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Johnny thinks he can play God. A disastrous trait he learned from his father. He can take lives. He thinks he can save lives by being who he is, but that’s not the way the world works. One day, his life is going to come crashing in around him. Everything he thought he knew is going to be proven a lie.
Judging by the way he’s been brought up, he’s not going to take it well.
He takes my face in his hands and strokes both cheeks. “Can I do anything for you? Do you need ice? Or Band-Aids?” He lifts the covers away from me, trying to check my body in the low light.
I hunker back down, pulling the sheets back over us. “I’m fine. I iced my shin before I went to bed.”
“My dad wants to see you tomorrow. He wanted to see you tonight, but I told him no.”
“Yeah?” I ask. Hope builds in me, but that emotion associated with this psychopath feels like a betrayal.
Johnny blinks at me. “My dad didn’t want you to get hurt either, Kyla. He likes you. I think he wants to tell you something you’ve been waiting to hear.”
I can’t imagine Big Daddy K would have anything to say that I would want to hear unless he’s going to offer his dead body over to me. Not that that will ever happen.
Johnny’s hand roams over my hip. “Will it hurt if I touch you?”
I stop breathing. My body locks up, and I meet Johnny’s gaze dead on.
“Not sexually,” he explains. “But because you’re really here. Because I was worried. I was scared, Kyla. I knew nothing was going to happen to you, but at the same fucking time, I was scared to death something would. If it had, I’d never be able to forgive myself.” He squeezes my hip. He nestles in closer until we’re millimeters away from touching. When I breathe, my nipples brush his hard chest. “I’ve never wanted something more than you.”
“I’m not an object, Johnny.”
“It’s not that at all. It’s you. The idea of you.” He shakes his head. “You won’t get it, and I’m too fucking…fucked to explain it.”
I bite my lip. Here, in his bed, with low light and an open face, Johnny is being as honest as he’s ever been with me. He’s raw, cut to the quick. Something is bothering him. That much is clear. Something he both does and doesn’t want to talk about. Maybe it’s that I mean something so much more to him than just a thing to own, something he’s claimed on a whim.
I snuggle closer to him. Call me stupid. And fake, because I certainly am that, but Johnny’s softer side is winning me over. Before the fight, he told me he hadn’t been with anyone else since the dress shop girl. He told me he was pissed at his dad over me.
I hide my face in his shoulder and wrap my arms around him tighter. I want to believe in a softer side of Johnny. That makes me feel less sick. Less like I’ve infiltrated the gang and found out it’s exactly where I belong because I’m just as fucked up as those guys. Maybe even moreso because I didn’t grow up like them.
“You used my shampoo,” Johnny groans.
I nod into him. “I didn’t have any of mine.”
“We’ll have to fix that.”
I wrap my leg around his to bring me closer and immediately still. He’s hard, his cock straining against the jeans he never took off in his haste to crawl into bed with me. His body follows suit, immediately locking up. His breath leaves in a whoosh.
Because there’s something wrong with me in the head, I push my hips forward, his hard cock teasing my greedy ass core. My breath hitches at the contact.
“God, don’t do that.”
My nipples peak, pushing against my borrowed cotton t-shirt. My breath comes in hurried, needy gasps. I don’t know what’s come over me. I roll my hips over him again.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re not wearing anything underneath that shirt.”
I bite down on my lip to stop the whimper creeping up my throat from leaving my mouth. I am in desperate need of relief. Call it the tension of the day coming to a grinding halt right here, right now. Call it the excitement of being alive. Call it whatever the fuck you want, but right now, I’m ready to come apart.
Johnny stays where he is. Despite his heavy breathing, he doesn’t move an inch even though he’s as hard as a rock. He tightens his hold on my hip, clutching the end of my shirt in his fists.
I lick my lips to relieve my dry mouth. I want release like I’m desperate for air. I grind my clit against him, swirling for good measure. Pressure builds until it’s unstoppable. I let out a low mewl before doing it again.
“Fuck, Kyla. You’re going to—” He moves his thumb to my clit, pressing down on it.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He swirls again and again until my fingers sink into the skin at his back, and my body races forward at the speed of light, my mouth open in a silent scream.