Spearcrest Knight: A Dark Academia Bully Romance (Spearcrest Kings)
Spearcrest Knight: Part 1 – Chapter 5

Evan

WHEN MY PARENTS TOLD me I would be getting tutoring and had no choice in the matter, I was more than a little pissed off. But as soon as I found out I was allowed off campus to receive the lessons, I felt a whole lot better.

Two afternoons a week, I could leave school and chill in our big, empty house. My parents spend their time divided between the US and their international offices. They only ever really stay in this house when they want to get the whole family together.

The rest of the time, it’s gloriously empty. The cleaners and gardeners only visit once a week to maintain the property. It would be ideal if I wasn’t stuck at Spearcrest. Now though, all I have to do is placate whichever sucker signed up to be my mentor and I have two afternoons a week just for myself.

I’m in the middle of checking out the wine cellar for stuff I think my dad’s not going to notice has gone missing when I hear the intercom. Frowning, I check my watch.

Six o’clock exactly. Almost rudely punctual.

I tuck a bottle under my arm and make my way back upstairs to open the door. I know everyone in the year group, and I’m not about to ruin my reputation as a loveable party boy.

When I open the front door, I freeze for a second.

Spikes of adrenaline stab through my skin.

Saying I haven’t fantasised about having Sophie Sutton to myself in the comfort and privacy of my own home would be a complete lie. Still, I never imagined she would come of her own volition, a lamb leading itself to the slaughter.

I stand in the doorway and take in the sight of her from head to toe.

I don’t even care that I’m being shamelessly obvious.

She’s still wearing her uniform, of course. So am I, except I’ve loosened my tie, untucked my shirt and thrown my blazer over the back of an easy chair in the lounge. But Sophie wouldn’t be caught dead with her uniform looking anything less than impeccable.

So she’s wearing her tie straight, tucked into her sweater vest, and her skirt is the appropriate mid-thigh length over her black tights. Her blazer is spotless, those pretentious pins shining over one lapel. Her hair is tied back in a low ponytail and her face is free of makeup. The picture-perfect image of the Spearcrest student.

It’s immediately clear that she doesn’t want to be here. She can’t even bring herself to glare at me. Her shoulders slump in downward slopes, her cheeks and lips are pale.

She looks fucking miserable.

And yet I can’t stop the pure elation surging through me. I greet her with a shit-eating grin plastered across my face.

“Well hi, Sutton. What brings you here today?”

A flash of anger crosses her face and is quickly stifled. She answers tightly, “You failing English Lit.”

“And you’re the best Spearcrest could come up with?”

It’s a harmless jab, but it doesn’t have the intended effect. A new expression passes over Sophie’s face. Not hurt or anger, something else. Something like hope.

“Then complain,” she says. “Or better yet, get your parents to complain.”

I stare at her with some surprise. “What, get you fired as my mentor?”

“Exactly.” She points her chin over her shoulder. “I can turn and leave right now and you could have a new mentor in no time if your parents throw a fit.”

I shake my head. Obviously, she doesn’t want to be here. I guess I just didn’t realise quite how much she wants to be rid of me. Getting rid of my mentor was exactly my intention, so why do I feel an itch of irritation deep under my skin?

Sophie doesn’t get rid of me. I get rid of Sophie.

“Well, you’ve come all the way here,” I say, standing aside to free the doorway. “It’d be rude of me not to invite you in for a drink.”

She hesitates and looks over her shoulder at the big open courtyard where the taxi must have dropped her off. Her reluctance is palpable. I roll my eyes. “Come in already. I’m not going to bite you.” I hold up the bottle of wine in my fist and shake it. “Let’s negotiate over a drink.”

That gets her attention, and she finally follows me inside. I swing the door shut after her and lead her into the big open-plan kitchen. She stands stiffly by the marble-top kitchen island and watches me as I grab two wine glasses from a cupboard and pour us drinks.

I’ve never particularly liked wine, but I’m more nervous than I want to be, and I could do it with some liquid courage.

