15. First Crush
15
First Crush
Sophie
Evan ends up staying the entire weekend.
We hide in my room and order food in, and go for a secret late-night wander when the whole building is dead asleep.
On Sunday, I have no choice but to catch myself up on homework and reading while Evan lies on his stomach on my bed, reading a book from my bedside table.
It’s well past nightfall by the time I finish, and afterwards, it’s my turn to lie on my stomach on my bed while Evan massages my sore back.
The sensation of his fingers digging into my muscles is close to divine, and Evan clearly feels the same way, because half an hour later I’m on my back with him kissing his way lazily down my body, smearing coconut body butter on my hips as he keeps me firmly pinned to the bed.
When he buries his face between my thighs, I have no choice but to grab a pillow and plaster it over my face, nervous that my neighbour will hear me through the walls.
I come with a long, stifled cry, my body a wet, shuddering mess.
After the waves of my orgasm recede, I peer over the pillow to find Evan looking up from between my thighs with a lazy grin and a satisfied spark in his eyes.
Something flutters in my chest and I have the sudden, inexplicable feeling that I might have a crush on him.
The thought is unsettling, and my heart beats ridiculously fast as I watch Evan pull himself to his feet, wiping his mouth with a thumb before sucking it clean, eyes on mine.
I blink, biting down into my lower lip, and a shiver skitters over me, puckering my nipples.
Evan lets out a husky laugh.
“Don’t look at me like that, Sutton.”
I squeeze my thighs together and prop myself up on my elbows, watching him as he grabs his sweatshirt off the back of my desk chair.
“Like what?”
He pulls on his sweatshirt and glances at me through the blond curls now drooping over his eyes.
“Like you want me to spread those gorgeous legs of yours and fuck you silly.”
He brushes his hair back with a hand.
Standing in my small room, he looks bigger in comparison, filling up the space, his shoulders ridiculously broad.
The air seems to smell like him, like his cologne and skin, like his body heat.
I have a sudden surge of hunger, like I want to sink my teeth into his skin and take out a bite.
“I go to Harvard,” I tell him.
“I’m too clever to be fucked silly.”
He grins, eyes lingering shamelessly over my body, which is dressed in a cropped black jumper and thigh-high socks, my skirt still bunched around my waist.
“Yeah,” he says, “it’d sure as hell be worth a try, though.”
I spread my legs, just a little, just enough for him to see the glimpse of wetness he left smeared between my thighs.
“So why don’t you? ”
“Because, you greedy little witch,” he says, shoving his hood over his hair, “I have to go.”
He leans down to give me a kiss, but I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him back to the bed, where he braces himself with his arms framing my body.
“You’re leaving already?” I murmur.
“I have to.” His jaw clenches.
“It’s three hours back to the city and I have work in the morning.”
“Boo,” I say without real feeling, because I can tell he definitely wishes he didn’t have to leave.
“Who’s going to fuck me silly now?”
He gives a sharp smirk.
“Anyone with a death wish.”
“Guess I’ll have to take matters into my own hands, then.”
He wraps one big hand around my neck, digging his fingers in ever so slightly.
“This weekend wasn’t enough for you?”
“It just made me want more.”
He lets out a raspy laugh.
I don’t even need to touch him to know he’s hard: his desire is clear on his face, in the dull spark of his eyes, in his flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids.
“You know what you have to do then, don’t you?” he says thickly.
I swallow, squeezing my legs in anticipation.
“Enlighten me, Knight.”
He lets out a halting, raspy laugh.
He releases my neck and stands suddenly.
“You’re just going to have to come up with another flimsy excuse to get me to come see you.”
“Flimsy excuse?” I sit up, glaring at him as he makes his way to my window.
“Well, you could just tell me you’re in the mood for a good hard fuck.” He pulls the window open with one hand and turns back to me.
“But your pride would never allow you. ”
“My pride ?” I stand up, tugging my skirt down, outraged.
“Really? That’s the note you’re leaving on?”
He turns back.
Behind him, the sky is dark, and snowflakes are whirling in through the window already, melting as they meet the warm air.
The room already feels colder, emptier, losing the warmth and comfort Evan brought with him.
He has the audacity to grin at me.
“Why not?” he says. “You like me best when you hate me.”
I shake my head and open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong, but he turns suddenly, grabbing my Harvard jumper off my wardrobe door.
“Here.” He yanks his black sweatshirt up over his head, revealing a glimpse of smooth muscles and a dusting of golden hair as he does.
Then he tosses me his sweatshirt and puts mine on instead.
I frown at him. “What’s that for?”
“Something to remember me by whenever you feel like touching yourself.” He grins winningly, like there’s no doubt in his mind I’ll be doing so.
“It’ll keep you warm while you try not to say my name when you come.”
“Your arrogance will be your downfall,” I mutter, but I hug the sweatshirt to my chest. It smells like cedarwood and his warm skin and fresh snow, and the butterfly wings are back in my chest, more fluttery than ever.
“Fine by me,” Evan says, glancing down out the window.
“So long as I don’t actually fall.”
“Don’t be stupid. Close the window. I’ll sneak you out through the front.”
We tiptoe through Huntington Hall, holding hands and giggling like two complete idiots, and I end up walking him all the way to his car, reluctant to part ways.
Once we reach it, Evan turns suddenly towards me, breath misting in the icy air.
“If you can’t spend Christmas at mine,” he says, “how about the summer?”
“I would love to.” I sigh.
“But I’ll be applying for internships.”
“Then why don’t you apply to KMG?” He licks snowflakes off his lips.
“Mom and Dad would love to have you. You could stay with me, save rent.” He gives me another crooked grin.
“I’d make it worth your time, trust me.”
I flush despite the cold, despite my exposed thighs.
“I don’t know. It wouldn’t feel right to get the internship just because I know your parents. I don’t want people to think I only got in because of my connections?”
“Once you start, it won’t matter how you got in: the only thing that’ll matter is how hard you work. Besides, you might as well use your connections: that’s what every single person in your class is going to be doing.”
He’s right, of course.
It’s not like I have an abundance of advantages at my disposal—and not having to worry about securing an internship, or about rent, would make a world of difference to me.
“I’ll think about it.”
He nods, and then he takes my chin very gently into his upturned palm, and he kisses my lips as lightly as the falling snow.
My heart drops, and I have the sudden, dizzying sensation of leaning too far over a great ledge, the terror and elation of an imminent fall.
“Think about me, as well,” he tells me.
The flutter in my chest melts into a shower of golden sparks.
Oh god. What on earth is wrong with me?
Why does it feel like I have a crush on Evan Knight?
I’ve loved him, and I’ve loathed him, and I’ve wanted him, and I’ve wanted him dead, but I’ve never had a crush on him before.
I’ve never had a crush on anyone—ever.
It feels exhilarating and terrifying and totally, utterly magical.
Fuck. I’m in trouble.
I swallow thickly. “I will.”
“Good,” he murmurs.
He pulls away and opens his car door.
“Hurry back inside, it’s cold.”
I obey him, rushing away through the lawn, boots crunching the snowy grass beneath.
“Sophie?”
I turn, hair flying in the wind, to glance back at Evan.
He grins.
“I’ll be thinking about you too, love.”