Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

When I reached the edge of the pitch, I felt like crying in relief as I hobbled up the steep bank. However, my relief was only a momentary, fleeting feeling that was quickly replaced with a searing pain as something very hard and very heavy smashed into the back of my head, taking the air from my lungs and my feet from beneath me. Moments later, I was free-falling backwards, tumbling down the muddy bank, the pain ricocheting through my head making it impossible for me to think clearly or break my own fall. My last coherent thought before I hit the ground with a thud, and a thick cloud of darkness cloaked over me, was this; nothing changes. I was wrong though. Everything changed after that day. Everything.

I was perturbed beyond all rationality when a girl strolled across the pitch - fucking strolled right through the training grounds. Irritated, I glared at her, feeling a rage inside of me that bordered on manic. This was how fucking bad this team was. The other students didn’t even care that we were training. Several of the lads shouted at her, but that only seemed to rile me up further. I didn’t understand why they were shouting at her. This was their fault.

"Fifth year is more crucial to your leaving cert than sixth year and I need you to keep your marks up – oh shit!" "What?" I demanded, startled. Following Coaches horrified gaze, I turned around and locked eyes on the crumpled ball on the edge of the pitch. "Oh shite," I muttered when my mind made sense of what I was seeing. The girl. The fucking girl who'd been prancing around the pitch was laid out on her back on the grass. A ball lay on the grass beside her. Not just any ball. My bleeding ball! Horrified, my feet were moving before my brain could catch up. I ran towards her, heart hammering against my ribcage every step of the way. "Hey – are you okay?" I called out, closing the space between us. A soft, female groan came from her lips as she attempted to get to her feet. She was trying to stand up and failing miserably, clearly startled. Unsure of what to do, I reached down to help her up, but she quickly slapped my hands away. "Don’t touch me," she cried out, tone a little slurred, and the jolting caused her to fall onto her knees. "Okay!" I automatically took a step back and held my hands up. "I'm so sorry." Achingly slowly, she climbed to her feet, swaying from side to side, confusion etched on her face, eyes unfocused. Clutching the side of her muddy skirt with one hand, and balancing the rugby ball in the other, she looked around, eyes wild. Her attention landed on the ball in her hands and then shifted back to my face. A glazed over sort of fury blazed in her eyes...

A pained, hissing sound tore from her throat then and the hand she was using to hold her skirt shot to her temple, causing the scrap of fabric to fall away from her body. My eyes widened of their own accord, an unfortunate reaction of seeing a female's underwear. Wolf whistles and cheering erupted from the lads. "Oh god," she cried out, scrambling clumsily to retrieve her skirt. "Go on, gorgeous!" "Give us a twirl!" "Fuck off, you assholes!" I roared at my teammates, stepping in front of the girl to block their view. I could hear the lads cracking up behind me, laughing and talking shite, but I couldn’t concentrate on a word they were saying because the sound of my heart hammering in my chest was deafening me. "Here," reaching for the hem of my jersey, I pulled it over my head and ordered, "Put that on." "It's filthy," she sobbed, but didn’t stop me when I pulled it down over her head. She slipped her hands into the sleeves and I felt an immense amount of relief when the hem fell to her knees, covering her up. Christ, she really was a tiny little thing. Was she even old enough to attend secondary school? She didn’t look it.

"I think I'm going to fall," she croaked out, distracting me from my thoughts. Reaching up, she clutched my forearm with her small hand and sighed. "Everything's spinning." "I won't let you fall," I automatically replied in a soothing tone. "It's okay." I felt her slip and pulled her upright, holding onto the tiny thing for all I was worth. "I've got you," I coaxed, tightening my arm around her. "You're good."

"Hey – hey!" I said louder now. "Look at me." I shook her head. "Look at my face." This time she did. She opened her eyes and fuck me, I unintentionally sucked in a sharp breath. Jesus, this girl was beautiful. I'd noticed it earlier of course, she had a striking look about her, but now, seeing her up close like this and being able to count the freckles on her face – eleven by the way – it was hitting home just how striking she was.

