Page 139 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

I wish I could go back to before, when kissing Rory in the taxi would have been natural. Now it seems somehow brazen, unrealistic. Ever since witnessing the book-burning, it takes effort for me to return to the blessed haze of how I was previously, to shrug off the doomed creep of impending sobriety.

Rory’s hand lightly trails up my bare thigh, and I wonder if this is his attempt to take our minds off the too-close protest. “Kiss me,” he orders again, and when I still don’t move, this time his hand slides ever so slightly beneath my dress, his fingers curling tight and dimpling my thigh in warning. “Kiss me, or I’ll recreate our night at the theater right here in front of everyone.” I bite my tongue hard at the idea. Oh, God… Reliving that night right here in the open… How can Rory utter it like a threat when it had been so agonizingly perfect? It had been a rush of heady, corrupt pleasure…

It had been one of the best moments of my life.

As though Rory knows exactly what effect his words have on me, he expands, with dark delight, “I’ll spread your legs apart, get you nice and wet, and plunge my whole damn hand straight into your cunt.” Rory pauses, his fingers stroking insistently at my thigh. “Do you want to scar Danny? Because that’s how you scar him. So kiss me, little saint. I want you to kiss me right now.”

I’m not sure I’m breathing correctly when I make my decision. Part of me is so frustrated with Rory’s constant teasing — from my love-addled perspective, his entire being is one mocking, aching tease — that I choose to throw caution to the wind.

But I don’t just kiss Rory.

No.

I fucking mount him.

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