I gesture at a stool. “Don’t be so fucking awkward. Sit. Drink.”

I slide one of the glasses across the kitchen island

“I’m not going to drink,” she snaps, throwing a scornful look at the glass.

Sophie might look down on all the posh rich kids at our school, but the truth is that she’s the most stuck-up person I know in Spearcrest.

“I should have known you don’t drink,” I say with a sneer. “Perfect prefect Sutton. Too scared of losing control to ever let loose.”

She perches on a stool, her back straight, her chin stuck out. “I don’t drink around people I don’t trust.”

I can’t tell whether she’s implying that she doesn’t trust me, or that she doesn’t trust anyone. The only thing I can tell is that I suddenly replace the prospect of getting Sophie tipsy has become my most urgent goal in life. She’s so tightly wound, so rigidly in control of herself.

The thought of pulling on a loose string and unravelling her sounds delicious.

But she sticks to her guns and never even glances at the wine. I don’t let her judgemental expression bother me. I hop onto the counter, sitting cross-legged in front of her, letting her crane her head back to look up at me.

She leans back, putting distance between us, and frowns imperiously. “I thought I was here to negotiate?”

“Let’s.”

“Then I’m going to just go ahead and be honest,” she says, crossing her arms. “I don’t think you care at all whether or not you pass English Literature, and I don’t want to be tutoring you. So you should tell your parents I’m a bad tutor, or that you don’t like me, or literally whatever you want to tell them, I don’t care. Then I don’t have to come here anymore, and you can do whatever you want.”

I stare at her as she speaks. In Year 9 she used to be so animated, with a big goofy grin and chaotic hand gestures. But now, she is poised and still and almost expressionless. Robotic.

I watched this change happen over the years, and I always expected her to change so much she would be a completely different person. Maybe then I could be indifferent towards her.

But if anything, this change is having the reverse effect. The more she retreats inwards, the more I want to chase her down. The more walls she builds between herself and everyone else, the more I want to tear them apart.

I covet every emotion she swallows back, every truth she hides deep within herself.

Everything she covers up, I want to strip bare.

“Well? What do you think?” she asks, voice pinched with impatience.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I finally answer, taking a sip of wine. “If I complain about you and they send me someone else, then I’ll still be in the same situation. As things stand, we both have a common goal: to get away from these stupid tutoring sessions. So let’s work together and both get what we want.”

“What is it you want?” she asks warily.

Her distrust is tangible but unsurprising.

“You’re right, Sutton: I don’t give a shit about passing Lit or getting tutored, but I do want to get away from the school. You could come over, pretend to tutor me, but we just don’t do the work.”

“That sounds like a good bargain for you,” she says. “What do I get out of it?”

“Well,” I lean down, closing some of the space between us, “what is it you want, Sutton? A wire transfer? Money in a suitcase?”

She throws me a look of pure disdain. Then she looks away, thinking in silence. Her fingers tap her arm, her teeth tug at her bottom lip. I watch her, alcohol and excitement burning in the pit of my stomach.

It’s so easy to dislike her when she’s so fucking stuck-up, so fucking serious. A total buzzkill. It’s so easy to fantasise about bringing her low, making a mess out of her.

She speaks up finally, interrupting my thoughts.

“Alright, I think we could do something like that. The taxi drops me off at yours so the school thinks I’m here, but I’m going to leave. Then you get your time to yourself, and we both win, just like you said.”

I frown. “Where are you going to go?”

“Town.”

“Why? Where?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “It’s none of your business.”

“Won’t it be weird if we go back to the school separately?”

She shrugs. “I doubt anybody will notice.”

“The taxi is going to come here, so what if I come to pick you up on the way back?”

She hesitates. “I might stay longer in town.”

“How long?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

I hop off the kitchen island, standing right in front of her to peer into her face. “Such secrecy, Sutton. What are you up to?”

Colour rises in her cheeks but she holds my gaze. “It’s none. Of your. Business.”

