The Spy by Sophie Lark

19

Nix

November passes in a whirl of classes and increased studying for end-of-term exams.

My fellow Freshmen are finally starting to warm up to me in the afterglow of the Quartum Bellum win, and Sabrina Gallo’s unfailing support of me.

I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like her. I think we recognized each other as kindred spirits on that first day of school: two women who aren’t afraid of anything, including getting into a little trouble together.

It’s Sabrina’s nature to be loyal to her friends—I see that same fierce fidelity in all her family who attend Kingmakers. Leo Gallo will decimate anyone who shows the least bit of snobbery to Ares. Anna Wilk is intensely protective of her little sister Cara, always saving her a seat at mealtimes and checking in with her daily on how her classes are going. And Caleb Griffin has fallen in with fellow Enforcers Tristan Turgenev, Rene Turgenev, and Kade Petrov, the four friends forming a clique that has apparently counteracted some of the rampant bullying in the Gatehouse.

Sabrina’s attitude toward her many suitors is a different story. She’s been relentlessly pursued by every male with a pulse since she stepped foot on campus. None of them have kept her attention for more than a week or two, leaving a trail of bitter exes and broken hearts in her wake.

She’s already burned her way through half the eligible bachelors at school, including a square-jawed boxer called Corbin Castro, the Norwegian Heir Erik Edman, a devastatingly witty Junior named Jesse Turner, and, for a single day, the beautiful but conceited Thomas York.

She caused a near double-homicide by dating roommates Cameron Wright and Joshua Pierce. Then put the final nail in the coffin of any chance of being friends with Alyssa Chan when she dumped Alyssa’s cousin Archie.

Kenzo Tanaka lasted the longest—Sabrina seemed intrigued by his rockabilly pompadour, artfully-distressed leather jackets, and encyclopedic knowledge of vintage Harleys. Unfortunately, Kenzo couldn’t maintain his bad-boy cool for more than a week, completely losing his head and pinning so many romantic haikus to our door that our garbage can was soon overflowing with unwanted poetry.

“Why do they all turn out to be so boring?” Sabrina moans, as she finds herself single yet again at the end of November.

“Maybe you need to get to know them better,” I tell her. “Ares isn’t at all like I thought he was when we first met.”

“Most guys are about as deep as an oil slick on pavement,” Sabrina scowls. “Ares is the exception.”

“He might be too deep,” I sigh. “Sometimes I think I don’t know him very well, even after spending all this time together.”

Ares and I have been roaming all over the island together. The colder weather hasn’t stopped us for a second—we bundle up and tramp anywhere we want to go.

But I feel like he pulled back from me after we kissed that night down on the Moon Beach.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Sabrina asks, noisily biting into a carrot stick.

We’re sitting on our respective beds, ostensibly studying, but actually just shooting the shit.

My books are spread out all around me. Sabrina hasn’t bothered to open hers. She’s eating a selection of snacks smuggled up from the dining hall, heedless of the impressive mess she’s making.

“No,” I say, flushing. “And not by choice. He’s driving me insane . . .”

“Yeah, he’s hot as hell,” Sabrina agrees, nodding approvingly. “I’m not usually into the strong, silent type, but you can tell he’s kinky as fuck under that buttoned-up exterior.”

“You think so?” I say hopefully. “I don’t know why he’s holding out on me . . .”

Sometimes Ares looks at me like he wants to rip my clothes to shreds and eat me alive. But . . . he never actually does it. He’s barely kissed me since that first time on the beach.

“Since when are you the type to sit around waiting?” Sabrina says, giving me a sly raise of one inky eyebrow.

“Since fucking never,” I say, shoving my books aside.

“That’s my girl.” Sabrina grins.

* * *

I head to the library,following the advice of Lucy Turgenev, who told me that she saw Ares walking in that direction an hour earlier.

