43. One Word
43
One Word
Sophie
“He’s gone,” I snap, glaring at Evan.
He grins, self-satisfied and shameless, and shrugs one shoulder.
“Good.”
I try to hit him but he catches my wrist mid-air.
“A lot of effort to go to,” I sneer at him, “just to avoid admitting you’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” Evan yanks me to him by my wrist, voice dropping.
“Of course I’m jealous, Sutton. You think I like seeing some random nobody put his hands on my girl? I can’t even stand seeing another man get so much as a second of your attention.” There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes even though his expression is still calm.
“You have no idea how hard I’m trying to be good for you. To let you have your space, to let you make your own choices, to let you pretend we’re not what we are. But this? Watching some guy drag you off into a dark corner when it should be me fucking all that frustration out of you?”
He shakes his head, a rough laugh leaving his throat.
“No. I’m not good enough to pretend I don’t care about that.”
His other hand comes up, fingertips grazing the line of my jaw, his touch feather-light, sending ripples of sensation throughout my body.
“You can fight it as long as you want, love, but we both know the truth.”
His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, barely there, sending heat curling low in my stomach.
“You always end up right back where you started.” A slow grin.
A whisper against my skin.
“Glaring up at me while making up some excuse or other to forbid yourself from loving me.”
Heat curls low in my stomach; I roll my eyes at him.
“You seem pretty capable of finding other women to glare up at you, Knight.”
Even I know I’m being petty.
Evan’s eyes widen in an expression of mock surprise before dropping half-lidded.
His lips curve, languid and carnal all at once.
“Sophie Sutton…”
His voice is thick, teasing, despicably pleased .
He lifts my hand to his mouth, thumb pressing into my palm as he brushes his lips over my wrist, a whisper of warmth against my pulse.
My lips part on a sharp breath.
His smirk deepens. He looks satisfied, aroused, like this is the most addictively erotic thing he could possibly witness.
“Are you jealous?”
The air is too thick, too heavy, too stifling.
I rip my hand from his grip so fast I almost feel the snap of tension between us.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I tell him, stepping back.
He follows. “Ah, so you are .”
“Not in a thousand years.”
“You’re so jealous you could choke.”
I hate him.
I want him dead. I want him.
I want him dead .
“What’s there to be jealous of?” I snap.
“We’re not together, are we?”
He has the audacity to laugh in my face.
“You’re already acting the lawyer, playing with the truth like it’s a game.”
“Do I look like I’m playing?”
“You look like you just got caught alone with a man you don’t want to make the man you do want jealous.” He steps closer, not touching me but standing close enough that I can feel his body heat, smell his cologne.
I step back. “You look like you’re angry, and restless, and so goddamn pent-up one touch would make you explode like dynamite. You look like you know exactly what you want and how to take it, but you’re still fighting some stupid battle only you care about.”
“Oh!” I laugh too, my laughter a twisted echo of his, heavy where his was light, grating where his was airy.
“Working in publishing’s made you so creative .”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
He steps forward; I step back.
Fuck . My back hits the door.
Evan braces an arm next to my head, looking down at me.
“Or better yet,” he murmurs, “tell me to leave.”
I glare at him, but he remains gentle, self-assured.
“Say it,” he coaxes.
“Refuse my terms. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll walk away. I’ll respect your decision, even if I know it’s the wrong one. I’ll leave knowing exactly what’s in your heart. I’ll give you whatever you ask for, Sophie, even if I know it’s not what you actually want.”
And I realise that I’m not just backed up against a wall.
I’m backed up against the edge of some vertiginous cliff, a black, stormy void gaping at my feet.
Any control I ever had, I’ve lost.
There’s no more running I can do, nowhere left to hide .
No more holding back; any power I ever had frittered away, burnt to ashes.
If I want him, I’m going to have to let myself fall back over that cliff’s edge.
I’ll have to choose the unknown over the certainty of my own painful loneliness, choose risk over control, and it’s so terrifying I can hardly bear it: the awful, heart-bursting exhilaration of letting go, of giving in.
“Don’t over-complicate things,” I say haltingly.
My heartbeat is so loud in my ears that I wonder if Evan can hear it, can feel the mad panicked pulse in my neck, in my body.
“I’m not.” His fingers brush my jaw.
“The opposite. All you have to do is say a single word. Yes, or no. That’s all. That’s it.”
He cups my face like a precious ornament, like a rare artefact, brushing a thumb along my jaw, fire catching wherever he touches, the coatroom too small, too hot, as red and pulsing as a locked heart.
My knees buckle beneath me and I reach up to settle myself, gripping Evan’s collar in my hands, knuckles turning white.
