by Chloe Walsh
The music blasting from the DJ booth was so loud that I had a hard time hearing myself bitch. The beat was literally vibrating through my bones as 2Pac and Dre's California Love had everyone in the nightclub dry humping like a pack of horned-up degenerates.
"Jesus, get a room," I hissed when I squeezed past a couple getting intimately acquainted with one another's genitals. "You're in Cork, not California, cop on to yourselves!"
"How's it going, gorgeous?" a man, who had to be in his mid to late forties, purred in my ear. "You're looking well tonight."
"And you're looking old enough to be my grandad," I shot back without missing a beat. "Now, kindly remove your hand off my ass, old timer."
Not bothering to wait for the pervert with the grabby hands to comply, I shoved past him with my lip curled up in disgust; resting bitch face activated.
When California Love faded out and Mark McCabe's Maniac 2000, the unofficial Irish dance anthem of a generation, blasted from the DJ booth, the crowd went absolutely mental. The booming vibration from the speakers was thrumming through my veins, and I knew that I had no business being in a place like this.
As a reasonably well-behaved fifth-year student still attending secondary school, I knew that I was too young and far too fucking green to be partying it up in place full of drink, drugs, and explicit debauchery. I should be tucked up in bed right now, binging on a bag of Maltesers and my One Tree Hill boxset, not skulking around a bloody nightclub at one o' clock in the morning.
"I'm going to kill her," I continued to chant to myself, furious that my friend had broken the fundamental rule of girl code by leaving me alone. "You better hope I don't find you, Casey Lordan, you dick-obsessed deviant, because if I do, you're a dead woman walking –"
I was so caught up in my promises of revenge on my so-called gal pal that I didn’t watch where I was going and collided with a lean wall of muscle.
When I stepped back and saw him, the person I had crashed into, and the real – secret – reason I had agreed to come here in the first place, I knew that there was no place else I wanted to be.
Achingly slowly, he turned around to find the perpetrator that ploughed into him, face set in his standard fuck-the-world-and-everyone-in-it glare, and my poor, teenage heart went on a violent rampage inside of my chest. When our eyes locked, green orbs the color of precious emerald burned holes straight through me. "Aoife Molloy."
Nope, there would be no sugar coma or Nathan Scott for me tonight.
Ah fuck.
"Joey Lynch."
"How is it that every time I turn around, you're in my face?" he slurred, as he swayed in front of me, looking like the worst possible decision a girl like me could make.
Dammit, he was a beautiful bastard – a terrible person, but Jesus, he was only divine to look at. Especially tonight in those faded jeans and fitted white shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing that gorgeous golden tan that always complemented those piercing green eyes and dirty blond hair… Focus, Aoife! I mentally scolded myself. He's a gobshite.
Dysfunctional and destructive.
Two words our English teacher had once used to describe him – in front of our entire class, no less. Of course, said boy had responded by telling Mr. Langford to fly up the highest part of his hole, and another few choice words, before knocking over his desk and storming out of the classroom.
For five long years, I had shared both a school and a classroom with the boy standing in front of me, and I somehow knew less about him now than I had when we first met – if that even made sense. Elusive and closed off, Joey Lynch was my short-tempered classmate, star of the Cork minor hurling team, and the longed-after target of every girl in Ballylaggin Community School.
I knew he had a really fucked-up story tucked up tight inside of that beautifully broken brain of his. Of course, the walls he had erected around his heart were so high that Jesus Christ himself couldn't breach them.
"Just your good fortune, I guess," I shot back, determined to look unaffected by him.
He didn't laugh. In fact, he rarely laughed at all. "If I didn’t know better, I'd think you were stalking me," he said instead, still frowning, still looking like something a porn producer dreamed up.
"Don’t flatter yourself," I countered, taking a safe step back from the boy that melted more of pairs of knickers than they stocked in Patrick's Street Penneys.
The smell of alcohol wafting from his breath, not to mention the two bottles of bud dangling from his hand, was a firm indication as to what this boy was all about; a good time.
