Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

“Do you want me to go now?” I asked, feeling uncertain. “Now that I’ve drenched your shirt and neck?” Johnny shook his head and repeated those same words from earlier. “I want you to stay with me.” “You do?” I sniffled, tightening my hold on his neck. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

My hearttttt

I had to fight the smile threatening to break free when Johnny stopped at the top of the staircase to scoop up Sookie and then proceeded to carry the huge, eighty-pound-minimum Labrador down the stairs like she was a baby cradled in his arms. Smiling, I followed after them. “Arthritis,” he explained in an embarrassed tone when he caught me staring. “Old age.”

“I, uh…” I shrugged helplessly and gestured at my bare legs, covered only at the thighs by his boxer shorts. “I couldn’t keep your pants up.” His lips twitched in amusement. “No?”

Lolol blush

I shook my head, cheeks burning. “I’m too small.” “That’s okay,” he replied gruffly. “I like it.” “You like it?”

He blushed, causing me to blush a much deeper shade of red. Oh god…

“I can cook?” I offered shyly. “What? No.” He quickly dismissed my offer, giving me a rueful smile. “You’re my guest. You’re not cooking for me.” “I don’t mind,” I replied. “Well, I do,”

Ahhhh

“Good choice,” he said with a chuckle. “Because it was sandwiches or cereal.” “We can just have cereal,” I offered. “I don’t mind.” Johnny winked and said, “We’ll go hard and have both.”

“Barry’s Tea with two sugars and a small drop of milk.” He chuckled. “So you’re a tea girl, not a coffee one.” I gagged. “Ugh. I hate coffee.”

He was wearing a gray T-shirt, and the fabric of his shirt stretched gloriously over the span of his broad back.

“I’d hardly call a ham and cheese toastie cooking for you,” Johnny shot back with a wolfish grin. “Well, no one ever cooks for me, so I appreciate it,” I told him, still hovering in the doorway. “I do most of the cooking at home.” “Yeah?” He sounded surprised. “Why’s that?” “Because I’m the only girl,” I mumbled. “And most of the housework falls on my shoulders.” “So?” Johnny replied, still with his back to me. “Having a vagina doesn’t automatically tie you to a cooker—or a fucking hoover.”

Ugh i love johnny

Without a hint of warning, Johnny grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the stool.

I arched a brow. “Are you mocking me?” Johnny grinned. “I would never.”

“I’m sixteen,” I informed him. “And I’m not a child.” Johnny’s head snapped toward me, expression wary. “You’re fifteen.” “No, I’m not,” I corrected. “I’m sixteen.” Johnny frowned. “Since when?” “Since today,” I replied. Johnny gaped at me. “It’s your birthday?” I shrugged.

Lifting both of our bowls, I moved to the sink to clean up. “Don’t even think about it,” Johnny warned as he plated our sandwiches. “Think about what?” I asked, confused. “You’re not cleaning a bleeding thing on your birthday,” he stated, holding a plate in each hand. “I don’t mind—” “And your face.”

“One of these days that’s going to be me, Shannon.” “I know,” I replied, believing every word. Biting down on my lip, I turned to face him and said, “Don’t forget about me when you’re a rich and famous rugby player.” “You never know,” he said with a smirk. “I might take you with me so you can cheer me on in the stands.”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” I said instead. “You can wear my number and shout, ‘Johnny, Johnny,’ from the stands.” He chuckled before settling back down to watch the game. Don’t tempt me…

It was her birthday. Today was Shannon’s sixteenth birthday. And she was spending it with me. I was glad. How crazy was that? This girl who before Christmas was a total stranger, and since Christmas, I couldn’t imagine going through a day not thinking about.

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.

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.

She was lovely. Fucking lovely. She didn’t need to be hiding any of her shine behind those bleeding shutters.

Like the obsessive freak I was, I allowed my gaze to land on her bruised cheekbone for the millionth time tonight. I knew I shouldn’t look at it. It made my body thrum with rage. And still, I couldn’t stop myself. I stared at the mark on her face until I was sufficiently filled with enough anger to take down an entire village, and then I turned my attention to the bruises on her thighs.

Careful not to wake Shannon, I slid out from beneath her and waited for her to settle back down. Pulling off my hoodie, I draped it over her bare legs and then slipped out of the room to take the call.

My father terrorized me. He battered me. I lived in constant fear. But he never touched me like that. He never raped me. Which is exactly what happened to Darren repeatedly for months and months, over and over until they almost killed him.

Sniffling, I turned to look at him. “You’re not coming back, are you?” Joey just stared at me, eyes filled with tears. “I can’t,” he whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. “If I go back inside that house, I’ll kill them both.”

And the most nerve-racking thing about it all was that I liked it. I liked the fact that she was turning my life on its axis and encouraging never-seen-before notions and feelings inside of me, and then I hated that I liked it. I was thoroughly addicted to every single thing about the girl and it had nothing to do with the physical—and the physical was pretty fucking perfect.

Most importantly, she didn’t look at me like I was a meal ticket. She looked right through all the bullshit. Seeing me. Seeing only me. And that made me want to move some shit around and place her slap-bang in the middle of my world.

I knew I needed to get a fucking handle on myself. Except I couldn’t. Because she was add...

