Page 57 of The Knight

"I always love spring here in Connecticut," he says, tilting his head up towards the sun, which is peeking out from behind a brief cloud cover. "It's lovely."

"It is." Looking around at the trees, I'm struck by the fact that the landscape of Coleridge has changed so much in the past two months, but I've barely noticed. I've been so consumed by revenge and retribution that I didn't look up from my homework and my worries long enough to see the world around me. "I wish I could stay for longer than just a semester and a half. Everything around here is beautiful."

"I wish that too." His voice has a low quality, something somber in his tone. "You're so beautiful."

It takes me a moment to realize that he's not talking about the landscape anymore. When I dare to meet his eyes, it's me he's looking at, unafraid to show his desire on his face. The sight of it makes a warm blush travel from my neck up to my cheekbones, which flush with embarrassment—and a desire all my own.

"I thought you'd never forgive me," I tell him, stopping beside him on the path, the two of us surrounded by an empty canvas. "What I did to you... I should've trusted you. I should've gone to you before I posted those things about you on Legacies."

"I've made my fair share of mistakes. And I understand now where you were coming from." He reaches out with one hand and brushes my hair back over my shoulder with his fingertips, his touch briefly skimming across my neck and sending fire wherever our skin meets. "That desire for destruction, for revenge, it lives in all of us. And it can destroy what it touches if we're not careful."

"You've never struck me as someone reckless." Looking up into his eyes, I feel my heart do reckless things as the space between us closes, a murmur turning into a whisper, a whisper into a breath. "Everything you do is careful. Planned. I doubt you've left any destruction in your wake ever."

"Yes, Cole does mock me for being a stick in the mud." A ghost of a smile flits across his lips, the mouth I've seen photographed and splashed across a thousand media pages now quirked in the tiniest bit of lopsided bitterness. "But I think I can't be careful anymore. There's something I want too much to care about the consequence. SomeoneI want, even if it destroys... well, everything."

I don't part my lips to ask who he means. It's clear he's talking about me. There are so many types of destruction he could be talking about. I've kissed all three of his closest friends. I nearly slept with one of them before I realized I was making a mistake. We both know that I'll be gone soon, somewhere a privileged son like him can't follow, all the way to the backwoods of Virginia that birthed me, far from his duties to his family.

The destruction doesn't seem to matter as our mouths come close enough for our lips to brush. I instinctively go up on my tip toes, leaning forward, and he catches me before I can fall too far, his hands bracing my arms and cupping my shoulders. Keeping my eyes open, I watch him from inches away, seeing the color that darkens his cheeks, the way his brows slant together as if what's about to happen weighs on him already.

In a low voice, he says, "We shouldn't."

"We will," I tell him, like I carry a disastrous future in my palms. "The match is lit, the spark is set."

"Let it burn."

He kisses me like a man, and not a boy just seventeen years old. His mouth is gentle but all-consuming. The first part of his kiss is slow and deliberate, his lips moving up and down on mine, his mouth just close enough to ignite desire deep within me, without a hint of tongue or anything deeper.

This is no rash, fast, sloppy kiss. Lukas takes his time with me, just like always. He keeps his hands on me to support my weight even as I lean towards him, put my palms against his broad chest, and drink of the subtle, water-like scent on his skin. First he gently takes my upper lip between his. Then, when I make a low gasping sound, wanting more, he takes my bottom lip and catches every nerve in it on fire with the deliberate caress of his mouth.

Slanting his lips, he deepens the kiss. Soon his mouth is exploring mine, the touch of his lips and his tongue skilled and gentle instead of probing or insistent. He doesn't pull our bodies together, doesn't press his arousal against me or put his hands beneath my skirt or my shirt. Instead he takes his time, and when he pulls away from me I'm left wanting more.

So much more.

Hands on his chest, I look up into his eyes and feel something wobble inside me. "Do that again."

His mouth quirks up in a smile. "We should probably get inside."

"Again," I repeat.

Eyes darting around to make sure we're alone, he leans in close and begins a shallow, perfunctory kiss that he clearly means to end quickly. But I'm not having it. Putting my hand on the back of his neck, I draw him in for a repeat performance. My toes curl as he lets out a little groan, halfway between arousal and frustration, and I know that he feels so much more desire for me than he lets himself show with his body on mine.

This time, when we part, he has a wild look in his eyes, and his breath is coming short and fast, like he just ran somewhere without even knowing why.

"Let's get you home," he says, lacing his fingers in mine, "before you put on a performance the whole school won't forget."

"What? Oh." I realize, belatedly, that cars are starting to pull into the lot. Soon the campus won't be so empty. It's all going to begin again. "Thank you for the evening out."

"Of course. I'll escort you to your place," he jokes, putting his elbow out so I can lace my hand through. "An adventure is just what you needed, I think."

He's not wrong. I've been laying around in my room, morose, bored, and bitter, for so long that I forgot there were things outside that door. Even worse, I forgot there were people I could spend time with.

Lukas never asked what was on the laptop partition with my name on it, and I never told him, but I feel as if I could and he wouldn't let it slip to the rest of the Elites. There's something different about him; he's deliberate, slow, gentle, kind. For the hundredth time, I find myself wondering why he's even one of them.

This time, I dare to ask. "Lukas..."

"Yes?"

"I've been wondering." I lick my lips, feeling his eyes follow the motion, and heat rises within me again. It takes effort to concentrate on the question I want to ask. "Why are you friends with Blake, Tanner, and Cole? Especially... especially Cole."

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