"Who are you?" she croaked out, depending entirely on my hands to keep her head upright. "I'm Johnny," I told her, biting back a smirk. "Who are you?" "Shannon," she whispered. Her eyelids drooped a little but quickly sprung back open when I nudged her cheeks. "Like the river," she added with a small sigh. I chuckled at her response. "Well, Shannon like the river," I said brightly, desperate to keep her focused and talking. "Your parents are on the way. They're probably going to take you to the hospital for a check-up."

I shook my head to myself, feeling like an eejit, but continued to do what she asked anyway. It was going well – right up until she face-planted on my dick. Jerking at the insanely intimate contact, not to mention the sudden jolt of awareness in my dick and the scorching pain in my groin, I attempted to move her face from my crotch, but she groaned loudly in resistance. And then she pulled her legs up on the bench and settled herself down for a nice, old kip on my cock. Fuck my life.

"You promise?" she whispered, a tiny smile pulling at her swollen lips. "Yeah," I replied gruffly, feeling like I would promise all the fucking promises in the world just to make this girl feel better. "I've got your back."

A girl, a fucking female I'd known for no longer than two hours, had managed to do what no one else ever had; knock me off kilter. Shannon like the river was on my mind, and I didn’t fucking like it.

Shannon Lynch had eyes the color of midnight blue that wouldn’t stay the fuck out of my head. At least that's the closest comparison I could find on the countless internet searches I had performed. Color chart searches on the internet were confusing, but not nearly as baffling as my fucked-up brain that, like a broken record, seemed to be stuck on repeat. My brain's track of choice: Shannon like the river, with the gorgeous blue eyes, face of an angel, and the troubled past.

The minute I laid eyes on her, something had hit me hard in the chest. Something unfamiliar and disconcerting. Over a month had passed and I was still reeling. We were into February and I was still silently obsessing over Shannon like the river.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Are you relieved Bella ended whatever the fuck you'd call what you two were doing because you were tired of Bella?" He studied my face for a few moments before adding, "Or because you're into the girl?" His question caused me to pause mid-button. "The girl?" "Yeah, the girl." "What girl?" I asked, feigning ignorance. "The fucking girl, Johnny," Gibsie growled, throwing his hands up. "The one you knocked out. The one I took a molesting off Dee for so I could get her file. The one you spend your days swapping gooey eyes with at school." "Gooey eyes?" Pulling my jumper down over my stomach, I stepped into my shoes. "What the hell are gooey eyes?" "Swooning eyes," Gibsie snapped, exasperated now. "Smoldering gazes. Fuck me looks. I want to eat your pussy signals." He shook his head and reached for a can of deodorant out of his gear bag. "Whatever you want to call them."

My gaze flicked from Hughie to Gibsie, who was currently face down on the table, snoring his head off, to Patrick Feely, who was being molested by one of Bella's friends, to Bella, who was dry-humping Cormac Ryan, and then back to Hughie. "Why me?" I groaned. "Because we're your babies," Hughie announced, leaning his weight on me. "My babies?" I slurred. "How the fuck are you three anyone's babies?" "You're our captain," Hughie slurred. "We're kind of your responsibility." "On the pitch, ya gobshite."

"You remember who I am, right?" he asked, still smiling, although he looked a little nervous now, probably because I was staring at him like a creeper. "Shannon like the river." Oh god. "Yeah," I choked out, feeling every ounce of blood in my body rush to my cheeks as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I remember you." Unsure of what else to say or do, I stupidly raised and hand and waved. "Hi, Johnny."

"Johnny!" a booming male voice called out, distracting us both. I turned my head to see a burly man sauntering towards us with an impressive looking camera strapped to his neck. "Give us a picture for the paper, will ya, son?" I was fairly sure I heard Johnny mutter the words fuck off under his breath but he turned to the photographer and gave him a polite nod. "No problem." "Good man yourself," the photographer praised and pointed the camera at Johnny, only to halt and turn to me. "Move out the way, will ya, love?" "Oh, right, sorry!" I squeaked and scrambled to back out of the line of the lens. "We were talking," Johnny bit out. He cast a scathing glare at the photographer and then walked right over to me. "Smile," he instructed quietly as he pulled me into his side and clamped his huge, muddy hand on my hip. Stunned, I stared up at him. "Huh?" "Smile," Johnny repeated calmly, tucking me under his arm. Frazzled, I turned back to face the photographer and did exactly what Johnny told me to do. I beamed. The photographer arched a brow and gave me a curious look, but quickly hurried to snap what felt like a million snaps.

