Page 60 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

Rory lifts me higher, and I think dazedly to myself how much stronger he must be than I ever realized. I’ve seen him in PE and shinty practice, running around the Lochkelvin grounds with muscles bunching in his calves and the brute force and strength of his thighs, but never did I imagine him able to put his body to use in such a physical way. Never did I imagine he wasthispowerful. Now that I know he hikes mountains daily for fun, it goes some way to explaining his strength, and the longer Rory continues to hold me upright as though I weigh less than air, the more my attraction for him grows.

Fingers grasp the cheeks of my backside, kneading softly. Water runs down my body, coursing from my damp hair to the curves of my thighs. I’m thoroughly soaked, which makes it easier for Finlay to skim my skin, for him to slide his hands all over my body, the sensation of his touches spiraling down a million different nerve endings and lighting me up like a Christmas tree.

Finlay doesn’t spank me. Not at first. Instead, his thumbs draw small circles beside the base of my spine before pressing deeper and deeper into the soft flesh of my ass. And then they travel — down, down the slope and across the swell, cupping my cheeks with the same possessive affection as he cupped my breasts. A thumb inches closer to the seam of my backside, a place no one, not even me, has explored.

I tremble in Rory’s arms the closer Finlay moves toward the most hidden part of me. I want him to touch me there so badly. The pad of his thumb slowly presses against my hole, parting my cheeks gently, and I moan loudly at the sweet, aching pressure of his touch. A bubble of shame floats up as I revel in the feel of him, in the heat he brings to such an obscene, clandestine area. The needy shame alone is almost enough to propel me into orgasm. My nerves spark with static, as though Finlay is jolting me with electricity, and I launch myself at Rory, coiling my arms tighter around him for security.

I wait for Rory to tell him off, one of those dry, curt admonishments.A spanking, I said. But he says nothing. Perhaps he enjoys me squirming against his firm body, panting and mewling into his ear like a wild, uncontrollable demon.

My head drops, crashing onto Finlay’s shoulder. He continues to work the crease of my backside in long, exploratory strokes with that constant, teasing thumb of his. He pauses once, tilting gently into the tight button of my asshole, pressing inside me for a short, breathless moment.

I rock against the tip of his thumb, trying to draw him deeper into me. I crave more — some kind of dark degeneracy that I can’t even give voice to. With Finlay inside me like this, even just the tip of his shortest digit, there’s the hint of something that soothes the neuroses in my soul — a semblance of satisfaction, of being filled up and made mindless, of the possibility of being filledeven more.

But Finlay withdraws slowly, causing a pitiful whine from the pit of my stomach. He kisses the corner of my jaw and murmurs, “Sorry, sassenach. I have my orders.”

I’m about to growl something sarcastic, about him sure picking the right moment — when I’m wet and desperate, the ache in my untouched clit rocketing, my backside clenching against empty air — to decide to follow Rory’s orders. And, as though sensing the impudence against him in my internal rant, Finlay thwacks me without warning.

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