He didn't kiss like Cedric. Cedric used to kiss her like he meant it, like he loved her. He kissed her that way because he did mean it—he did love her. But then he died, and left her stranded and broken, and marveling at the fact that others—his parents and even Harry who had actually seen him die—were even more broken than herself. Was that possible? And so, she had her first broken heart, for a more morbid reason than most did.
He didn't kiss like Harry, either. Harry had kissed her like he was unsure and confused and afraid. But looking back on it, she figured that perhaps he had been. She had never seen him with another girl before then, and aside from herself, the only girl that she had known him to harbor feelings for was Ginny Weasley, but the two of them were after their brief time together. She could tell by the way that he kissed Ginny that he was neither unsure nor confused or afraid. He was confident and understanding and brave. But in the end, Harry had broken her heart, too, when they had that falling out…or perhaps she had broken her own heart.
But that didn't matter to her. She didn't want Cedric's lips caressing her own, although often she dreamt about them at night. She didn't want Harry's lips hovering there and filling up space, although sometimes she wondered what it would have been like had they not fallen apart so.
She wanted him and his lips crushing hers. When they met at the Lake on Thursday nights, that was all she wanted, and when they started pulling each other into random closets and empty classrooms hurriedly, she wanted that and more—that feeling of being wanted in not any sort of frivolous romantic sense, but in a real, genuine way. She wanted to be wanted.
And when he took her to Hogsmede on a real date for the first time, she found herself saying, "You better not break my heart, Roger Davies, or I'll hex you black and blue." No, he couldn't break her heart like Cedric and Harry had, and he wouldn't break her heart like he did to all those other girls.
And when that real date actually turned into gradual clothes shredding in the broom closet (How did we get here?), amidst the forcefulness and kissing and bliss, she heard him say, "And do I look like the kind of man that can be intimidated?"