He smiled down at me. "Hi, Shannon." "Hi, Johnny," I whispered, staring back at him, feeling like my heart was two seconds away from bursting out of my chest. "How are you?" he asked, voice deep, blue eyes burning holes in mine. "I'm good," I breathed. "How are you?" He smirked. "I'm good." Dammit, there was that word again…

"Jaysus, I bench twice what you weigh in the gym." Johnny looked me over before asking, "Are you seriously only five feet?" "If I stand really straight, I am." "Christ, I'm 6'3." He shook his head. "You're so small." "Exactly." I pulled a face. "Stunted." "Jaysus, no wonder you folded like a lawn chair when the ball hit you," Johnny muttered, rubbing his jaw again as his eyes traveled over me. "I could have broken you in half."

"What happened?" he demanded, glaring down at me. "Who the fuck made you cry?" "What?" I breathed, shaking my head. "I'm not crying." "Your eyes are red and swollen," he deadpanned. "You've been crying." His eyes moved to my cheek. "The fuck happened to your face?" "What?" "Your face," he bit out. "Your cheek is red." "I'm fine," I choked out, taking a safe step back from his overly observant eyes. It was only then that I noticed he was still holding my wrist.

"What happened to your face?" My father beat me with a newspaper… "Uh, don’t worry about that," I muttered, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand to erase any residual evidence of tears. "Give me a name," Johnny growled, dropping his hands to his hips. "And I'll take care of it." "What– no! I'm grand," I quickly replied. "I have allergies." "Me, too. I’m allergic to assholes and bullshit," Johnny snarled. "Now, tell me who made you cry and I'll fix it."

Shaking my head to clear my ridiculous thoughts, I looked up at him and said, "I need to tell you something." "Yeah, you do," he shot back. "A name."

I needed to get my head in the game. Problem was, I left it with Shannon Lynch. All my great plans of forgetting about her flew clean out the window the minute she marched her tiny arse up to me at school last Wednesday and demanded to talk. I was so fucking bowled over, I could do nothing but stand there, gaping like an eejit at the pint-sized girl pulling on every single one of my strings.

"You'd tell me, right?" I called after her when she was out of my car. "If something was happening to you?" I leaned over the passenger seat to look at her, knowing I was making a hash of this, but needing to say it anyway. "You'd tell me if someone was giving you trouble at school?" Shannon stood with her hand gripping my car door for the longest moment, big blue eyes locked on mine. Finally, she nodded. I felt my body sag in relief. "Bye, Johnny," she whispered and then she closed the door. "Bye, Shannon," I muttered to myself as I turned the key in the engine.

"Myself and Shannon have each other," Joey interrupted, gesturing a finger between us. "That's it." "Not anymore," Aoife told my brother. "You have me." Reaching across the table, she covered his hand with hers and smiled weakly. "All of you." Joey's shoulders visibly sagged as she snatched her hand up and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "Christ, I love you," he told her, voice low and gruff.

Fuck, I wanted to hear her voice on the other side of that line. This girl is different, my stupid fucking brain chanted. This one is for keeps. I wanted to be back in my room, with my phone pressed to my ear, listening to her stumble over her words as she told me every one of her thoughts. I wanted to be back here with her, watching her blush and smile and peek up at me through those long, thick lashes. I wanted to be sitting in that dark cinema with her, not paying an ounce of attention to the film showing, while I stole secret glances at her and burned in heat when I found her eyes on me. I just wanted her

Frustrated, I turned my attention back to my phone and scrolled through my contacts, looking for Hughie's name. "That little bollox," I cursed when I realized that Gibsie had once again changed the name of every single contact on my list. Sugar Tits and Devil Pussy were once against present in my contacts, along with new ones like Big Daddy G, Fanny Flaps, Call if Arrested, Do Not Call if Arrested, and my personal favorite: Judas Iscari-cunt. Clicking into that particular contact, I recognized the number as being Cormac's. He could stay like that. Devil Pussy, too. I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to find Hughie's number because I couldn’t figure out who was bleeding who in my phone. After accidentally dialing the contact Casual Sex and hearing Coach Mulcahy's voice on the other line, I quickly hung up. Cancelling another incoming call from King Clit, because who in their right mind would answer a number listed as that, I switched off my phone and shoved it back in my pocket.