“You know what you want,” Evan says, or maybe he doesn’t say it, maybe it’s just my feverish mind, which is also screaming yes .
Yes. Why shouldn’t I?
I want him. I want him so badly I could starve, I want him like air, like sunlight and water.
And he’s mine. He’s always been mine, hasn’t he?
So why shouldn’t I have him?
Who am I punishing? I already punished everybody that needed punishing.
Everything that I wanted, I’ve worked for and taken.
Everything except for him?
So why shouldn’t I?
“I love you,” I bite out angrily.
He pulls back, eyes widening, and there’s a victory there, despite my confession—the satisfaction of still being able to shock him .
He watches me for the moment it takes him to catch his breath.
And then he nods, murmuring softly.
“I know.”
That utter bastard.
I let out an angry scoff.
“If you hurt me,” I tell him, “I’m going to make you regret ever being born.”
He laughs softly, breath hot against my mouth, and he keeps stroking his thumb steadily along my jaw.
“ Sophie .”
I tighten my grip on his collar and glare at him.
“Don’t laugh. I mean it, Knight. I would destroy you.”
He lifts a hand, cups my jaw, brushing his thumb along my cheek with unbearable tenderness.
“I know you would,” he murmurs.
“And I need you to listen to me, so hear me when I say this—” He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“I will never hurt you. No matter what. You could tear me apart piece by piece, you could cut me down to nothing, and I’d still protect you. I’d still make sure no one ever laid so much as a fucking finger on you.”
His forehead presses to mine, his breath warm, steady.
“You’re mine, don’t you get it? That doesn’t mean I can hurt you if I want. It means that no one gets to hurt you ever again.”
I swallow hard.
Despite the mad flutter of emotions in my chest, I still glare at him to the last.
“You’re confident about that?” I ask him severely.
His lips curve slowly.
“Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
I catch my breath.
My cheeks are burning, my throat is tight.
Evan’s body is so close, his mouth inches from mine.
My throat tightens. Is it really that easy?
Letting go, jumping off the cliff—trusting that he’ll be there to catch me?
Is it as easy as just saying one word?
“Do we have to do this?” I whisper.
“I hate it.”
“I know you do,” he whispers back.
“But once it’s done, you’re going to feel so fucking good, Sophie. You’ll see.” He catches his breath, tugs at my bottom lip with his thumb.
“C’mon. It’s just one word. Nothing could be easier.” A whisper—a dare : “Say it.”
The moment is balanced in time.
I’m a raindrop dangling off the tip of a leaf; the trembling of a gentle breeze shakes me loose.
It comes out in a fragile breath, a tiny declaration.
“ Yes .”
His mouth curls into a grin.
“You’re sure?”
“Fuck you,” I tell him, and a tear falls down my cheek, surprising me.
“Yes.”
I pull on his collar, crush his mouth to mine.
He kisses me in a giddy, hungry rush, like he’s just as desperate, just as undone, just as completely and utterly mine, his mouth hot enough to melt my bones, hot enough to dissipate my fears like blown ashes.
I laugh into his mouth, breathless, reckless, because it feels so fucking good to give in, to have him and to be his, to stop fighting—finally.
“Yes,” I say again, gasping between kisses.
“Evan. Yes .”
“Yes.” He sighs.
“And?”
I pull away, our lips parting wetly.
His eyes rest on mine, searching, waiting.
The words are stuck at first, tangled up in years of pride, of hurt, of self-preservation.
But Evan waits, patiently, serenely, terrifyingly certain .
The words tumble out from my lips like the magic of a breaking curse.
“And I missed you.”
His pupils dilate, his chest rises on a caught breath.
But now that I’ve said it, now that the curse is broken, it feels like I couldn’t possibly stop.
“I missed you every day. I missed you when I woke up and when I went to bed. I missed you every evening I spent alone in the library and every time I was surrounded by people that weren’t you . And I missed you every time I won something I wanted because you weren’t even there to celebrate with me. I… I destroyed those three at Harvard, for what they did, I ate them up and spat them out, but I was still hungry; I’ve been so hungry without you, like it didn’t matter how much I ate because I was still starving .”
Evan’s fingers tighten around my waist, a silent acknowledgement.
But I can’t stop, I can’t believe how good it feels to tell him the truth, to spill my feelings into his cupped hands, to let him hold my very heart in his fingers.
“And I can’t do it anymore. I want you. I love you. I fucking love you so much I couldn’t stop if I tried—and I tried, I did, but—”
My voice breaks, catches.
I force the words out in a ragged rasp.
“You’re mine.” His eyes darken at my words.
