Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

CLOSED DOORS AND RADIO STATIONS

JOHNNY

It was official.

I, Jonathan Robert Kavanagh Jr., was undeniably, completely, madly, truly, irrevocably, and in every possible sense of the word, head-over-boots in love with Tara Lynch.

Forget rugby. Forget the countless trophies and medals that had once defined my worth. None of it—absolutely nothing in this world—could or would ever compare to the sheer intensity of the feelings that overwhelmed me whenever I found myself in her presence.

Tara Lynch made my heart feel like it was learning how to beat for the first time.

Being near her didn't feel like the whirlwind I had always imagined love to be. It wasn't chaotic or unpredictable. It was steady, grounding—something firm and unwavering, a quiet force that anchored me in ways I never knew I needed. What I felt for her wasn't the dizzying highs and lows of a roller coaster; no, it was something solid, something unshakable, something constant that I could rely on, like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.

My days belonged to her—every minute from sunrise to sunset.

My nights belonged to her—consumed by thoughts of her, filling the dark with the light of her smile.

My thoughts belonged to her—every thought circling back to her, no matter where it started.

My dreams belonged to her—hers to inhabit, to shape, to transform into something more beautiful than reality itself.

My heart—God, my heart was entirely hers, beating solely to the rhythm of her name.

Every piece of me, every thought, every breath, every heartbeat was now hers. She owned me in ways I couldn't begin to articulate, and the terrifying part was that I didn't mind.

I welcomed it.

I embraced it.

Because being hers felt like coming home.

All of me—my strength, my vulnerability, my pride, my flaws—was hers.

Hers to need, whenever she wanted or didn't want to admit it.

Hers to own, every part of me willingly surrendered to her.

Hers to love, if she wanted to.

Hers to use, to hold onto, or to push away.

Hers to break, if that's what it came to.

And I was okay with that, because loving her meant giving her that power over me. It meant handing her a loaded gun, the barrel pointed directly at my heart, and trusting—no, believing—that she wouldn't pull the trigger. No safety net, no backup plan. Just pure, unfiltered trust. That's what Tara Lynch made me feel.

And I was ready—more than ready—to give her everything I had.

"You're not showering here, Jonathan," Tara's voice pierced through my thoughts, snapping me out of the Tara-filled haze that had taken over my mind.

She was straddling me, and thank Christ, my aching adductor had miraculously decided that the cure for all its woes was the angel sitting in my lap. Maybe that was the remedy I needed all along—her, and only her.

"We'd be saving the planet, Tara like the hill," I teased, unable to resist. My hands found their place on her thighs, squeezing gently as I looked up at her with a smirk. "What do you say?"

She raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in her eyes as her fingers threaded through my hair, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Jesus fucking Christ, her touch was magic.