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He doesn’t say it aloud but it’s the shape his lips make as he’s confronted by the image of Rory’s and my entwined bodies.What the fuckis all over him; it shines bright in his beating, beaten heart.
Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
I keep doing it. I keep hurting the people I — love?
Love?
Because when I gaze at Finlay at that moment, my heart mourns for him. I don’t want to cause him pain. I don’t want him to hate me. I want to protect him and cherish him and love my punk-rock anarchist boy. But I’m also intensely fallible, and Rory with his elegant cut suits and clipped voice has always been my biggest weakness. I’m utterly at his pleasure-seeking mercy, residing with the lowest of the low as those who live and love for Rory Munro.
“Fin,” Rory groans, obstinately refusing to budge from his sprawled position across my body, his lips brushing the swell of my naked breast and scattering warm shivers across my skin. He tightens a possessive arm around me and curves a lazy, indolent smile across to his best friend. “Piss off, yeah?”