I tighten my fists around his collar, clenching my jaw, eyes boring into his.
“You’re mine. I love you, I don’t want to live without you, I don’t think I can . I fucking love you, and you belong to me, you belong to me. ”
He shudders against me, his fingers pressing hard into my hips, his breath coming out in a hectic rush, his eyes drowning with love and want and relief , like he’s needed to hear those words for as long as I’ve needed to say them.
And then, softly, like he’s taken my heart and is now giving me his in a single syllable, he sighs.
“ Yes .”
In a rush of elation and desire, Evan pins me up against the furs, my fingers tangled into golden curls, his mouth hot and starving against mine.
My thighs are locked around his hips, my entire existence reduced to a wet, feverish mess of deep kisses and stifled moans.
Somewhere in the simmering haze, a memory flutters to life: the first time Evan ever touched me like this.
Spearcrest’s gym pool, the night sky above, blue dapples and cold water.
His arm tight around my waist, pinning me to him protectively, possessively, like he never wanted to let me go.
Did I love him even then?
Maybe I’ve always loved him.
How could I not? He kisses me with a dizzying mixture of hunger and reverence and fear, like he’s drowning, like he might die without this, like he’d rip the entire world apart if I pulled away.
I moan into his mouth, pressing harder against him, craving more of him, his body, his heat, the comforting, inescapable weight of him, but it’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, and I’m starting to realise there may never be a time in my life where I don’t crave him, need him with every fibre of my being.
Everywhere he kisses me feels like it could burst into gold, and he kisses me everywhere.
He groans when I arch into him, his hands dragging up my thighs, over my hips, memorising me, claiming me.
His fingers slide between my legs; he finds me hot and molten wet, and he lets out a low, broken sound.
“Fuck, Sophie. ”
His forehead falls against mine as he drags in a ragged breath.
“Now,” I whisper into his ear, digging my nails into his neck.
“Now, Evan. Please. Please .”
He obeys with a thrust, burying himself to the hilt, hips slamming into mine.
My eyes roll into the back of my head from the sensation of it—of him, the thickness and solidity of him, stretching me open, finding the dark, empty place inside me that only he can reach, only he can fill.
His jaw tightens, hands wrapping around my waist. He doesn’t move at first, just stays buried inside me, trembling, panting in sharp, shallow breaths.
Then he lets out a broken sigh.
“God, I want you,” he says as he thrusts into me.
And I nod, whimpering with each powerful thrust. “I want all of you.”
And because he’s still got me pinned between the wall and his body, my thighs around his hips, there’s nowhere for me to go, nowhere to escape, each thrust slamming home with such force it crushes the breath out of my lungs, and my eyes are squeezed shut as I hold on to him will all my strength, pleasure building in a maddening pulse, Evan’s words a mad out spill.
“I want to date you, Sutton,” he says.
“I want to take you out.”
“Evan—”
“I want to fuck you when you’re happy”—he punctuates this with a punishing thrust—“and hold you when you’re sad.” He kisses me with desperate tenderness.
“I want to celebrate your wins, I want to drive you home from parties, I want to wipe off your make-up when you’re drunk and take you to bed—my bed— our bed.” He buries his face into my neck, sucks on the delicate skin right over my pulse, and against the bruised, sensitive flesh, he pants words out like a confession, and my body tenses as his words, my pleasure a wave now, curling, rising—“Want to live with you, Sophie. Marry you.”
My entire body trembles, but Evan holds me firm and steady, pinning me in place, as if he’d die before letting me go.
And he says, voice deep and earnest:
“Want you to have my kids.”
A sob escapes my chest, a ragged, broken noise, stolen from deep inside my heart.
Evan swallows it, kissing me with such complete adoration and tenderness I could die from it.
“I want it all.” His voice is low, desperate, a prayer against my lips.
“A life with you. All of life—all of you.”
His thrusts accelerate desperately, each one slamming deeper, harder, until I can’t breathe, can’t think, my mind and body and heart full of nothing but Evan, the ecstasy of him.
I clutch him tighter, nails sinking into his skin, his muscles, pulling him as close as I possibly can as pleasure blooms, unbearable, curling, rising, tipping me over the edge.
“ Evan .”
My orgasm bursts through me like an unstoppable wave, stealing my breath, shattering me into a thousand incandescent fragments.
My body clenches around him, my spine arching violently, a cry ripped from my throat as Evan drives into me one last time, spilling himself deep inside, shuddering, his voice a broken rasp.
And I whisper into his skin, into his breath, into his hands gripping me so tightly, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
Yes, yes, yes, yes.
Yes to all of it, all of the time, for the rest of our lives.