Once inside the still, dry space, I walk all the way up the ramp looking for him. The library is one continuous spiral, with curved shelves set against the wall, so it’s not difficult to see who’s inside.

I don’t find Ares anywhere.

I’m about to leave, assuming I missed him, when he emerges from the pointed archway directly behind Miss Robin’s desk.

“Ares!” I call, making him jump.

“Hello,” he says, in his deep, smooth voice.

I don’t know how one single word can have such an effect on me. The greeting vibrates my whole body like a gong, seeming to hang in the air between us for far too long.

“What were you doing?” I ask curiously.

“The archives are down there,” he says, nodding toward the archway with its heavy wooden door still ajar. “I was looking for an organizational chart for the ‘Ndrangheta.”

“You didn’t find it?” I say, noting his empty hands.

“No.” Ares pushes back a dusty shock of hair with his forearm. “Just a lot of loose papers and mildewed books.”

Miss Robin sweeps out of the archives, pulling the door shut behind her. Unlike Ares, she apparently did find what she was searching for—she clutches several crumbling scrolls against her chest, her thick glasses slipping down her nose, her red hair speckled with dust and fragments of ancient paper.

“Someday I’ll finish organizing that mess,” she sighs. Then, to me, “Can I help you with something, Nix?”

“No, thank you,” I say hastily. “I was just . . . here.”

I feel silly telling her that I was looking for Ares.

It doesn’t help that Miss Robin has a remarkably sharp and inquisitive stare behind those granny glasses. I thought her eyes were brown at first, but now I see they’re more of a dark hazel, with a burst of bronze radiating from the iris, inside a ring of olive green.

She’s incredibly beautiful. I’ve seen her before in passing, though not as often, I’ll admit, as my fellow students who spend more time in the library.

I’ve never spoken to her. Her low, husky voice, has that same quality as Ares’—the ability to thrill, to slide over your skin like a physical touch.

I get the sense that she’s examining me as I’m examining her. Each of us curious for our own reasons.

I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I’m glad she can’t read my mind.

I’m remembering a rumor I heard once, that there was some kind of romantic connection between Miss Robin and Ares . . .

I thought it was funny at the time—just one of those things people say, jokes and speculation to enliven a boring school day. Miss Robin is in her forties at least, maybe even fifty.

Seeing her now, it doesn’t seem as ridiculous. She has a powerful presence at odds with her loose, knobby cardigans and thick stockings.

Not to mention the fact that Ares seems distinctly uncomfortable, glancing back and forth between us.

“We’ll let you get back to work,” he says, dismissing Miss Robin with little of his usual politeness.

Miss Robin only smiles. “No rest for the wicked,” she says.

She strolls past us, carrying the scrolls to the upper level of the library.

“Was she helping you?” I ask Ares.

“Helping me what?”

“Look for the ‘Ndrangheta chart.”

“No. They didn’t have it,” Ares says shortly.

A strange tension hangs in the air. I always know when something’s off—even if I don’t know what, exactly, is wrong.

I fucking hate that sense of misalignment. I hate words unspoken.

So I say to Ares, “Are you friends with Miss Robin?”

He looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask that?”

“Some people said . . . that you might like her.”

“Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head. “No. I don’t have a crush on Miss Robin.”

“Alright.” I shrug. “Just wondering.”

“I’m sick of people speculating about me,” Ares hisses through his teeth. “This school is a fucking fishbowl. Everybody watching, everybody talking.”

“Hey,” I say, laying my hand lightly on his forearm. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

Ares gives his head a shake, as if to throw off his annoyance.

“It’s not your fault,” he says.

Trying to change the subject in my usual awkward way, I venture, “I wonder what color her hair is really?”

“What?” Ares says, startled.

“Miss Robin—I don’t think it’s red.”

Now he’s looking at me like I’ve got two heads.

“You don’t think her hair looks natural?” he says.

“Oh, it does.” I nod. “It’s lovely. It’s more her skin tone—I get a little color in the summer, but come winter I’m pale as a ghost. She looks the same as when school started.”

