The Spy by Sophie Lark
22
Nix
Iwas hoping Ares would want to go to the dance together. It’s one thing to run around the woods just the two of us, and another to dance openly in each other’s arms.
I’m also, for my own amusement, hoping that the battle to take Sabrina Gallo to the dance ends in an actual massacre.
I can hardly walk down a hallway next to her without some hapless male making a hurried and desperate pitch.
Sabrina turns them all down.
“Don’t you want a date?” I ask her.
“Maybe.” She shrugs as if she doesn’t care.
I don’t believe her. Her irritable mood tells me that she’s set her sights on someone and won’t be satisfied with anybody else.
The actual day of the dance, she waltzes into our room with a flushed face and an undisguisable air of triumph.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“Nothing.” She grins. “Nothing at all.”
I have a pretty good guess what’s going on, but I don’t press. Sabrina loves her secrets.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide how to dazzle tonight. I don’t just want to look “pretty good for Nix.” I want Ares to have the hottest woman in the room on his arm.
I spend an extraordinary amount of time primping, before cracking and begging Sabrina for help. She puts the finishing touches on my face, stepping back to admire the effect.
“Nobody cleans up better than you,” she says. “You look hot as fuck.”
“Likewise, obviously,” I tell her. “But you already know that.”
“I do,” she says, giving me a wink.
She’s definitely outdone herself. She slips out the door looking so sultry that I figure I better start aiming for second place.
Ares meets me at the base of the Solar, wearing a tux so sharp and well-fitted that I think he must have borrowed it from Leo. The deep navy fabric gleams like water at night. It makes his eyes look darker than usual, deeper than the ocean in that handsome, sun-kissed face.
My gown is a rich, dark green. The soft, stretchy material fits me like a second skin. Ares’ hands glide over my body as he puts his arm around my waist.
“I’ve never seen you in a dress before,” he says.
“I’m trying something new.”
“I can’t stop staring,” he says. “I’m not even gonna try.”
He walks with his arm around me all the way to the Grand Hall, nestled between the two vast glass and iron greenhouses. I notice as I always do how well our pace matches—as if we were made to do this.
Gold — Kiiara
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Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple
The Grand Hall is sweltering, the roaring fire in the massive hearth not needed in this unusually warm December. Everyone is drinking the punch twice as quickly as they should, leading to a hectic level of revelry for so early in the evening.
The music is pounding, students crowding onto the dance floor, recklessly swapping partners, and dancing without fear of collision.
Ares has his own wicked gleam in his eye. He throws off his jacket, dragging me out to dance, pressing his blazing body tight against mine. Heat radiates through the thin material of his dress shirt, and his broad chest strains against the buttons. His skin looks very tan against the white. He’s had his hair freshly cut down in the village, shearing off some of the sun streaks, showing the soft, dark fade beneath.
The space is packed with students, everyone pressing in so close that heated bodies slide against my back and arms while Ares grinds against me.
I see a whirl of faces, though it’s too loud and cramped to actually speak to anyone. I can’t even point it out to Ares when I spot Cara Wilk dressed in a diaphanous off-the-shoulder gown, pressed up against the wall while Hedeon leans in close to murmur something in her ear.
Anna Wilk is dancing with Leo, until she grabs his hand and pulls him away somewhere—from the look in her eye, I’m guessing somewhere a lot more private than the Grand Hall.
Cat Romero sits on Dean’s lap close to the fire. He’s feeding her bites of Christmas cookies taken from the overloaded buffet table against the far wall. She takes each bite from his hand, her tongue slipping out to lick his fingers.
The professors who are supposed to be chaperoning the party seem to have been sucked into the same irresistible mood of bacchanalia. Professor Lyons, the Arsenic Witch, is dancing with Professors Knox and Howell simultaneously. The Chancellor is sharing his flask with Professor Thorn, who looks striking in her backless silk gown.
The Chancellor isn’t the only one who snuck in extra liquor—I see Estas Lomachenko passing a bottle back and forth between his Odessa friends and Bodashka Kushnir’s Bratva buddies.
Somebody definitely augmented up the punch—maybe several people. The cup Ares brings me tastes like pure sugar and liquor. I gulp it down anyway, feeling an immediate swoop of elation as it goes straight to my head.
