Punching 13 - Johnny Kavannagh [BOT]

Joey Taylor Kavanagh

2020

Outsiders of Dublin.

As I approached the main table—because there were like three—a hand reached mine. He pulled me to him as his free hand found its favourite site in my butt. My laugh was silenced by his lips on mine. I was using my lipstick, but that never stopped Johnny from kissing me. And I was the luckiest girl 'cause, God, I fucking loved kissing him, hugging him, and fucking him. I fucking love the man. He was a kind and sweet boyfriend, a sexy and reliable husband, a dedicated and hard-working player, and a loving and indulging father. 
 
"I love you," I muttered against his lips. "I love you, Maebh Lynch-Kavanagh, my gorgeous wife," he mumbled with a husky giggle. 
 
After two moments, I forced myself to split the kiss. We were surrounded by kids and by members of our family. In fact, I saw my mother-in-law out of the corner of my eyes. She was stunning as always, even with a baby resting in her hip. Little Connor was goggling everything around him. It was the first time he saw so many people together. What could I say? My daughter was her father's. Charming and friendly. 
 
"You both look like newly married," Edel chuckled, and Connor copied her with an adorable giggle. Johnny—as the baby's whisperer he was—used the arm that wasn't around me to steal the little squirrel from the most beautiful woman up-sixty I had seen. "Ya think?" Johnny asked completely in favour. He turned his gaze against me. "I could marry you a thousand times." My heart melted with his words. "Keep talking, Rich Boy; I won't give you more babies." I clapped his chest. He gave me a sad-puppy face, but it only works when our daughter makes them, and only if she makes them to him. Joey had her father eating right out of her hand. 
 
When the face didn't make its purpose, he looked for help in his mother. But Edel wasn't a mother with spoiling children—although she loved to spoil her grandchildren. "Don't look at me, Johnny. I love having you, but God, it's terrible giving birth." 
 
"As my wife decides." He opted to say. He had confessed to me that he was afraid of his mother's anger—not like I feared my father's—and even if he could be a bossy eejit, he could never boss me in not-bedroom territory. I kissed his cheek, letting there my hallmark. I didn't tell him about the pinkish lips in his skin as always. I enjoyed to see him walking around with his intimidating bearing but with makeup in his cheek. Even when someone told him, he didn't erase the mark. One of the little gestures that makes me love him more every day.