“You were right, Gibs,” I groaned. “I’m so screwed.” “I am?” His brows shot up in surprise. “About what?” Before I had a chance to respond, his eyes widened in comical awareness. “About you fucking yourself?” Or at least, it would have been comical if it wasn’t so fucking depressing. “Holy shit, Johnny. You haven’t or you can’t?” “I tried, I failed, I haven’t tried since, so now I’m fairly sure I can’t,” I decided to throw out there.

“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.”

Lmaoooooo

“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.”

“Grammatically correct?” Gibsie balked at me. “Look at you, Mr. Higher-Level English, thinking you know everything with your Great Gatsby and Shakespeare. Well, not this time.” He tapped his temple. “This time, I’m the smart one.”

Lmao

“It’s called basic comprehension, Mr. Foundation-Level English, and I’m telling you now that you are wrong.” He scratched his head.

Less than ten minutes later, Gibsie returned with a sheepish expression. “It’s not a word,” he announced, stalking back through the doorway. “I know,” I deadpanned.

I exhaled a heavy sigh. “I like her.”

“Okaaay,” he drawled. “Tell me what the problem is.” “That’s my problem,” I bit out. “I like her, Gibs. I think I really like her, man. Like really as in a lot. A lot more than fucking like. Christ!” He shrugged a shoulder. “Still not seeing the problem here, lad.” “I. Don’t. Want. To. Like. Her.” I spelled it out for him, fresh out of patience now.

“I am rattled,” I admitted without hesitation. “Completely fucking rattled.”

“Why?” “Because I couldn’t let her go,” I admitted truthfully, keeping out the part about Shannon being sick. “I couldn’t let her leave me, lad.”

“Did you ride her?” “What did I just tell you about my dick?” “Okay, did you try and ride her?” “What? No!” I barked. “I took her to Biddies, asshole.”

Lololol

“No, I didn’t bleeding ride her. And don’t say ‘ride.’” “Why not?” “Not about her.” Leaning back, I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Just…not about her, okay?”

“Oh, my Jesus!” Gibsie cringed and slapped a hand across his mouth. “Oh no.” He groaned. “It wouldn’t work, would it?” “My dick works, Gibs!” I snapped. “I get hard, asshole. It just hurts when I—” “When you what?” he asked, eyes wide. “I can’t finish,” I muttered. “You can’t come?” he choked out. “Like at all?” “I mean, I suppose I could if I tried.”

“No wonder you’re limping,” he muttered. “Your balls are so full of spunk they’re weighing you down.” “Not fucking funny, Gibs.”

“After Biddies, I knew I needed to drop her home, but I couldn’t, Gibs. I fucking couldn’t. So I took her to the bleeding cinema instead. I just…needed more time with her, you know? Like, it wasn’t enough. I needed more…” “More?” He cocked a brow. “More of what, Johnny?” “More of her,” I replied glumly. “It’s all more when it comes to her.” I shook my head and sighed heavily. “Jesus, I want her so fucking bad I can’t think straight, Gibs.” “Balls,” Gibsie mused.

“You do know that you’re not allowed to keep humans as pets, don’t you?” he asked in a wry tone. “You know that’s just dogs and cats, right?” “Fuck. Right. Off,” I growled.

“Thing is, Shannon’s not just some random girl, Gibs,” I strangled out. “She’s different. She’s not a hookup, or a fuck and chuck, or a clinger looking for a leg up. I can’t fuck her out of my system. She doesn’t even know who I am, lad. She had no fucking clue. And it was genuine. She wasn’t putting it on. I’ve met enough of those clingers to last me a lifetime and I could tell she was clueless.” I shook my head and sagged against the leather. “And aside from all that, she’s fragile.”

“She’s a gorgeous girl, Johnny, with a lot of interest directed her way,” Gibsie stated calmly. “Can’t have it both ways, lad.” He shrugged. “You either want her or you don’t. You either go for it, or step back.” “No,” I snarled, tensing. It was all I could say. Just plain no.

“But she’s clearly not just any girl.” “Exactly,” I gritted out. “She’s too…more…too…better…important—” Breaking off, I rubbed a hand over my face. “It would never work,” I finally said, tone weary. “I would end up leaving, they would write a ton of shit in the papers and online like they always do while I’m gone, she would get paranoid, I would get pissed, she would end up getting hurt, and we would both end up completely fucking miserable.” “Whoa,” Gibsie breathed. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Every minute of the day since I first laid eyes on her. I nodded glumly.

“Then be her friend,” he offered. I snapped my head up. “Her friend?” “Yes, asshole, her friend,” Gibsie drawled sarcastically. “You are aware of the concept of friendship? Believe it or not, you’re actually fairly good at it. And if anything more is off the cards, and you can’t stay away from her, then the friendship card is your best bet.” “But she’s a girl, Gibs.”

“‘What if she doesn’t want to be my friend?’” he mocked and then snorted, “Go home and find your balls—remember who the fuck you are—and while you’re at it, have a pull on your dick, too. Even if you pass out from the pain, having an orgasm has to be worth it.”

Lmaooooo

“So, you’ll help me?” I asked, choosing to ignore his last jibe. “Have an orgasm?” Gibsie shot back with a shake of his head. “I love you, lad. But not enough to get you off.” “Fuck off,” I grumbled.

The miscarriage had been the perfect opportunity for my father to weasel his way back into my mother’s fragile emotions. When he came back that night, Joey left. He drove away and didn’t come home for three days. Those three days, I had lived in terror, fearing he would never come home.