Page 150 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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It’s as though Luke has been unlocked.

He sees it in me — that I want this, that I want him.

With a deep reverence that unfurls something shocking in my soul, Luke reaches for the hem of my tight black dress. He shoots me a questioning look, asking, “May I?” in his low rumbling voice.

I nod, my words not working. The respect Luke has for me floors me. If this were Rory, he’d have torn my dress over my head, yanked my legs apart, and would already be thrusting into me, his hips violent and cruel — the way, I can’t deny, I like it. But this… this tenderness is new. Luke is slow, patient. He treats me like a delicacy, a creation to savor.

As he peels my dress over my hips, his large palms stroke my exposed thigh. I admire the contrast of our skin, the way his spread hand looks like a brand upon my body. He tugs the dress up past my waist, over my breasts and head. My hair tumbles softly to my shoulders in sheets.

I’m here now, for them.

Only when I’m clad in nothing but lingerie does Luke even unlace his black shoes.

The air burns. I sense it not just in my quickening breath, but in the hyper-alertness of everyone in the room, Rory included. With gentle hands, Luke cups the exposed silk and lace, the scarlet bra that matches the barely-there slip of fabric covering my crotch. I lick my lips — Luke’s touch is too much and not enough, driving me to insanity. He caresses the teardrop onyx dangling from the band of my bra and hovering above the base of my sternum. Its sparkle seems to fascinate Luke, and the pad of his thumb gently strokes the cold stone before landing on my heated skin.

“You’re exquisite,” he rasps, so quiet there’s no way Rory could have heard. “I wish you could have been mine and mine alone.” His finger toys with the gemstone again, pensive as his eyes give me a slow once-over. “At least we share a generous master,” he says, his words thoroughly ironic as he presses the gemstone into my heart-space like it’s a button. “At least I get to have you now.”

And he does. In one smooth, leopardine motion, Luke pushes me back into the soft, plush pillows and slides on top of me. He seals my mouth in a hot kiss, his teeth gently biting at my lower lip. A helpless whine rips from my throat and, reflexively, I wrap my bare legs around Luke, the heavy buckle of his belt grinding agonizingly close to my clit.

As I thrust my hips desperately against him, Luke fixes me with an amused glance. “Not yet,” he chides softly, before returning to feast on my mouth. I cry out, my knees spread like butterflies beneath his lithe muscular bulk. He’s not even naked yet. He’s so absolutely clothed that, when I tug pathetically at his formal cotton shirt, he gives me a low laugh like undressing himself is not even a priority.

He seems to enjoy the difference, of him clothed and me at his mercy in a bra and tiny panties. As I wriggle beneath Luke, his eyes drift hungrily down to my heaving chest. He kisses me once more, more forceful than before now that he knows I’m not going to shatter. He kisses me like the act is a one-time indulgence, that here and now my mouth is his for the taking. Luke devours me like a banquet of addictive confectionery, of luxury chocolate and golden glazed syrup, of rich caramel the same color as Rory’s hair.

He acts like such a good man, then kisses me likethat.

Kisses that curl my toes in pleasure. Kisses that have me crying, sobbing into his mouth. Kisses that make me dizzy and dazed, highlighting the spin of the world around us and dragging us along for the ride.

When Luke pulls away, there’s a lightness to the way he hovers over me. The hint of a smile even inches up his normally serious face. I trace that beautiful, brooding face with my fingers, stroking the angles of his eye socket with the sweep of my thumb. He catches my thumb at the edge of his wicked mouth and suckles softly, his glittering eyes never leaving mine.

“Luke,” Rory commands, and only after Luke begrudgingly turns around, dropping my thumb from his mouth, do I realize Rory’s saying his name and notlook. Either way, the effect is the same: a voice of authority, with no further instruction.

But Luke seems to snap into action. He presses a final, firm kiss to my lips before moving down my body. He kisses his way across my neck, his hot tongue licking stripes across my curving nape until I shiver into him. He bites gently at the apple of my throat. As Luke laps at the soft swell, he drags embarrassing whimpers from the throat beneath his feasting lips, and I shiver again as his full mouth lavishes such a vulnerable part of me.

I’ve replaced ribbons with kisses, swapped a willingness to die for a willingness to love.

No nooses anymore. Never again.

My life is worth more than my death.

As Luke lowers his head to my breasts, kissing his way over the soft mounds, I see Rory in the background. His gray eyes are intensely focused, a brow cocked as he meets my gaze over Luke’s bowed head. I arch my back into Luke’s hot mouth, wanting to make Rory react, wanting to see if our show is enough to launch him over the edge untouched.

When Luke moves down toward my hips, he slides his broad hands under my backside. He cups my cheeks with care, guiding me deeper into the nest of pillows behind me. I collapse into them, gazing up at the curling alabaster plasterwork across the vast ceiling — but I want tosee, I want to see Luke’s mouth as it licks and kisses toward my core, as my body sparkles with the branding of his saliva.

I crane my neck upward, watching Luke — and behind him, watching Rory. Having the two of them within my line of sight is overwhelming. The power radiating from Rory is immense. Even here, lounging across the bed and seemingly relaxed, there’s a supervisory edge to his position. Close enough to observe and suggest, far enough away to give me and Luke a gracious moment together.

Luke traces the satin edge of my panties, sliding down further and further until he stops beside my entrance. I strain upward, trying to nudge him closer, closer… His eyes follow the movement, enchanted. Like a massive tease, his finger continues to dance up and down the fine silky edge of my underwear before finally, as a pleading groan rips from my throat, he hooks his finger beneath the fabric and pulls it to one side.

My breath hitches. I make a soft, anticipatory noise, like I’ve suddenly been choked and stifled, unable to speak. Luke examines me with eyes warmed like chestnuts and burning like coal. A smile plays at the edge of his lips before he asks, “Do you want this?”

I find the question maddening. “What do you think?” I snap, hips snapping up with equal force to collide with his pointed chin.

But it’s not Luke’s fault. It’s mine. Mine for going out with Rory, the biggest jerk in school, the one who takes and takes without question, and to whom I happily offer more of myself for him to take. The idea of consent, of establishing enthusiasm, seems ridiculously innocent. But I appreciate it. I appreciate Luke so much as a man.

“I need a yes,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my curls. He doesn’t even touch me. He only looks, as though the sight he sees beneath him is something he wants to keep locked in his mind forever.

I can do forever. Right now, I’d do anything.

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