Her Harry Potter castmates – Bonnie Wright, Evanna Lynch, and Katie Leung!

‘Oh, Christ,’ Emma moans, as you scroll carefully through pictures of the pretty, elfin Evann Lynch. ‘Oh, God. How am I ever going to look my friends in the eye after this?’

You snicker quietly, selecting a picture of Evanna in a sparkling leotard and saving it carefully in a tab. ‘Hey, I managed it with you, and I must’ve cum hundreds of times to this kind of stuff before we met.’

Emma can’t seem to find a decent rebuttal to this. ‘You have no shame,’ she says finally, clearing her throat. ‘That’s the difference. Oh, God…’

‘So…’ Satisfied, you flick between the three tabs. ‘Fuck, marry or kill? Bonnie Wright…’ You linger on the pretty redhead, who’s showing an uncharacteristic amount of sideboob in the picture you’ve chosen. ‘Katie Leung?’ Emma’s eyes slide reluctantly over her friend, who’s wearing a cute gray dress and not much else.

‘Or Evanna Lynch?’ you conclude, showing her the picture you’ve selected. Emma bites her lip involuntarily; and you don’t blame her. The little blonde Irish girl looks hot in her dance costume.

‘Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Okay. Okay, give me a minute.’ Emma’s brow creases in intense thought. ‘Right, so… if I choose fuck, that’s only for one night, right?’

‘It’s a one-night stand,’ you agree. ‘Fucking amazing sex, you have to assume. As good as it gets. But for one night only, yeah.’

‘And if I choose marry…’ Emma reaches out of her own accord to flick back a tab. ‘That’s a full-on relationship, obviously, but do I get to have sex with my wife? Indefinitely?’

‘Until you divorce, yep,’ you tell her, tongue-in-cheek. ‘So I guess you kind of get fuck bundled up with that one.’

‘Right…’ Emma studies the picture of Bonnie Wright, and you can tell she’s remembering the sight of Bonnie’s boobs. ‘As for kill, well, that’s obvious. And harsh. And terrible.’

‘That’s the game,’ you tell her, not unkindly. ‘Unless you pussify it completely and go with avoid instead, but since we’re not fifteen-year-old schoolgirls, I’m not having that shit.’

Emma arches one perfect eyebrow. ‘Pussify?’ she echoes disbelievingly.

You distract her by circling her clit firmly with your thumb; Emma gasps and looks down accusingly. ‘Hey!’

‘Stop stalling,’ you tell her cheerfully. ‘Fuck, marry or kill. Bonnie, Katie or Evanna. Decide.’

‘Oh, Christ…’ Emma swipes between the tabs again. You think she gazes at Evanna the most, but her fingers are buried in her panties and it’s hard to say which one makes her play with herself the longest. ‘Okay. Right.’

You glance over at her. ‘Yeah? Who’ve you got?’

Emma’s face is screwed up in indecision. ‘I think…’ she begins hesitantly. ‘I think…’