Ares is quiet a minute, then he says, “You really do notice everything.”

I laugh. “And yet I can’t remember a single thing I learned in my banking class.”

Ares picks up his backpack from the nearest table, slinging it over his shoulder.

“So what did you really come here for?” he asks me. “I know you’re not here to study.”

I aim a punch at his shoulder that he doesn’t even bother to dodge.

“For your information, I was studying, right before I came here.”

We’ve come out of the library into the chilly afternoon air, the breeze tugging at our hair like a live thing after the stillness of the library.

“What interrupted you?” Ares asks.

“I wanted to see you,” I reply simply.

Ares looks down at me, his eyes clear and beautiful beneath his thick, straight brows. “You did?” he says.

“Yeah. I really did.”

A smile tugs at the edges of his mouth, showing a glint of his strong, white teeth.

“So how do I look?”

“Pretty fucking gorgeous,” I tell him.

“You look like if autumn was a person,” he says, taking one wild red curl between his thumb and index finger. “You look like if the woods came alive. And they were extremely competitive.” He grins.

“Come walk with me,” I say.

“Alright,” Ares agrees.

We leave the castle grounds, heading directly to the strip of forest bordering the field.

Though we’ve walked this way so many times, there’s a deliberate intention in our steps that was never there before.

We’re not speaking, no need for words anymore.

High — Sivik

Spotify → geni.us/spy-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple

As soon as we step beneath the canopy of a vast sweet gum tree, Ares throws his bag on the ground and seizes me, his hands on either side of my face. He kisses me deeply, the fallen leaves grinding beneath our feet, sending up a dry, sugary scent.

This time, I don’t wait to see if Ares will pull back or go further. I slide my hands down his body, touching his cock through his trousers.

I let out a sigh as I feel the thick bulge straining against the wool. He wants me. He absolutely fucking wants me.

It’s like I touched a switch. As soon as my fingers graze his cock, Ares throws me down on the ground. We had a late summer and an even later fall—I land in a blanket of thick, crunching leaves. Ares falls on top of me, finding my mouth once more, thrusting his tongue into it as his fingers fumble with at the waistband of my pants.

He yanks my trousers down to my knees, my underwear going along with them. I expect him to touch me with his fingers, or maybe to just start fucking me.

Instead, he puts his head between my thighs and starts licking my pussy.

He eats my pussy exactly the way he kisses—his full, warm lips and his firm tongue attacking me in all my most sensitive places. He licks all over my pussy lips and around my entrance, pushing his tongue inside of me. Then he finds my clit and dances the tip of his tongue around it until I’m writhing and moaning, grabbing handfuls of his hair and grinding my hips against his face, begging for more.

He flattens his tongue and starts lapping my clit in long, steady strokes. At the same time, he slides one long, thick finger inside of me.

My pussy is on fire. It’s never been treated so good.

I’ve had sex before, but it was quick, secretive sex with one of my father’s soldiers. It felt good, but not any better than getting myself off in the shower.

I’ve never had someone worship my body with their mouth.

I’ve never felt like I was being eaten alive, while Ares’ hands roam over my body like the tentacles of an octopus, squeezing my breasts, sliding down my body, cupping my ass, pushing his fingers in and out of me.

Every place he touches me seems to come alive, warm and throbbing, extending the exquisite sensation of his tongue to all the other parts of me, until I feel like he’s licking me up and down the entire length of my body.

Leaves drift down from the gum tree, deep vermillion and five-pointed like stars. They land on my naked body and in my hair, cool against my flesh, smelling peppery-sweet.

I’m in a state of bliss where everything seems brighter and clearer. The bits of blue sky between the red leaves shine as brilliant as jewels. The breeze rubbing the branches together makes a steady, rushing sound like running water.

The blood in my veins rushes at the same pace, spreading warmth to my fingertips and toes, making my whole body throb.

