, I walk away, pausing only to pick up my clipboard, and leave without looking back.