Page 163 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

“Ye think I want tae be yer revenge fantasy? Because I don’t. I want…” Finlay pauses, struggling to continue the muttered conversation while entering me. His eyes flutter closed, sinking into the sensation of being buried inside me. “I want mair than that,” he concludes quietly.

Rory tilts his head toward him in interest. His eyes trace the sheen of sweat along Finlay’s forehead, the muscles bunched down his grounding arms, the cock that he commanded to obediently plow into me. The same cock slams into me at an angle, hitting something blissful, something that adorns my vision with sparkling stars.

Rory lifts a finger and rests it on the colorful explosion of ink decorating Finlay’s forearm. With that one touch, Finlay’s hips falter.

When Rory’s finger moves across Finlay in straight lines, I realize he’s not marking the ink of Finlay’s temporary tattoo, but the white, barely noticeable scars that his designs are used to shield. The wounds we pretend aren’t there. It’s so vulnerable, such a private touch that it takes my breath away. Finlay’s eyes flutter closed, like he can feel the ecstasy coursing through me, his cock surging within me as Rory continues to gently stroke his most secret, tender area.

“You lit a spark and set fire to Westminster faster than Guy Fawkes ever did,” Rory murmurs in a strange, soft tone, his finger still tracing Finlay’s white scars.

Luke pauses around my clit, eyes flicking up at the two of them. Beside me, Danny’s stopped breathing.

“And I know you’ll do so again in the future. You’re diametrically opposed to everything my father stands for. You can’t help but be my revenge fantasy.”

Rory turns those pearl-gray eyes in my direction, a wicked smile slanting across his mouth. “And the saint’s been such a good girl tonight that maybe I won’t have to do this out of spite.”

“Do what?” Finlay asks numbly, and the answer comes to him in the form of Rory’s crushing mouth.

A hook yanks sharply at my navel. My cunt squeezes around Finlay like a vise.

“Holy fuck,” Danny breathes beside me.

Holy fuckis indeed the phrase. They look phenomenal together.

Their mouths are a vivid dark slash, clashing against each other in heated battle, each trying to make the other succumb. Only when Finlay releases a choked, submissive groan does the kiss meld into something less like combat and more like a romantic act, almost fraternal in its easy affection.

Luke stares at them in astonishment, momentarily pulling away from my clit, lips wet and eyes like saucers. His palm slides between my legs instead, fingers teasing lovingly at my clit, and the change in friction from mouth to skin is enough to wrack shivers down my spine.

Rory’s hand wanders up Finlay’s bare chest, toying with the disheveled hair splayed around his neck. There’s a flash of tongue. Pained need is carved across Finlay’s face, in the force with which he presses his kisses, like a bruise, onto Rory’s mouth. His chest is heaving almost as much as mine, brushing up yearningly against Rory like he craves as much physical contact as he can steal from his king.

Unbidden, a cry falls from my lips. They turn their attention to me to check how far gone I am, Rory’s hand still clutching Finlay, Finlay still full and thick inside me as he slowly fucks my cunt. Finlay’s eyes are glassy, gone — a startling vibrant green. Rory’s smile is all cruel, devious sharpness, like he knows exactly how securely Finlay’s trapped inside his web.

Distractedly, Danny begins to slide his hands down the sides of my body, letting them rest a tantalizing distance beneath my breasts. I welcome the touch of his smooth warm skin, and, like an impatient queen, direct Danny’s hands to cup my breasts from behind.

He stirs beneath me at that, his wet, spent cock longing for more, as he plants soft kisses along my neck.

Satisfied that I’m still with them, that I still see the effort they’re putting in for me, Finlay and Rory resume their show. Arms wrap around backs, muscles flex in the low lamplight. Their mouths feast on each other, a dark, sensual hunger designed to drag me as close to climax as possible. I arch back against Danny, pushing myself against Finlay’s impaling cock as I watch their furious, dreamy kiss. Aware of how close I am, Luke increases the pace of his fingers as they draw tight circles against my swollen clit.

It all whirls around me like galaxies, the sights and sounds occurring on this bed. Danny’s hands kneading my breasts, Luke’s clever fingers slipping wetly between my lips, my heart devouring the wild, ragged moans elicited, as though under torture, from the kiss happening for me and in front of me. I’m both powerful and powerless, at Rory’s mercy and at my own, and a sudden burst of pleasure shimmers down me like glitter in an upturned snow globe: gradually and then all at once.

Sparks flare behind my eyes. The world spins and my intoxicated mind spins with it. Danny pins my quivering body into place with his arms, a hand pressed dearly against my mouth, as orgasm flashes through me in an act of earth-shattering defiance. Pills and alcohol spike my orgasm, the silk sheets shifting beneath me like slow lapping midnight waters. I feel everything, like I’m one with the world, like I’m cosmically pivotal to it in that pleasure-soaked spell. The world shrinks and rests in the apex of my thighs, in the space behind Luke’s probing fingers and Finlay’s steel-hard length, as my body gives birth to pleasure.

Rory’s lips skitter away from Finlay to watch me, to consume every particle of pleasure that he’s successfully produced in me tonight. Proud eyes sweep over me like dark storm clouds as my body convulses. Meanwhile, Finlay looks more dazed than I’ve ever seen him, like he’d been spirited elsewhere for a long time and has only just remembered where he is. He curses as I buck and cry beneath him, his hands landing steady and hard on my hips, fingers digging tight into my pelvis.

With renewed aggression, Finlay’s cock splits me apart. There’s a powerful urgency driving him now, lined in the black slope of his brows and the determined downturn of his mouth. I’m still moaning, still shuddering beneath him, and as Finlay’s gaze searches my flushed face, it doesn’t take long for him to erupt inside me.

“Fuck, sassenach,” he mutters, grinding into my cunt and then freezing in place, his muscles trembling around me, his head bowed as though in worship, soft black hair spilling across my neck. I feel him pour himself into me, the sudden slide of heat radiating inside me, and I squirm beneath Finlay, trying to chase more of that wicked, essential sensation of warmth, of glowing completion.

The others watch him avidly but Rory only has eyes for me. Eventually, Finlay sags on top of me, a bulk of muscle and man. His stomach kisses mine as he heaves long, deep breaths. Eagerly he seeks out my mouth, his body hot and slick with sweat. We kiss slowly, languidly, our limbs tangled beneath low lamplight and our fingers connected in shadows.

Luke nestles his head on my shoulder, admiring our eternal kiss. Danny clenches his arms around my middle, holding me securely in place. Rory walks his fingers down Finlay’s spine, making him tense above me. He gazes at me, all silver and possessive and raw, and whispers to me in a tone laden with utter adoration, “Let’s get married.”

I laugh slightly.

I’ve never been as comfortable as I am then, surrounded by all the boys I love.

Safe. Secure. Happy.

I feel like I know who I am again.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

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