"You're the hurler–" I paused and racked my brain for his name. "Joey!" I blurted out, proud of myself for managing to retrieve that piece of information in my state. "Joey the hurler and Shannon like the river." "Like the river?" the girl chuckled. "God, how much have you had to drink?" "A river load by the looks of it," Joey stated wryly, eyeing me with curiosity.

He started the engine and had just pulled onto the road when I felt the car brake suddenly. "What the fuck?" Joey barked seconds before two hands slammed down on the hood of his car. "Get off my car, asshole!" "You're stealing my Center," Gibsie roared in the window as he leaned over the hood of the car. "Give him back." His eyes darted from Joey to me, recognition sparking. "Hey, Cap." He grinned, head lolling to one side. "How's it going? I've been looking everywhere for you." "And this clown is?" Joey asked, tone derisive, attention locked on Gibsie who was having a one-way conversation with me through the windscreen of his car. "He's my Flanker," I grumbled before turning my attention back to the man-child hugging the bonnet. "Gibs! What the fuck are you doing, lad!" I barked, glaring out the windscreen.

"I tried to call you but you kept cutting me off!" I glared at him. "You're King Clit?" "Oh, yeah," Gibsie snickered. "I forgot about that." "What's Hughie down as?" "Ginger Pubes," he replied like it was the most obvious thing ever. It wasn’t. "He's blond," I growled. "His girlfriend isn’t." "Jesus Christ," I groaned, rubbing my forehead.

"You traitor!" he choked out, looking comically horrified. "You went to the chipper!" "Yeah, I did," I replied, shoving away from him. "And it was fucking delicious, and I have no regrets." "What did you have?" "A few cheeseburgers and a curry-chips." "How did it taste?" "Better than sex." "We're supposed to be on a diet!" Gibsie hissed in an appalled tone before quickly asking, "Did you get me something?" "Yeah, I got you a burger." "Thanks, Johnny." "And then I got hungry so I ate it." "You're a monster." "You two are so weird," Aoife laughed. "Aren't they funny, Joey?" "They're something, alright," Shannon's brother replied.

Fighting like a married couple

"Hey." Suddenly realizing he was in the company of strangers, Gibsie leaned through the middle of their seats and asked, "Who the fuck are you guys?" "Johnny's friends with my boyfriend's sister," Aoife explained. "Sister?" The word seemed to confuse Gibsie, who stared blankly at me for several moments. Throwing a prayer up to the heavens that he could control himself, I nodded and said, "Shannon." Gibsie sank back beside me and frowned. "Shannon?" "Yes, Shannon." I glared at him. Gibsie's eyes widened then, awareness suddenly dawning on him. "Oh, Shannon!" he exclaimed. "Ah, yeah, little Shannon from third year." Grinning, he nudged me in the ribs. "Johnny here has a fierce soft spot for your sister." "Is that right?" Joey replied tightly. Oh fuck. "Yeah, he's always looking out for her at school," Gibsie added with a wink. "Making sure she's not getting into any hassle." I bit back a groan and resisted the urge to wrap my hands around his neck and choke the life out of him. To be fair, it could have been worse. Gibsie was capable of saying so much worse. "That's lovely," Aoife chimed in, and I noticed the way she placed a hand on her boyfriend's knee. "Isn't it kind of him, Joe?" "Why?" Joey demanded, tone hard and suspicious. "What's in it for you?" I sighed heavily and tried to come up with something believable. "Because I fucked her –" "You what?" Joey roared, slamming on the brakes. The sudden jolt of the car stopping caused Gibsie and me to lunge forwards. Turning a...

