Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

KILLED FOR SPORT

JOHNNY

Tara Lynch made my heart smile in a way that felt almost too big for my chest, like my body couldn't contain all the warmth she brought into my life. Every time she laughed—like she was doing now—I felt that warmth expand, spreading through me until it reached the very tips of my fingers. Her laughter wasn't like other girls'. It wasn't the high-pitched, giggly kind you'd hear in movies. No, Tara's laugh was deeper, richer—a husky sound that carried through the air and wrapped itself around me. It was raspy and raw, dripping with a sensuality that made my pulse race.

And I was the reason she was laughing. I was the one who managed to make her happy, to make her feel free enough to let go like this. It was ridiculous how much it affected me, how much it mattered. Her happiness had become my own, like my heart beat in time with hers.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice coming out a little shaky as I watched her hand reach for the zipper of her skirt. My pulse quickened, and a wave of shock and nervous excitement washed over me when she began pulling it down.

"Taking off my skirt, Jonathan," she said, her tone matter-of-fact, like she was giving me a lesson on something simple. She stood up from my lap, slipping the skirt down her legs with a fluid grace that had my breath catching in my throat. "I'm freezing here. I already told you."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Tara—my Tara—was standing in front of me in my bathroom, wearing nothing but a dangerously tempting lingerie set. Her skin gleamed under the soft bathroom light, and the curve of her hips, the softness of her waist, the way the lace hugged her body... it was all too fucking much.

I didn't know where to look. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting, and I was sure I was about to fucking explode right there on the spot. She was breathtaking, and all I could do was stare at her like an eejit, my mind racing in a thousand different directions. My body wanted to move, to reach out, to pull her back into my lap and let things go where they were meant to go, but I was trapped.

Because of my stupid, bleeding injury.

I could feel the frustration bubbling up inside me, mixing with the overwhelming desire that had settled low in my stomach. My adductor muscle was throbbing, reminding me with every painful pulse that I couldn't do anything.

Why the hell did I have to injure my adductor muscle?
If it weren't for that, and my fucking obsession with rugby, we'd be doing something very different right now.
Sex.
We'd be having sex.
Lots of sex.
But no.
Instead, I was sitting on my toilet like a horny eejit with a raging erection, staring at her in awe while she got ready to wrap my thigh.
I could bloody cry.

"Jonathan, close your mouth and pull your fucking pants down." Her hands were firmly planted on her hips, her stance exuding an authority that was both commanding and incredibly sexy. "And don't play the prude now. This isn't the first woman's body you've seen."

Fuck, she was talking to me like we were in a sterile doctor's office or something, and while the awkwardness of the situation made my skin prickle, it was impossible to ignore the heat coursing through my veins. It wasn't just the injury causing discomfort; it was the relentless, blinding desire for her that made it all the more excruciating.

Fucking focus, Kav.

How could I focus on anything other than the girl standing right in front of me? Tara Lynch—the girl I was hopelessly in love with, the girl who filled my dreams and fantasies—was here, demanding that I follow through with something that, under normal circumstances, I would have been more than eager to do. I was still a teenager, a very, very horny one after all, and she was everything I'd ever wanted.