Ares seizes me and kisses me, sucking the liquor off my lips.
“I love the way that tastes in your mouth,” he growls.
We’re dancing again, and this time I can’t look at anything but him. He’s magnetic, unleashed in a way I’ve never seen before. He’s looking at me the way he used to when we first met, his eyes burning over every inch of me, an intensity in his stare that almost frightens me. I don’t see his usual restraint—I see the other Ares. The one who appears only rarely . . . when he begins to lose control.
I want to know that person.
I get us a second cup of punch, watching Ares swallow it down in one gulp. He crumples the empty cup in his hand, his eyes fixed on mine.
He’s reckless tonight.
We both want to see where this goes.
He pulls me back into his arms, his large hands tight against my lower back, sliding down to grip my ass. He gropes me, not giving a fuck who sees.
At that moment, Sabrina Gallo enters the dance with Ilsa Markov.
Bang Bang — GRAE
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Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple
They stand in the doorway, the two dark-haired sirens amplifying each other’s beauty.
I’ve never seen two such sexual women side by side. Like twin stars, they bring the whole room into their orbit.
Ilsa Markov is tall and cap-shouldered, her chin upraised in haughty satisfaction as she surveys the room. The V of her scarlet dress runs all the way down to her navel, the slit all the way up her thigh.
Sabrina Gallo wears black—on the bits of her body covered by her dress. The gown is a marvel of engineering, clinging to her curves in only the most anatomically-requisite positions, before swooping away to reveal startling slices glowing, golden skin.
The two girls stand arm-in-arm, the air between them crackling with overlapping sensuality.
They walk directly to the dance floor, Sabrina slipping her arms around Ilsa’s neck. Bodies entwined, they dance slowly, sensually, their hands sliding over each other’s curves, their eyes locked.
It’s intensely fucking sexy. I’m staring, heat rising in my cheeks.
Ares’ torso is pressed against my back, his hands on my hips. He bends his head to murmur in my ear, “You like that?”
I lick my lips, eyes still on Sabrina and Ilsa.
“Sure,” I say. “Who wouldn’t.”
He growls, “Why don’t you join them?”
My stomach gives a long, slow lurch. My eyes are locked on the girls, their bodies lithe and graceful as they twine around each other. Their breasts press together through the thin material of their dresses. Ilsa’s nipples are hard, visible through the scarlet satin.
Something flares inside of me. Call it the devil on my shoulder, giving me a push.
I walk straight toward the girls.
Ilsa catches sight of me first, stepping back slightly with an appraising look up and down my body. Sabrina turns, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a wicked smile.
The girls envelop me like an oyster, circling around me like a pearl.
They press tight against me in the hot, throbbing space, their bodies sliding easily against the silky material of my dress.
I can’t believe how soft their skin is—like the inside of a rose petal. They smell sweet and enticing: their hair, their skin, and their breath.
The girls’ delicate hands know exactly where to touch as Ilsa slides her palms up the undersides of my breasts from behind, and Sabrina nuzzles her full lips against my neck from the front.
I’m touching them both, feeling the impossible smallness of Sabrina’s waist between my hands, and Ilsa’s firm breasts rubbing against my back. I’m inhaling their light, clean scent. But I’m looking at Ares, at his strong jaw, broad shoulders, and brilliant blue eyes. The mix of masculine and feminine is a potent aphrodisiac, skyrocketing my heart rate until I can feel it throbbing all the way down between my thighs.
I’ve always found women just as beautiful as men—sometimes, even more so. I respect strong women the way I respect strong men. What I would call a “deep sense of admiration” sometimes has a much more heart-pounding flavor.
Ilsa Markov takes my chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning my head toward her. She kisses me deeply, her lips firm and warm, her jaw sharp against my palm as I touch her soft face.
Her tongue glides across mine, fine and velvety. As she kisses me, I feel Sabrina’s small, strong hands gripping my hips.
Sabrina turns me. I take her face in my hands, kissing her fuller, softer lips, inhaling her tantalizing perfume, which I’ve always enjoyed smelling in our room.
Ilsa’s hands are on my breasts again, this time her palms gliding all the way over my nipples. She kisses the side of my neck, biting and sucking gently while Sabrina slides her tongue inside my mouth.