Joey didn’t reply, but he did turn his attention to the road and start driving again. I breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to Gibsie, I mouthed the words keep your mouth shut. He responded with a theatrical finger to mouth zipper motion.

Joey stared at me for another long pause before shaking his head. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate that my sister has someone looking out for her. When I can't." He turned to leave only to spin back around. "Friend." His word held a bite to it. "My sister needs a friend, Kavanagh," he clarified. "She doesn’t need to be getting her hopes up on a guy who’ll be gone come the summer." I heard his warning loud and clear.

"I think you need to buy that girl a ring, Joe," I announced as I read and then reread the note Aoife had left on my brother's bedside locker on Sunday morning. "She's a keeper." "Yeah," Joey muttered, scratching his jaw. "She must really love me." "Uh, you think?" I rolled my eyes. "She adores you." "But I don’t get why she would do this for me." "Me either," I teased. "Especially when you look so much like Shrek." "Cheeky fucker," he chuckled, play-shoving me. "Give me a look at that note again."

"Gibsie," I confirmed quietly, thinking about how those two were joined at the hip at school. "That's the one." Joey nodded, then released a low chuckle. "Bloody eejit threw himself on top of the car, demanding I give him back his center." Laughing, he added, "He looked serious, too. Like he genuinely thought I was kidnapping Kavanagh."

The phone began to ring again, screen lighting up with the name King Clit flashing across it "Ew, Joe," I groaned. "That's disgusting." "What?" "Whoever's calling this number is listed as King Clit." My brother threw his head back and laughed. "That's not funny," I admonished, watching the screen go blank again as the call ended. "That's pretty disturbing." "It's yer man – the Gibsie fella. I heard Johnny ranting at him over changing his contacts around last night," Joey chuckled. "He's King Clit

"Don’t look at me like that," I told him. "You know where the kitchen is. I'm not fucking cooking for you." "I'm not used to gas." Gibsie shrugged helplessly. "We have electric at home." "Your mother is a baker," I snapped. "How do you not know how to work a bleeding stove?" "And yours is a flashy fashion designer," he shot back. "But I don't see you prancing around the place in fur coats and Prada handbags."

Frowning, Johnny reached over and cupped – yes, literally cupped – my chin in his hand. "What the fuck is that?" he demanded, voice deathly quiet, as his blue eyes blazed with fire. "What?" I squeezed out, panic-stricken. Tipping my chin up, he brushed my hair off my shoulder and released a low growl. "That," he growled, trailing his thumb over my cheekbone. "And that," he added, skimming the curve of my eye. The contact was so gentle that it caused me to jump from nerves rather than pain. He dropped his hand from my face but remained exactly where he was standing, so close that I could see the vein ticking in his neck as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "Shannon, what happened to your face?" "Oh, that?" Laughing nervously, I tucked my hair behind my ear.

"Yeah, that," Johnny bit out, glaring at my cheek. "Who did that to you?" "Nobody. I fell over my brother's Lego tower last night and almost poleaxed myself on the kitchen table," the line I had rehearsed to perfection for school tomorrow spilled from my mouth with the expert precision needed to sound believable. I had been telling lies for so long about where the cuts and bruises on my body came from, that the lie poured effortlessly from my lips. "You expect me to believe that?" Johnny stunned me by saying. I frowned up at him. That was a good line. It was a believable line. Why wasn’t he taking it? "Yes," I strangled out, flustered by his directness. "Because that's what happened." He arched a brow. "You're honestly trying to tell me that you gave yourself a black eye?" I shrugged noncommittally. "It happens." "Not usually," he bit out. "You must have been running full speed to smash yourself up like that," he added, eyes locked on mine in disbelief. "Were you running?" he asked. "From something?" He stepped closer. "Or someone?"

