Betting Boy

Chapter Eleven - Isabelle

My heart is hammering, but not exactly in a bad way. I feel bright and awake and so alive right now. I'm glad I didn't turn sleepy-drunk, like Jem and Henry.

I think vaguely about my promise to myself that I wouldn't let things go any further with Kian, but he's one hell of a kisser. And I want him to keep kissing me. I want to keep kissing him. His skin is warm under my fingers – a little sweaty, but I don't really care. I'm kind of sweaty from the club, too. I want to keep exploring his skin, his body, him.

The wall is rough on my shoulder blades where I'm leaning on it, and I pull a hand away from Kian to run it through my hair, and shake out my curls. They're probably all limp now, but I'm too preoccupied to care.

Kian hasn't answered me. He's looking at me from under hooded eyelids, still breathing hard.

"We don't have to," I blurt, all the seductiveness gone from my voice now. Now, I just feel a little stupid. What the hell was I thinking? Of course he doesn't want to go back. This was just a kiss. Or two. Or a few. A few really hot kisses.

But so what? A few really hot kisses is pretty different to sex.

I find myself tugging down the bottom of my dress, suddenly self-conscious.

I'm not the kind of girl who has one night stands, or friends with benefits, or booty calls. I'm not the kind of girl who jumps into bed with a hot guy she hardly knows.

I didn't have a boyfriend until I was seventeen, once I'd joined a college that wasn't an all-girls school. It lasted a few months, and we had sex, but I'd never really thought the sex was anything to rave about. Not that I had anything to compare it to, and not that I thought it was awful, but... I just didn't get the whole hype around it.

But Kian makes me feel like I get the hype.

Kian catches my hand on the hem of my dress, and his fingers skim underneath the fabric, sliding up the side of my thigh and then he grabs my arse over my knickers, jerking me back in close.

"I would love," he breathes, "to get out of here."

He kisses me again, and then straightens my dress back down before he steps away, and his hand slips into mine.

The walk home is windy, and cold. Despite the warm, sunny September day we had earlier, it's bitter out now. It's sobering, and I get goosebumps on my arms, and my shoes start to hurt.

A lot.

Kian notices me slowing down, and I pull him to a halt. "Hang on."

I undo the buckles on my shoes and step out of them, groaning as I place my feet on the rough pavement. It's nice to be out of them.

"You know you're not supposed to strip off until we're inside, right?" he teases.

I roll my eyes.

"I'm serious. I don't want to get arrested here for like, public exposure, or something."

"You don't want to get arrested?" I laugh. I'm not sure why it's so funny. "Again, you mean."

"The first time wasn't for public exposure," he argues.

"I've literally never gotten in trouble with the police. I don't even drive above the speed limit. Even when there are no cameras."