He groaned in pleasure at the sensation, as anger flooded into something else entirely. She wasn’t shying away from at the contact. Did she do this with all the boys? Kristoffer almost thought; ambush them in the changing rooms? Perhaps he didn't care to know; at this moment he didn't care at all.
(Besides, he would rather it be her here than any other girl he knew.)
The privacy was precious enough, never mind her willingness: since this had practically been an invitation, he would be a fool to not make the most of it. Maybe she could already tell too well, that she was too clever by half, that the failure of that match had faded faster than Kristoffer had thought possible; somehow, he had no space in his head for any thoughts that weren't about Beatrix Borgin, her soft lips, and her nails curled into the back of his neck, the slender set of her body as his hands roved downwards (with an abundance of confidence, if not particular... finesse), exploring the feel of her further. It was as much of a thrill as quidditch - as much of a triumph, as much as a power-trip - and he didn’t want to let go.
(Besides, he would rather it be her here than any other girl he knew.)
The privacy was precious enough, never mind her willingness: since this had practically been an invitation, he would be a fool to not make the most of it. Maybe she could already tell too well, that she was too clever by half, that the failure of that match had faded faster than Kristoffer had thought possible; somehow, he had no space in his head for any thoughts that weren't about Beatrix Borgin, her soft lips, and her nails curled into the back of his neck, the slender set of her body as his hands roved downwards (with an abundance of confidence, if not particular... finesse), exploring the feel of her further. It was as much of a thrill as quidditch - as much of a triumph, as much as a power-trip - and he didn’t want to let go.
