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Touching her was a mistake. Doing it again was one I couldn’t afford to make.
Fuck. My. Life.
“What happened?” he demanded, glaring down at me. “Who the fuck made you cry?”
“Give me a name,” Johnny growled, dropping his hands to his hips. “And I’ll take care of it.”
“Now,” I sneered, glaring down at their faces. “Who wants to call my girlfriend a whore to my face?”
“And when you fuck with her, you fuck with me.”
Devotion had to feel better than being used did.
She was mine and I didn’t want to share.
“I’ll look after you.”
I don’t bring girls up here.” He frowned for a moment before adding, “Except you.”
“What the fuck is this?” he hissed. I followed his gaze to the faint purplish fingerprints lining my neck.
“Someone touched you,” Johnny whispered in my ear, placing his fingers on the marks. “I want to know who.”
“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.”
“You would do that for me?” she asked, voice soft. I would do pretty much anything for you.
“What would you like to eat?” You. I would like to eat you, Shannon.
“Do you mind?” I asked then. He smirked. “No, baby, I don’t mind.”
“You’re the only thing that distracts me, the only thing I can concentrate on, and I don’t even know you. I feel closer to you than my own teammates. I’m telling you things I wouldn’t tell my best friend. How fucked up is that?”
I carefully scrolled through his playlists and almost had a heart attack when my eyes landed on the one named Songs for Shannon.
I had never felt this much. I had never felt so consumed.
If Gibsie hadn’t come over, I would have kissed her. I knew I would have. I already knew what those lips felt like. I wanted so badly to taste them again. I would taste them again.
I was starving for her and everything she was. Every part of her. Inside and out.
I was kissing Johnny Kavanagh. Johnny Kavanagh was kissing me back. He had his tongue in my mouth, his hand in my hair, and my heart in his pocket.
“Am I hurting you?” I asked against his lips. “Only if you stop.” He knotted his hand in the back of my hair and deepened the kiss.
“Boom, fucking boom, boom.”
“No, you must be thinking about someone else.” “I’m only ever thinking about you,” he replied. “Only you.”
“I think I need you for keeps,” he slurred. “I think I need you for keeps, too,” I confessed.