The orgasm comes so slowly at first that I hardly know it’s starting. It builds and builds like the crescendo of an orchestra, each pulse stronger than the one before.

Ares thrusts his tongue in and out of me, in time to the clenching waves of pleasure. I’m moaning and writhing, my hands full of leaves as I grasp for purchase on the ground.

He slows his pace as the climax ebbs, but he doesn’t stop. He’s running his tongue gently over my clit, mindful of how sensitive and throbbing it has become, but not allowing the pleasure to seep away entirely.

He runs his big, strong hands up my thighs, grips my hips, then caresses my breasts again, gently plucking at my nipples.

My breasts are exquisitely sensitive now. His hands are like suction cups, the perfect size to grip every part of my breasts, to pull and squeeze simultaneously.

He’s licking me harder now, steadily, and I realize he has no intention of stopping; he wants to make me cum again.

I can’t lay back and accept it, I’ve always been the type to pull my own weight, to give as well as take.

Plus, I touched that thick cock through his clothes. Now I want to see it.

So I flip around, Ares’ head still buried between my thighs, now facing the opposite way.

I unzip his trousers, pulling out his heavy cock that fills my hand, warm and throbbing and intensely satisfying to touch.

Ares’ cock is as brown as the rest of him, and as excessively sized. It has a slight upward curve, topped with a head like a battering ram. The skin stretches silky smooth over the rigid flesh.

He groans as I grip him, then moans even louder against my pussy as I take the head of his cock in my mouth, dancing my tongue around the connecting ridge. His cock twitches against my tongue, highly sensitive to its slightest movement.

I’m on top of Ares, straddling his face, spreading my thighs wider so he can push his tongue deep inside of me. I’m humping his face, while his cocks slides deeper and deeper into my mouth. The heavy head of his cock hits the back of my throat.

He’s thrusting in and out of my mouth in time with my hips grinding against his face. My mouth feels as loose and warm as the rest of me, and even though his cock is even bigger than I imagined, it burrows into my throat relentlessly, like a live thing with a mind of its own.

I’m not gagging—I’m too relaxed. The pounding of his cock is oddly satisfying. I want more and more, deeper and deeper.

Meanwhile, Ares’ lapping tongue is bringing on another climax. I can feel it swirling and pulsing, trying to breach its bounds in the pit of my belly. Any moment it will explode outward, washing through me.

I start moaning around Ares’ cock, the vibrations of my throat fluttering against the head.

Ares is panting like he’s running again, sprinting against me to the end of the race.

It is a race, to see which of us will cum first.

Competitive as ever, I’m determined to beat him.

I squeeze my thighs around his face, pressing my clit harder against his tongue.

There’s no clear winner this time.

His cock is twitching and pulsing in my mouth, the head fucking my throat, while I cum against his tongue. We’re locked together down the length of our bodies, his hands gripping my ass, my fingers digging into the back of his long, powerful thighs.

He cums directly down my throat and I press my clit hard against his tongue, bright flashes of color popping against my closed eyelids—five-pointed and scarlet as the leaves. This orgasm is hot and rushing and intense, my whole body clenching and shaking, as Ares’ cum rushes down my throat in three rough bursts.

I pull back from his cock, still swallowing.

I like the way he tastes. His cum is smooth and mild.

Ares comes to lay beside me, his arm a pillow beneath my head, both of us looking up into the canopy of red.

Whenever I went hunting with my father and I saw a deer in the woods and shot, killed, and ate it afterward, I always felt like I imbued part of that deer. By consuming it, I took its energy into my body in a very real way. It made me feel closer to the animals and the trees and the cycle of life that goes around and around in an endless loop.

Now Ares and I have eaten a part of each other.

He’s inside of me and I’m inside of him.

Quietly, in that low, deep voice, Ares says, “I love being out here with you. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good,” I say.

I know I’ve never been this happy.

* * *