Standing in front of him tonight, I felt legitimately sick to my stomach with an impressive onslaught of butterflies. It made zero sense because he was not a good guy for me. Quite the opposite. One of the very few things that I did know about him was that he messed around with drugs, and every girl knew that lusting after a chemically dependent boy was a recipe for heartache.
"I'm here with my friends," I lied, giving him my best fuck-you-right-back look. "Not for you."
"Friends?" Arching a brow mockingly, he looked around as a slow, salacious smile crept across his face. "Jesus, you're a popular one."
"And you're an asshole," I sneered, folding my arms across my chest. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"Actually, I think you've told me that." His grin widened, revealing a perfect white smile. Bastard. "A time or two."
"Well, they say the third time's a charm," I replied, tone dripping with sarcasm. "You're an asshole, Joey Lynch."
A reluctant laugh escaped him.
He actually fucking laughed.
I almost fell out of my stilettos with shock.
"You shouldn't be here, Molloy." His voice was serious again as he stepped closer, causing the air to flee my lungs in an audible gasp. "Not in this shithole." Never taking his eyes off mine, he reached his free hand up and fingered a tendril of my hair. "And not with me." Right on cue, an illicit shiver rippled down my spine. "Again."
"I already told you that I didn't come here for you," I replied, vibrating with tension and fucking despising the way he could make me feel. "I came with Casey."
"You're such a bullshitter," he replied, sounding oddly forlorn. "You need to get out of here, Molloy. Run on home to your mammy and daddy." He stepped closer, invading my personal space, and making my heart jackknife in my chest. "Because if you knew what was good for you," he whispered, green eyes locked on mine. "You would stay far, far away from me."
The DJ had switched songs up, moving onto DJ Pulse's dance remix of Eminem's Superman, and all I could think was this boy was definitely nobody's superman.
"Hmm?" Tilting my chin up with one hand, he used the other to draw me closer. "Are you going to be smart?" I could feel the dampness from the beer bottles in his hand seeping into the fabric of my dress as he trailed his thumb over my bottom lip. "Are you going to be a good girl and run away this time?"
We'd been playing this game of cat and mouse for a lot of years now, and I needed to start making better decisions when it came to this boy because I knew that when I woke up tomorrow morning, just like every other morning after our paths had crossed the night before, I would undoubtedly drown in a sea of regret and shame.
Still, I resigned myself to one more night of recklessness.
One more night of him.
His smell was intoxicating, and my recklessness was encouraged further by the alcohol rushing through my bloodstream and the predatory gleam in his eyes.
Releasing a shaky breath, I reached behind me and grabbed one of the bottles in his hand before bringing it to my lips. "I don't run, Joe," I whispered, keeping my eyes locked on his as I swallowed deeply. My hand was trembling, matching the rest of me, but I didn’t back down. "You should know that by now."
Relief flickered in his eyes for the briefest of moments before the shutters clamped down once more, masking all emotion. "It's your funeral," he replied in a noncommittal tone. Draining the contents of his beer bottle, he handed it to some random guy bef
ore taking my half-empty one and tossing it on the floor behind us. In the blink of an eye, he moved closer, how that was even possible was beyond me, but he did. With experienced movements, he aligned our bodies in such a way that I could hardly breathe. "One of these days, I'm going to break you," he whispered, his lips mere inches from mine. "And on that day, you'll hate me worse than you already do right now."
He was the worst possible version of wrong for me and I was well aware of that fact. Still, I didn't back away. I didn't move a muscle. I felt like I was snared in the lion's den, looking into the eyes of a lethal predator. He could kill me or keep me to toy with. Either way, I would never recover from him.
"Thanks for the warning, but I think I'll take my chances," was my breathlessly naive reply.
Edging out all possible chance of being separated by the crowd surrounding us on the dance floor, he kept his hand clamped down on my hip, as he moved our bodies to the music.