“You’re not scared I’m going to rat you out?”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you going to rat me out?”

“What’s my incentive not to?” I say lightly, more to wind her up than anything else.

“Are you really trying to blackmail me?” she asks witheringly. “What are you going to do, shake me down for my lunch money? Force me to carry your school books? Make me lick your boots?”

She looks pretty confident given I’m standing so close to her. None of the cowering I’m so used to, the darting escapes away from me. It makes the heat in my stomach flare, flames rising in my chest.

I’ve never ever had the urge to get physical with Sophie before—I don’t hurt women and I can hurt her plenty with my words. But right now I have the urge to touch her, grab her, make her realise I’m the one with the power.

I’m always the one with the power.

“It’s not your lunch money I want,” I say, taking her chin gently in my hand.

My voice comes out rougher than I expected, but I’m past caring. I have the irresistible urge to bend her to my will. To make her do what I want.

To make her mine.

It’s not like I’m into Sophie. I’ve worked hard to ensure I never would be.

No, this is more like the obsession a fighter might have over a formidable opponent. The desire to defeat, to conquer.

It probably feels different today because we’re alone, and the wine is clouding my brain and my senses are filled with the sweet smell of her, like warm vanilla or molten sugar. And her cheeks are smeared pink and her big brown eyes are wide as they stare up at me.

I have her at my mercy. Isn’t this what I wanted?

Anything past this would be sheer indulgence.

Time to get a hold of myself.

“I don’t want you to lick my boots, Sutton, or anything else you’re thinking of,” I say with a smirk, letting go of her face. “I want you to do my Lit assignments for me.”

She looks furious, and her fury is more satisfying than if I’d grabbed her and kissed her full on the mouth. Blood instantly rushes to my cock.

“You want to blackmail me into doing your homework for you?” she says, voice shaking with anger.

I shrug and lean back against the kitchen island.

“It’s in your interest to do so. Otherwise, everybody’s going to realise pretty quickly we’re lying about the tutoring.”

She glares at me but doesn’t say anything.

“Fine,” she finally grinds out. “I’ll write your essays.”

“Good girl.” I pat her head, her hair soft as silk under my fingers. “Make sure they don’t sound too much like you wrote them, alright? We’d both get in trouble if we got caught.”

She smiles mirthlessly, pulling away from my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they are still underwhelming, lacking in perception and riddled with errors.”

“Why must you try to hurt my feelings?” I ask, tilting my head. “Play nice, Sutton. We’re making a deal and helping each other out, after all. Let’s shake on it.”

She hesitates but sticks out her hand in a comically formal gesture. I take it in mine. It’s surprisingly cold, but I’m more surprised at how strong her grip is.

“You have my back, and I’ll have yours,” I say, peering deep into her eyes and seeing nothing even close to trust there. “Alright?”

“Right,” she says, a slight curl of derision on her mouth. She tries to pull her hand from mine, but I keep holding on, pulling her closer.

“Allies?” I ask sweetly.

As if. Being allies with Sophie Sutton is like trying to pet the wolf you’ve kept caged and starving for years.

“Sure,” she snaps.

My mind scrambles for an excuse to keep holding on to her hand, to keep her close, to keep her in my house. But she gives me nothing, she just watches me blankly as she waits for me to release her.

“Anything else you want?” she snaps.

“Mm, no, Sutton—why? What are you offering?”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t take the bait. “If you don’t want anything, then can you let me go, please?”

I don’t need Sophie knowing how much I like keeping her close. She’s already unbearable enough as is, she doesn’t need any sort of ammunition against me.

So I let her go, follow her to the front door, and watch her leave. As soon as she’s disappeared down the long drive, I slip my hand down the front of my pants. I’m not as hard as I was before, but I’m semi-hard.

I shrug. Maybe I’ll spend this precious alone time jerking off.

Jerking off to the thought of Sophie Sutton on her knees on my kitchen floor, licking something other than my boots.