Lying on her stomach on her bed, Rory flipped the pages on her novel. Certain words jumped out at her, but for once she couldn't concentrate on the wonderful world contained within the pages. For once, there was no look of intense concentration on her face that Dean loved as she read. Her mind was spinning. Giving up and sighing, she tossed the book aside onto her bedside table, reached over and turned off her lamp. Lying on her back, she stared up at the ceiling, listening to her mother trying to be quiet and failing at it. There was a sudden darkness on the landing, and then silence. Trying to empty her mind, she shut her eyes, and without even knowing how, she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Rory usually loved school, but today she couldn't concentrate. Today Tristan wasn't even looking at her; he was deep in conversation with Madeline. But still…
"Rory!" Mr Medina's voice snapped her out of her daydream, "Where's your copy of Macbeth?" Not used to being reprimanded in class, Rory mumbled something that sounded like 'locker', and quietly excused herself to go and retrieve it. Halfway back to class, play in hand, the last person she expected to see grabbed her wrist. Tristan pulled her around the corner and ducked them both out to the archway.
"Tristan! What're you…" But Rory never got to finish her sentence, because before she could string enough words together to make a full sentence, his mouth kissed hers hungrily. He pushed her up against the wall and took her mouth again, one hand steadying them both against the wall, the other already creeping to her breast.
Rory dropped her book.
His whole body pressed up against her, pinning her to the wall. Rory couldn't do anything but kiss him back, and she wasn't strong enough to push him away even if she had wanted to. It was his roughness with her that excited her the most; it was such a difference from Dean's gentle and tender kisses. Those made her feel safe, but Tristan thrilled her. His fingers, familiar from yesterday, found her legs under the skirt and traced the same patterns across her skin. Rory was shocked that she was allofwing herself to be touched like this at all, let alone not even behind closed doors. But the things that Tristan was making her feel rendered her incapable of reasoning with herself.
The bell that rang a minute later was the most unwelcome sound that Rory had ever heard. Dean had all but vanished from her mind, and Tristan was pressed her harder into the wall, tongue winding around hers in a way that made her feel things she had never felt before. Not like this. It made her feel pure lust, the wanting to have a man's body up against hers, a tugging between her thighs and a need to hold Tristan as close to her as she could get him.
She was never quite sure how she got there, but Tristan had her up against a door and was kissing her roughly. His hand felt for the door handle, and – accidentally? – brushed up against her thigh. Feelings exploded inside of Rory – passion and desire. When the door finally opened, the two of them fell inside the room. Rory underneath, the two of them collapsed onto Tristan's bed, Tristan parted her thighs with his knees, drawing an excited sound from the girl underneath him. Rory drew her hand down the side of Tristan's face, memorising every line and angle that there was. Tristan arched his body over her, his mouth finding her lips, throat and neck. He trailed hot kisses everywhere, and then blew on her skin until she was shivering and shuddering in pleasure on his bed. His hands found the top button of her school blouse and opened it. The others followed. His fingers lingered erotically over the slight rise of her breasts. She felt desire pull there, too, wanting him to touch her. Involuntarily, as Tristan's fingers nudged her breasts, she arched her back and called his name.
Suddenly, Rory was consumed by an almost primitive need to have him. She wanted to bite his sensual lower lip, she wanted to draw her fingernails over his back, she wanted to hear him growl as he stripped her clothes off her body. His touch felt like it was setting her on fire. Cupping her breasts with his hands, Tristan pulled roughly at one, then the other, making Rory groan. She felt him pull the bra form her, she felt his mouth bite and tug at her, fiercely and urgently. Her body arched in eager response to his wandering hands, even as his mouth teased her in the same place over and over again. Her soft sounds of delight thrilled him, even as his rough-and-ready hands scorched the skin they travelled over.
Rory lost all sense of rational thought after that point. She knew that she was almost growling as she pulled Tristan's shirt off. She was aware of the desperate noises Tristan made as he roughly pulled her out of her skirt. She remembered that when he had dipped his head between her thighs, she had cried out loud in desire. Rory remembered his whole body crushing her hotly down on the bed. She knew that their clothes were piled in a heap on the floor, and that her hands had travelled everywhere on his body. At one stage, she thought she heard a muttering of 'like it rough, do you?' from the man touching her. She knew that he thrilled her with his rough movements, his urgent mouth on her, his wandering hands and his insistence, making her damp with desire.
And he was groaning in pleasure, his hands tangling seductively in her hair, calling her name…
"Rory? What are you doing?" Dimly, Rory wondered why she could hear Lane's voice. They were at Tristan's…weren't they?
"Rory! Are you alright?" Lane was pulling at her shoulder, "Rory! What are you doing? We're going to be late for breakfast!" Lane was tugging her quilt.
"Lane?"
"Rory? What are you doing? You've been thrashing around ever since I got in here. You're going to be late for school and…are you sick?"
"No…I'm fine…I…" Rory tried to get a grip on her surroundings, but it was the hardest thing she had ever done to shake off that dream. Gathering herself together and putting her school clothes on in the bathroom a few minutes later, she couldn't help but notice that one part of her dream hadn't actually been a dream. Reaching for new underwear on her shelf, she tried to shake herself out of it. It was impossible. It was going to be a long day.
And the other thing that disturbed her was that she had liked it. It had without a doubt been the best dream of her life, and she wanted more. Sweet, gentle Dean…what was she going to tell him? That she was having hot, sweaty dreams about the guy he hated most? Why was she even having fantasies about Tristan? What was wrong with the world?