Gently tucking my hair behind my ear, his hand slipped to the nape of my neck, fingers digging into the flesh hidden beneath my long blonde hair. One swift tug and then our brows were touching, bodies melded together, hearts thundering in synchrony, as Eminem's voice reverberated around the dance floor.
And then I kissed him.
Or he kissed me.
Fuck, I couldn’t be sure.
We both moved at the same time, lips crashing against the others almost angrily, like we were punishing the other for making each other feel this way. My legs shook violently as his tongue invaded my mouth with dominant, experienced thrusts. Giving as good as I was getting, I hooked an arm around his neck and reached up on my tip-toes, meeting every thrust of his tongue with a sensual duel of my own. His arm came around my lower back, holding me flush to his chest as he devoured my lips with his, swaying our bodies in rhythm to the music.
God, he was such a good kisser…
Fuck, I was so screwed…
I always did this weird thing where I tried to memorize everything I was feeling in important moments in my life. From the smell, to the taste, to the feelings I was having, to the songs playing in the background, I tried to take it all in and then I wrote about it in my journal at night, desperate to keep those treasured moments safe and sacred.
Right now, with Joey Lynch's lips crushed to mine, the sound of Superman Remix playing in my ears, and my heart bursting to the seams from the pressure of the feelings this boy evoked inside of me, I knew I needed to store this night in my mind. I needed to keep it safe. It was special.
He's special, something deep inside of me hissed. Keep him.
I knew Joey couldn't give me the world – not even close. There was no future to this screwed-up game we had been playing all year, but he could give me everything I wanted for tonight, and somehow that was enough for me.
Without a word, he broke the kiss and walked us off the dance floor, not stopping until he had me backed up against the wall by the toilets with his body caging me in.
My heart raced violently in my chest, but I forced myself to meet his gaze and not back down.
At 5'7, I was a decent height for a girl, but this boy had several inches on me. He was all rough edges and lean muscle as he pinned me to the wall, his excellent attempt at looking menacing.
Keeping my chin tipped up, I stared into his blazing green eyes, feeling a trickle of fear and a tsunami of lust rush through me. I could feel him hardening against me and it was making me wet.
Breathing hard, I pressed my palms to the wall at my back, resisting the urge to do something reckless.
Tilting his head to one side, he eyed me curiously. It was so loud in the club that I barely heard the soft word he spoke. "Run."
One word.
One important fucking word full of hidden threats and warnings.
Do it.
Go now, Aoife.
Fucking run, girl!
I blew out a ragged breath and shook my head. "No."
"Fool," he whispered, lowering his head to press a featherlight kiss to my lips.
Eyelids fluttering, I leaned my back against the cool, tiled wall and arched the lower half of my body against him, uncaring if anyone saw us.
My body was on fire for him.
"Run," he repeated softly, pulling back, his hot breath fanning my lips. His pupils were so dilated now that I could hardly see the green in his eyes. "I'm bad for you." Kiss. "We both know it." Kiss. "Run, Molloy."
When I didn’t respond, he pressed another barely-there kiss to my lips as he rocked his hips against mine. "Run, baby."
Releasing another ragged breath, I dragged his face down to mine and kissed him hard, wanting to punish him so badly for making me feel this way. Clutching his face between my hands, I dug my nails into his cheeks and bit down hard on his lip, reveling in the growl that tore from his chest when we both tasted blood.
Our movements grew more frantic, hungrier, more desperate, and if Casey had been here to witness another one of my Joey Lynch slips in sanity, she would say that we were eating the faces off each other, but she wasn't here. Nope, I was alone in the lion's den with Scar himself.
His hand moved to squeeze my ass cheek, hips grinding against mine, and I knew that I was completely fucked. Whatever dignity I had walked into the club with tonight would not be coming home with me. There was nothing that could pull me away in this moment. I was in too deep with him to think clearly – to contemplate the repercussions of my inevitable actions. His lips were so soft, his tongue so hot, his body so damn appealing, and, once again, I was ready to give it all up to the only person who had ever been inside of me.
