“That’s enough, Joey,” Mrs. Lynch whispered. “I don’t want to—“
“Hear the truth?” He balked. “Well, you’re going to.“
“Fight,” his mother corrected. “I don’t want to fight.”
“What’s going on?” a soft voice said from the doorway, and I swung my gaze around to see Shannon standing there. “Is everything okay, Joe?”
“Everything’s grand, Shan,” he was quick to placate. “I was just—“
“About to show me your room,” I blurted out, unable to spend another second with his mother, but even more unwilling to run like I’d promised I wouldn’t.
Joey swung his surprised gaze on me. “I was?”
His mother watched him as he watched me, and I felt this swelling resentment build up inside of me on his behalf.
“Yeah.” Nodding, I squeezed his hand and smiled, letting his mother know that her words had fallen on deaf ears. I would only ever leave this boy if I was dragged from him kicking and screaming. “You were.”
SPECIAL_IMAGE-images/svgimg0003.svg-REPLACE_ME
I made a point of dutifully ignoring the decaying plaster on the walls, and the general dilapidated condition of their home, as I followed Joey up the staircase and straight into his bedroom.
The minute the door was closed, I watched as he twisted a key in the lock
“Don’t ask,” was all he muttered, when he dragged a chest of drawers across the room and set it in front of the locked door.
“I won’t,” I whispered, watching as he kept his back to me, with his head bowed, and his hands resting on the chest of drawers.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Be real here, Molloy.” He hissed out a pained breath, giving me his back. “My life is a fucking mess.”
Yeah, it was.
I couldn’t deny it.
Everything about this home and the people inside of it screamed messy.
Still, I chose to remain right here, playing with fire and willing to get burned. “Talk to me,” I instructed calmy. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
“I’m mad,” he bit out, keeping his back to me. “I’m pissed the fuck off, Molloy.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“For making you bring me here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Because you’re afraid you’ll blow up?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I replied calmly. “Then you be mad for as long as you need.”
Because I’m not going anywhere.
Quietly, I took in my surroundings, eyes wandering around the meticulously clean bedroom that housed a wardrobe, nightstand, chest of drawers, and a metal bunk bed with a double on the bottom and single on top.
Forcing myself to ignore several make-shift bunks scattered around his bedroom floor, I let my gaze land on the big-ass stereo in the corner of the room, and I honed in on it.
Flicking through a bunch of CDs, I waited until he was ready to talk it out.
After another five minutes, he was.
“I hate that you’ve been here,” he finally broke the silence by admitting.
“Because?”
“Because I don’t want your pity.”
Tough, it’s already yours. “Good,” I said instead. “Because you don’t have it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Putting some music on.” I slid my chosen disc, Damien Rice’s O album into the CD player, and then browsed through the listing on back of the case until I found the number of the track I wanted to play. Delicate. I pressed play and then I clicked the repeat button, knowing that this was exactly the song I wanted playing when I made my next move.
“Music? Seriously?” He swung around to glare at me. “What kind of game are you playing here, Molloy? It’s pretty fucking obvious I don’t live in a house we can hang out and listen to music in!”
“I know.” Breath hitching in my throat, I shakily reached for the hem of my t-shirt and tugged it over my head. “I’m not playing any games, Joe.” Then I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. “I swear.”
“Then what…” He shook his head, and I watched as a look of tormented confusion filled his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“It’s okay.” Unsnapping the button of my jeans, I pushed them down my legs, and then kicked them off, right along with my knock-off converse
His eyes burned with head and his nostrils flared. “Molloy.”
“It’s okay,” I repeated, slowly pushing my thong down until it landed with the rest of my clothes. “I want this.”
Joey stood, frozen as a statue, watching me as I walked over to his bed and sat down on the bottom bunk. “You want what?”
“I want you to have me,” I told him, heart hammering with nervous anticipation, as I lay naked on his bed. “All of me.”
“No.” He quickly shook his head, refuting my offer. “You don’t want this. Trust me – and especially not here.”
“Yes, Joey, I do,” I urged. “And it has to be here.”
He looked so lost when he choked out the word, “Why?”
“Because I want to put one good memory of this house in your head.”
“Molloy.” Raw emotion flashed in his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want you to take my virginity, Joey,” I breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m offering it to you, right here, on this bed, in this house, just us.”
“I told you before,” he warned gruffly, running a hand through his hair. “The next time—“
“The next time that I begged you to fuck me, you wouldn’t say no.” Exhaling a shaky breath. “Yeah, I heard you, and here I am.” I patted the mattress. “So, are you going to make good on your promise, or do I really have to beg?”
“Fuck me.”
“Exactly, Joe,” I breathed. “Fuck me.”
I watched him watch me, his gaze trailing down my body. When his eyes locked on mine, I swear I saw something shift inside of him.
His lips tipped upwards, eyes returning to mine, asking me a million unspoken questions.
I answered them all with a small nod.
“Jesus, Molloy.” I watched as he reached a hand behind his back and dragged his shirt off, revealing a tanned, toned stomach, with the most gorgeous, indented v on his hips, and a glorious treasure trail of golden-brown hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. His arms were seared with permanent black ink; more visible to the naked eye than the perpetual mark he had carved inside of me.
My breath hitched in my throat when his hands moved to the button on his jeans, and I watched through hooded eyes as he pushed them down his legs and then kicked them off.
His green eyes were locked on mine as he stood before me, in only a pair of grey boxers, that couldn’t conceal his bulging erection.
“This isn’t one of your tv shows.” His tone was laced with heated warning as he closed the space between us. “This is real life, Molloy.” I felt the mattress dip and he moved to settle between my legs. “And in real life, it’s going to hurt.”
“Good.” I licked my lips and pulled up on my elbows to press a kiss to his neck. “I want the pain.”
Settling between my legs on his knees, Joey placed his hands on the curves of my hips and shook his head. “I can wait.”
“I thought you said that you wouldn’t try to talk me out of it?”
“Yeah, well, maybe I care enough to give it another shot,” he said thickly. “I mean it, though; I can wait. I don’t have any problem with waiting.”
“I know you can wait,” I agreed, sitting up so that our chests were flush together. “But I don’t want you to.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” I exhaled a ragged breath and nodded. “You’re what I want.”
His lips came down on mine, moving with such certainty, that I just laid there beneath him, my body alight with an illicit trepidation, because I was in no way na?ve enough to believe that having him inside of my body wouldn’t hurt.
But I wanted this.
I wanted him.
His lips were everywhere; my neck, my breasts, my navel, between my legs.