Johnny shook himself down like a dog would, causing rain drops to splatter everywhere. "You laughing at me, Shannon like the river?" he teased, noticing my smile. I shook my head again. He smiled one of the big, double-dimpled smiles that caused my heart to spazz out

"Now," I said when we were alone, eyes locked on Joey. "Who the fuck is putting their hands on your sister?" Joey's brows shot up. "Yeah, you heard me," I growled. "I found her on her hands and knees at school on Friday, throwing her guts up." I ran a hand through my hair, furious and beyond agitated. "Something's happening to her and I want to know what it is." "Why?" "Because I want to fix it." "Why?" "Because no one should be putting their goddamn anything on her," I barked. "What did she tell you?" he asked calmly. "That she fell over Legos," I bit out. Fell over Legos my ass. Fell into a fist was more like it. Joey studied me with sharp, green eyes for the longest moment before nodding. "If Shannon says that's what happened, then that's what happened." "No –no! Don’t give me that shit," I hissed, frustrated. "This isn’t the first time I've seen her with marks." I distinctly remembered a red mark on her face a couple of weeks ago, and that mark on the back of her neck on Friday. "What's happening to her?" Joey leaned back on his stool, eyeing me with a superior fucking expression I hated. He knew something I didn’t, and it was driving me insane. Yeah, I wasn’t sure I liked Joey the hurler that much anymore. "Who is hurting your sister?" I repeated. He needed to give me something before I jumped to conclusions and kicked his ass. "Is it those pricks from your school?" Did they get her for what I did at the bar on Friday? "Was it them?" I demanded. "Those girls?" Joey re...

"I want to know what's happening," was all I replied. "I need to." "Listen, I'd love to tell you," Joey finally said with a heavy sigh. "I'd have no goddamn problem laying it all out there for you. I have nothing to hide. But she –" he pointed to the door behind me, "won't want me to do that. She would die if she thought anyone knew her business. After all the shit that went down on her at BCS, she wants that clean slate at Tommen. I want that for her, too." "So she is being bullied?" My heart fucking sank. "Someone at Tommen?" If someone at my school did that to her face then I was going to burn the fucking school down. "Or from her old school?" I had a hard time believing those creeps from the bar would be stupid enough to pull another stunt with her. Call me full of myself, but I scared the shit out of them on Friday. Joey stared hard at me for the longest moment before shaking his head. "Listen, Kavanagh," he finally said. "If you want to know what goes on inside of that head of hers, then be worth it." "Be worth it?" I frowned at his words. "Be worth what?" "You're a smart guy," he shot back. "You'll figure it out."

"I want you to hold fucking onto her," Joey roared. Stopping at the front door, he spun around and glared up at me. "Can you do that, Johnny Kavanagh? Can you look after my sister for me? " "Yes," I bit out, not liking his tone but knowing he must be feeling some kind of grief. "I can." "Good," he snapped.

I didn’t want to give her back. Something inside of me told me that if I did, she would return with another bruise. At least if I kept her with me, she would be safe. There was something very fucked up about her life. Something that made me want to snatch her away and take her with me, wherever that may be. I wasn’t stupid. I knew someone had put those marks on her face. And her thighs. And her arms. And I was fairly fucking sure that if I stripped the girl bare, I would find plenty more. I didn’t know what was happening, or who was bullying her, but I would figure it out.

She was so goddamned guarded that it was almost impossible to penetrate the walls she built up around herself. I thought I might be doing a good job, but if I pushed too hard too fast then she would retreat back in her shell. I wanted to smash that fucking shell and the bastards responsible for making her hide there in the first place. She was lovely. Fucking lovely. She didn’t need to be hiding any of her shine behind those bleeding shutters.

"What – no! Stop talking about my dick," I barked, then ran a frustrated hand through my hair. "It's her, man. You were right. I am completely fucked in the head, and I need you to stop me from doing something stupid with that girl." "Which girl?" "Which girl do you think, asshole?" I snarled. "Shannon." "Oh, that girl." Gibsie chuckled. "The resurrectionator." "Stop laughing. It's not funny. I need your help," I snapped, flustered. "And resurrectionator is not a word." "Yes, it is," Gibsie challenged. "Jesus was resurrected. It was a resurrection performed by God: the resurrectionator. Similar to Shannon: the resurrectionator of your bollocks that day outside the P.E hall." Snickering, he added in a deep voice, "She shall appear and he shall arise."