Clamping a hand on my hip, he pulled me roughly towards him. Wrapping a possessive arm around my back, he kept his lips on mine, driving me crazy with his fucking delicious kisses, as he walked us straight to hell.
"It was for you," he said against my lips.
"What was?"
"The other bottle."
"Of beer?"
"Yeah. Saw you walk in and I was…glad."
Fuck.
My heart.
My hormones.
Ugh.
I wasn't one bit apprehensive when my back hit a door and we practically crashed into the ladies bathroom.
I wasn't shy about admitting what I wanted, and right now I wanted Joey Lynch.
Badly.
No, not the ladies bathroom, I realized when he reached up and fumbled with the light switch, bathing us in a dull yellow hue. The staff bathroom.
Thrusting his tongue inside my mouth, he reached down and grabbed my thighs. Flicking the lock on the door, he hoisted me up and I quickly wrapped my legs around his waist, rocking my body against the hardening bulge in his jeans, as he walked us over to the sink.
My bare thighs landed on the cool porcelain sink and I didn’t even have a chance to catch my breath before his lips crashed down on mine again, just as hard, hot, and unyielding as before.
Blaming it all on the gin, I gave myself up to this absolute madness and plunged my tongue into his mouth. Sagging against the mirror at my back, I reveled in the sensations rushing through me, while he fucked my mouth with his whiskey flavored tongue, and roughly pushed my legs apart.
The bass was vibrating through the bathroom walls, the room was spinning, and if the bitch on the other side of the door didn’t back the fuck down and stop banging to be let in, I was going to lose it.
Furious and deranged with lust for this asshole boy, I hooked an arm around his neck and sank my teeth into his swollen lip. God only knew what had taken me over in this moment, but I couldn’t control myself. Pain, anger, lust, and need were consuming me. I wanted to break him down like he'd broken me so many times before. I wanted to brand him.
Jesus, I was losing my mind.
Unable to stop myself, I reached up with my free hand and dragged my nails down his cheek.
Hard.
His eyes sprang open; wild, blazing, hungry, and staring right into mine.
Snarling against my
lips, he snapped his teeth, catching my bottom lip and tugging hard, while he slipped a hand between us. Unsnapping his jeans with one hand, he used the other to push my thong aside, keeping my legs spread open with his hips as he palmed his impressive cock.
Baring my teeth, I snapped back at him, releasing a furious growl of my own when he pulled back, giving me that cocky smirk I couldn't stand. "Bad girl."
"Fuck you," I groaned, furious with him for making me feel this way. He smirked again, and I swear I felt so much for him that I wanted to die. Knotting my fingers in the front of his shirt, I dragged his lips back to mine. "Fuck me."
"You're so fucked up," he growled, brow pressed to mine. His hands moved to my hips and he tugged me to the edge of the sink. Releasing a frustrated growl, he positioned the head of his hardened cock against me, knotted a hand in my hair, and tugged my face up to meet his. "You win," he whispered, as the thick crown of his cock teased the entrance of my pussy. "Again."
Catching ahold of my chin, he kissed me hard and then ripped my mouth from his. Breathing hard, I sagged against the mirror and gripped the sink, watching him watch me.
Tilting his head to one side, he studied me for a long moment, tongue snaking out to trail over his cut lip.
"Watch me," he ordered, speaking for the first time in what felt like forever. Stroking his thick shaft with one hand, he roughly dragged my hips towards him with the other and slowly fed himself into me. "Watch me stretch your pussy."
And then he thrust into me.
Hard.
Crying out hoarsely, I hooked my leg around his waist and bit down on his shoulder when he pushed all the way inside me. He was thick and long and oh so fucking hard. Feeling my eyes burn from the pressure of having his big body joined with mine, I exhaled a ragged breath and bit down harder as I arched into his rhythmic thrusts.
His fingers dug into the fleshy part of my thighs before moving to squeeze my ass. The move was decidedly masculine and when he hoisted me up and rocked deeper into me, I almost came.