too stunned, both by her beauty and by her reply, to process her words. I blink at her, my heartbeat pounding in my throat.
“I don’t have to win?” I repeat faintly. “What do you mean, I don’t have to win?”
She gives a low laugh with that rough, hoarse voice, sending shivers down my spine. She’s close enough that I can smell her, the sweet vanilla smell mingled with the fragrance of wine.
Her hand reaches for my chest, and I stay utterly still, half-afraid that if I move I’ll scare her off. Her fingers curl in a fist in my sweatshirt, and she slowly pulls me towards her like she did that night in the peace garden.
An embarrassing sound escapes my throat, a sort of low groan that I can’t quite help. My heartbeat is now deafening, the rest of my senses all focused on Sophie. Sophie’s dark eyes, fixing mine with a half-bold, half-amused look. Sophie’s flushed cheeks and pretty lips. Sophie’s smell, sweet as caramel.
And then she pulls me to her, closing the distance between us and pressing her lips against mine. They are warm and soft and slightly wet.
It’s different from the party kiss. This is a chaste kiss, just her lips against mine, almost innocent, but a shock of pleasure surges through my body like an electric current.
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 I crave.
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.
“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 for me.
“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. “You are wet, 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.”
A look of panic crosses her face. She bites her bottom lip nervously and shakes her head, slowly backing away from me.
“No, you don’t. You’re just bored and lonely because everyone’s away and I’m the only person here.”
“I didn’t kiss you just because you’re here,” I snap, sitting up sharply. “I didn’t make you come just because I was bored.”
“Look,” she says, raising both hands like she’s trying to calm me down. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I guess I also kissed you just because you’re here, and we were both, well… clearly, we both needed to relieve some tension and—”
“I kissed you because I fucking wanted to kiss you.” To my complete and utter mortification, my voice breaks as if I’m about to cry. But I’m not upset, I’m angry. “I made you come because I want to make you feel good. You can make whatever excuses you want for yourself, Sophie, but you can’t make excuses for me.”
“You wouldn’t be saying any of this if you weren’t drunk,” she says, shaking her head. “And you’re going to regret everything that’s happened tonight when you sober up tomorrow.”
“This isn’t fucking Literature class, Sophie! You can’t make up your interpretation of someone else’s actions and explain it into truth. I know exactly how I feel because I’m feeling it, so stop trying to explain my own feelings to me.”
“I’m not explaining anything,” she says, slowly inching away. “I’m, I’m—” she holds her face in her hands like she’s trying to work out what to say, and there’s definitely more than a little panic in her eyes. “I’ve made a fucking mistake, alright? I shouldn’t have let things get this far. I’m sorry I did.”
She could have smashed the empty bottle of wine into my face and hurt me less than her words do.
I watch her, speechless with shock, as she straightens herself, pulls down her sweater to cover herself and smoothes back her hair.
“I apologise for my actions tonight,” she says stiffly.
“Why are you apologising?” I say, scrambling up to my feet so I can face her. “You actually did something you wanted to do for once. I’m not fucking sorry, so you don’t have to be either.”
“I didn’t want this,” she says, blushing so intensely the red spreads from her cheeks to her forehead.
“Don’t lie to me,” I say, stepping towards her. “You wanted every second of this, my hands on your tits, my mouth on your pussy. You wanted to come on my tongue—you wanted it so much you fucking begged for it.”
She takes several hasty steps back, putting distance between us. Her face is so red I can almost feel the heat exuding from her cheeks.
“I didn’t want this,” she repeats. “I—I like somebody else, okay?”
Her words fall like a bomb down the well of my mind. The bomb falls and falls for ages, leaving me completely still and speechless. Then it drops and explodes, and my mind is obliterated by flames, and then it’s completely blank.
And then, like the fucking coward she is, Sophie runs out of the room like a murderer fleeing the scene of the crime.