Girls’ mouths are all the most sensual and delicate parts of a kiss amplified: puffy, pillowy lips, honeyed tongues, and warm breath.
My head is spinning.
I might feel self-conscious if I thought more people could see us, but the press of students is so tight that only the people directly around us are getting an eyeful.
None better than Ares. His stare burns every inch of my skin as he watches me live out a fantasy I’ve often imagined, without ever really thinking it would happen.
Sabrina kisses me deeply, her hands on either side of my face, her breasts pressing against mine, her thigh sliding between my legs. She lets out a little moan that makes Ilsa’s head jerk up, her nostrils flaring.
Isla grabs Sabrina by the hair and pulls her away from me, kissing her ferociously, reminding Sabrina which of us came as her date.
I let Ilsa take her, slipping away back to Ares who seizes me and kisses me much harder than either of the girls.
Kissing Ares after two women makes him seem all the more masculine. I’m acutely aware of his stubble rasping at the edges of my lips, and the intense force in his fingers as he grips me. His frame seems twice as tall, his shoulders immensely broad. His cologne is edged with testosterone.
I’ve never felt smaller in someone’s arms.
Ares’ arms are like cables around me, tense and hard. For the very first time, I feel physically intimidated by someone other than my father.
It gives me a thrill.
It makes me want to stay on Ares’ good side. To impress him. To please him . . .
The heat is intense, my legs weak beneath me.
I’m sweating and flushed, looking up into Ares’ face, kissing him again with our mouths burning against each other.
“Let’s go somewhere,” Ares says.
I don’t ask him where. I don’t really care—I just know I need to be alone with him, right now, with much less clothing between us.
We’re pushing through the crowd of students, not looking where we’re going. Just as we reach the exit, someone slams into me, drenching me with the icy blast of an entire cup of punch poured down the front of my dress.
Estas steps back, delicately holding the upturned cup between his thumb and index finger.
“Oops,” he says.
I’m not sure if he did it on purpose or not. He hates my guts, but also, I really wasn’t watching where I was going.
Beat Up Kidz — The OBGMs
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Before I can say a word, before I can even shake the ice out of my cleavage, Ares charges Estas, slamming his shoulder into Estas’ chest and knocking him backward through the doors of the Grand Hall.
Ares and Estas go tumbling backward down the steps, already grappling and punching each other as hard as they can. I run through the doors after them, stumbling down the steps in my heels, followed closely by the rest of the Odessa Mafia and at least a dozen other students who saw the fight begin and absolutely want to watch the conclusion.
This is no boxing match—more like a murder in progress.
Ares is on top of Estas, punching him again and again with both hands. His fists drive into Estas’ face with a sound like a mallet tenderizing raw meat. Blood spatters in all directions, hitting the skirt of my dress and the trousers of several bystanders.
Ares looks insane. His teeth are bared in a snarl, his eyes blazing. He pulls his bloodied fist back for another blow, though Estas is already a pulverized mess, eyes swelling shut, head lolling.
David Datsuk half-tackles and half-drags Ares off of Estas. Ares flings David aside and shoulders Arkady Chaplin out of the way too, still trying to run at Estas until Hedeon Gray seizes Ares by both arms and drags him backward.
“Fucking knock it off!” Hedeon bellows in Ares’ ear. “The Chancellor’s right inside!”
That seems to shake Ares out of his daze. He’s still snarling, but he stops trying to lunge at Estas, standing upright and shaking off Hedeon’s grip.
“You stay the FUCK away from Nix,” he shouts at the groaning, battered Estas.
Estas can barely roll over, let alone weaponize any more punch. He spits a mouthful of blood down the front of his dress shirt.
Without thanking Hedeon, Ares grabs my arm and marches me away from the staring circle of students.
He’s pulling me along so quickly that I can barely stay upright on my heels.
He’s still breathing hard, teeth gritted tightly together and shoulders tense as iron.
The cool night air is sobering me up fast.
“Ares,” I gasp. “What the fuck was that?”
“The fucking asshole is dangerous,” he growls, his fingers a steel band around my wrist. “He’s got a grudge against you, Nix. He wants to hurt you.”
“It was just punch,” I say, staring at his still-furious expression.