"You have five fucking stars. Five. And you're still not dead." Pausing the game, I turned and gave him my full attention. "Are you a sore loser, Mister I'm A Big Rugby Star?" Johnny's face turned a hilarious shade of red. "Don’t you like it when a girl beats you?" I continued to tease, using the same smack talk taunts that drove Joey berserk when we played together. "Can't you take your beating like a man?" "You are so lucky you're a girl right now," Johnny told me, lips twitching. "Why?" I snickered. "Do you prefer losing to boys?" "Give me that fucking controller," Johnny growled and then pounced on me. "The power's going to your head." "No!" I scream/laughed, twisting onto my side to protect the controller. "I'm not finished–Ahhhh!" "Give it to me," Johnny laughed as he tried to slip his hand under my arm. "Never," I declared through fits of laughter. "It's mine – stop, please – Ahhhh, I'm ticklish–"

This time, when I stepped out of the bathroom, I was prepared for Sookie and found her snoozing on the bed. I was not, however, prepared for the sight of Johnny's naked ass. He was standing in front of his chest of drawers with his back to me, a towel on the floor at his feet, and was in the process of pulling a pair of boxers up his thighs. God, he even had muscles on his ass. How was that even possible? And then Johnny glanced over his shoulder and caught me red-handed. "Like what you see?" he teased, arching his brow. "Oh, god," I squeaked and then tore my gaze away from his round, tight ass. "I'm so sorry." Spinning around, I bit down on my lip and forced back a moan. "I didn’t expect anyone to be in here." "It's fine, Shannon," he laughed. "Don’t worry about it." Let me die.

"What happened here?" Johnny asked then, distracting me from my ogling, as he stalked over to where I was standing and stroked his thumb across my cheek. Confused and frazzled, I let out a shaky breath and looked up at him. "Huh?" "You have a red mark," Johnny mumbled, frowning down at me. "I didn’t notice it earlier." My brows rose up. "I do?" He nodded, blue eyes locked on mine. "Yes, Shannon, you do." Slipping around him, I padded into the bathroom to check in the mirror. Sure enough, my right cheek was red and blotchy where the rest of me was milk bottle pale. That would be my father's backhand, I thought to myself. "Well?" Johnny asked, leaning in the doorway. I leaned forward, stretching over the sink to get a better look in the mirror. Johnny walked over to where I was standing. And then he proceeded to hover behind me, his bare chest rubbing against my back, as he stared at my reflection in the mirror, face set in a deep frown. I didn’t think he realized he was doing it – brushing his body against mine. His focus had moved from my cheek to my neck. His expression was dark, face turning a dark shade of purple. "What the fuck is this?" he hissed. I followed his gaze to the faint purplish finger prints lining my neck. Awareness dawned on me. My Dad. Last night. Oh, god. "I don’t know," I replied, feigning confusion, deciding it was safer to stick to the original story. If I backpedaled now, Johnny would smell a rat. "You don’t know?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on m...

Reaching up with one hand, Johnny cupped my chin and used his free hand to gently sweep my hair off my neck. He didn’t ask permission if he could touch me. He just did it. Then his fingers were tracing the fingerprints left by my father, his featherlight touch making my entire body tremble. "Someone touched you," Johnny whispered in my ear, placing his fingers on the marks. "I want to know who." The air escaped my lungs in an audible gasp. Unable to stop myself, I sagged against his chest, eyes glued to our reflection in the mirror as he stared right back at me, blue eyes scorching holes in my soul, waiting for an explanation I could never give him. "Tell me who put their hands on you," he coaxed, as he stood behind me, my face in his hand and his fingers on my throat. "And I'll make it better." Think, Shannon, think… "Well?" Hurry the hell up… "Shannon?" "I got smashed up in P.E," was all I came up with. Johnny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at my neck with a dark expression. Panicking, I hurried to add to my lies, "It was my fault. I got in the way of the boys during soccer and four of them ended up crashing into me." Slipping around Johnny, I walked back into his bedroom, putting some space between us. "I ended up on the bottom of a pile-up. Happened just before you came in." Shaking my head, I forced a small laugh. "It was total carnage." Johnny hovered in the bathroom doorway, expression tight, eyes sharp and intelligent. "So, one of the lads in your class...