Little Thieves (Little Thieves, #1)

by Margaret Owen

“Well, this is happening. Canoodling youths it is.” Emeric wrings his jacket in his hands. “There has to be an alternative—” “We get caught and probably die, that’s the alternative,” I hiss back. I pull his jacket free and toss it haphazardly on a shelf, like it was discarded in the throes of a very unlikely passion, and undo a few buttons on my blouse to add to the illusion. Then I make myself grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer. “If it’s any consolation, this isn’t how I envisioned my first—” “No.” He braces a hand on the shelf behind my head, leaning away like I’m poison. “I don’t—I don’t want to do this.” I let go, a little staggered. He doesn’t want to kiss me. No—not just doesn’t want. The notion is so repellent, he would rather get caught by Adalbrecht, the monster at both of our throats. Oh gods, I want to die. I want the floor to cave in. I want to shrink until I’m small enough to hide behind the towels. It’s not that I want to kiss him—I don’t think I do—it’s just gutting to be reminded that without the pearls, I’m not … Not Gisele. It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. I don’t know what I expected. I may not be a good person, but I know too well how it feels to have something forced on me, and I won’t do that to anyone.

I absolutely LOVE this. The lack of consent that goes with this trope has always bothered me and this passage puts a BIG ol spotlight on that