I don’t know who the fuck this person is. I’ve never seen Ares so unhinged, not even in the middle of the Quartum Bellum challenge.
“No one is ever going to hurt you while I’m with you, do you understand?” Ares says, grabbing both my arms and forcing me to turn to look at him. “Do you understand me, Nix?”
“Yes. I understand,” I say, startled by the wild look in his eyes. Shaking my head, I tell him, “Most people aren’t too worried whether I can take of myself. Only one person talks like that—you sound like my dad.”
Ares stares at me.
“I’m not like your father,” he says.
“I know that. But right now, you remind me of him—protective. And a little bit out of your fucking mind.”
Ares starts walking again, taking deep breaths to try to calm down. I can’t tell if he’s still pissed at Estas, or if what I said offended him.
We’ve circled around one of the greenhouses. Now Ares turns, heading between the dining hall and the Armory. I don’t think he has a destination in mind, he’s just walking to cool off.
Several minutes pass before he speaks again:
“What do you think is the dividing line between good and bad?” He looks at me, his expression serious. “What do you think makes someone worthy of friendship . . . or worthy of death?”
He sees me hesitate, lips parted.
“I’m not trying to trick you,” he says. “I’m not asking about your father. I just want to know—what’s the line?”
I wonder that myself.
When I picture the people I know and love—my friends at school, my father’s men, and my dad himself—I can’t create a consistent schema for judgment. They all have their flaws. They all make mistakes.
When I ponder what’s “right” and what’s “wrong,” I only know what I’d do myself.
I look Ares in the eye and say, “I’ll kill anyone who hurts the people I love.”
Ares nods slowly. “So will I,” he says.
That sounds strangely like a promise. Like he’s warning me.
Grabbing me by the wrist once more, Ares drags me into the Armory.
The gym is deserted, no one dedicated enough to fitness to miss the dance in favor of working out.
The air smells faintly of sweat, rubber, and metal chains.
My heels sink into the mats. I kick them off.
Ares seizes me by the throat, turning my chin up to look at him. He’s still burning with this wild energy he can’t seem to release.
“You know I don’t give a fuck who your father is,” he says, his eyes staring into mine. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes . . .” I say hesitantly.
“Do you feel the same about me?” Ares demands. “You don’t care about my parents, where I came from, what I have waiting for me when I leave this place . . . that doesn’t matter to you?”
I’ve known all along that Ares’ family is poor and he has no ready-made empire to inherit.
I really don’t care. And if my dad cares, if he tried to tell me Ares wasn’t good enough for me, I’d tell him to fuck off. Ares is my equal in every way that matters: intelligence, determination, and strength. That’s what I care about.
“I’ve never met anyone as impressive as you,” I tell Ares, looking in his eyes. “I want you—not your money or your name.”
His eyes blaze and his lips crash down on mine. He kisses me ravenously, crushing me in his arms.
Nightmare — Halsey
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Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple
His hands roam over my breasts, pinching my nipples hard. Strong as Ilsa Markov might be, her hands are nowhere near as powerful as Ares’. I flush, remembering how she touched me while Ares watched.
“Did you like watching me with those girls?” I murmur. “That didn’t make you jealous?”
“No,” he growls, his teeth rasping against the side of my neck. “I fucking loved it. I don’t want you restrained, Nix—I want you wild and free and untamed. I want you to have everything you ever desired, and I want to watch you enjoy it . . .”
Heat flares in my belly. My thighs press together under my dress.
I grab Ares’ face in my hands and kiss him wildly, pushing my tongue into his mouth. He seizes the shoulder straps of my dress and yanks them down, baring my breasts. He drops his head to my left breast, sucking the nipple hard while he rubs the other between his thumb and forefinger.
I grab the gymnastics rings hanging over my head and I pull myself up a few inches so Ares can take the dress all the way off my body.
He slides it down my legs, and strips off my underwear too, admiring my naked body as I hang from the rings. I’m showing off for him, and I know he fucking loves it. He runs his hands over my breasts, down the curve of my waist, then cups his palms under my ass.
“I love how strong you are,” he says. “I fucking love watching you in here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched you stretching or running or hitting the heavy bag with my cock fucking throbbing in my shorts.”
He unzips his pants, letting his cock free now. It juts up from his body with just the right amount of curve.
Slowly, I lower down on it, still gripping the rings overhead, my legs wrapping around his waist.
His cock slides into me, thick and pulsing hot.
I let out a long, deep moan.
I’ve pictured this a thousand times. No imagination compares to the intense heat and pressure of that thick, warm cock filling me up. Wet as I am, and with all my body weight bearing down, it still slides in slow, stretching me with every inch.
Ares groans, cords standing out on the side of his neck.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans.
He supports me with his hands under my ass. Slowly, he swings me back and forth, his cock pumping in and out, my hands gripping the rings.
Each thrust seems to take forever. Each pounding impact of that battering ram-head against my interior walls rides the edge of pleasure and pain. It’s intensely satisfying, but almost too much.
Pulling myself up with the rings, I slide up and down on his cock, grinding my clit against his flat, hard belly. My thighs squeeze his waist, my heels hooked around the back of his legs. I’m squeezing and clenching, my pussy clamped around every inch of his cock.
“What the fuuuuuck,” Ares groans. “Even your pussy is strong . . .”
I laugh.
“Of course it is,” I say, leaning over to bite the lobe of his ear. “It’s a muscle like any other.”
Ares grips my hips and thrusts upward into me.
I let go of the rings so I can wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.
I strip his dress shirt off because I want to see his body. I want to run my hands over the sprawling tattoo across his chest — the script, the skulls and roses. I want to see the muscles standing out on his arms and shoulders as he fucks me.
Ares sits back on one of the upright benches. I climb on top of him, straddling him in front of the mirror.
Our bodies look insane, dually reflected. As I ride him, I can see my abs flexing, and the round globes of my ass clenching. Ares has a pump like he just bench-pressed three hundred pounds, his chest, shoulders, and biceps swollen and throbbing. Veins stand out on his forearms. Sweat gleams on his skin as if he’s been oiled.
I want to fuck him in every position in front of these mirrors. I want to watch us doing what our bodies were made to do—all the exercise and all the training reaching its highest purpose.
I flip around so I’m riding Ares in reverse, my back against his chest, my thighs flexing, and my tits bouncing in the mirror as I pogo on his cock. Ares puts his palm between my shoulder blades, pushing me forward, fucking me hard from behind.
I want more of that.
I stand up, bending over. Ares stands too, grabbing a handful of my hair and wrapping it around his fist. He holds it like the reins of a horse as he enters me again and fucks me hard, his hips slapping against my ass.
Tall as I am, I can’t match his long legs. I need to get just a little higher.
I step into the squat rack, my feet resting on the crossbars. I lean forward, bracing myself against the rack with my hands. Now Ares can stand behind me, my ass raised up to the perfect height for his cock, my legs spread wide. He thrusts into me, pounding me hard, making the whole rack shake.
I can see Ares in the mirror, ripped like a Renaissance sculpture, like Michelangelo’s most fevered dreams brought to life. Every muscle stands out on his long, lean frame, his fingers digging into my hips, his head thrown back, jaw clenched, teeth bared.
I’ve never seen anything so sexy.
I’m starting to cum, his cock pounding relentlessly against that sensitive spot on my inner wall, his thick shaft rubbing the base of my clit.
“Harder,” I beg. “Fuck me harder.”
“I’ll fucking destroy you with this cock,” Ares snarls.
He pounds into me with all his force.
The orgasm detonates inside of me. It blasts through my body, destructive and hot, incinerating my bones, sizzling through my cells.
Ares is cumming too, roaring out loud and pounding me with all his might. His hands twitch, his whole body shakes as he pours cum inside of me, driving it deep with every thrust.
I’m only vaguely aware of this because I’ve lost control of my body, I can’t think or speak or hold myself up, all I can do is feel this climax to end all climaxes, an orgasm that ought to be named like a hurricane.
If I didn’t have the rack to hold me up, I’d fall on my face.
Instead, I collapse backward onto Ares, both of us sweating and shaking on a pile of mats with no clear idea of how we got over there.
“I’d spend a lot more time in the gym if that was the workout,” Ares groans.
“Don’t forget to wipe down that bench,” I tell him.
We both start laughing, helpless and slightly hysterical, clutching abs that are much too sore for any more activity.
* * *
