So I’m pushing it.

I lean over and laugh at something Patrick said, placing my hand on his arm a little longer than necessary. The skirt rides up my thighs as I shift, and I don’t bother fixing it. I can feel Johnny’s stare burning into the side of my face.

“Patrick, you’re so funny,” I say, smiling up at him sweetly, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “I don’t know how you come up with this stuff.”

Patrick grins, clearly enjoying the attention, completely unaware of the tension. “Ah, you know me, I’m hilarious.”

Johnny is sitting across from us, jaw tight, hands clenched on his thighs. He’s been trying to talk to me privately since I got here — soft apologies, those big blue eyes looking all guilty. But every time he gets close I brush him off and go flirt with someone else.

I cross my legs the other way, letting the skirt ride up even higher. Johnny’s eyes drop to my thighs for a second before he looks away, breathing through his nose.

“Baby,” he says quietly when there’s a lull in the conversation, leaning forward. “Can we talk for a minute?”

I tilt my head, giving him an innocent look. “About what?”

He swallows, voice low so only I can hear. “I said I was sorry. I hate fighting with you.”

I shrug, turning back to Patrick with a bright smile. “Anyway, what were you saying about the party last weekend?”

Johnny’s hand flexes on his knee. I can see the way his shoulders are tense, that golden boy control starting to fray. He’s been so sweet all day — apologising, checking on me, doing that soft thing he does when he knows he messed up.

But I’m still mad. And I look good in this skirt. And I know exactly how to push his buttons.

Patrick says something else and I laugh loudly, leaning into him again. Johnny stands up suddenly, running a hand through his hair.

“Come with me.”

His voice is low, but I can hear the strain in it. I don’t move. Instead I raise an eyebrow and turn back to Patrick, acting like I didn’t hear him.

Johnny takes a slow breath. I can see the way his shoulders tense up.

“Baby,” he says again, this time more authoritative. His voice drops lower, that rugby captain tone coming out — calm but impossible to ignore. “Come with me. Now.”

The room is still loud around us, but the way he says it makes something flutter in my stomach. I hold his gaze for a second, pretending to think about it, then roll my eyes dramatically and stand up.

“Fine,” I mutter, voice dripping with attitude. I smooth down my tiny skirt (making sure it doesn’t actually cover much) and walk past him without looking back.

Johnny follows me out of the living room and down the hallway toward his bedroom. The second we’re away from the group I can feel the shift in him — he’s angry, but it’s that frustrated, hurt kind of angry. The kind that comes from hating when I’m mad at him.

He closes the door behind us, not slamming it, but firmly enough that I know he’s trying to keep his cool. When he turns around, his blue eyes are stormy.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, voice rough but still soft at the edges. “I’ve said sorry like ten times today. I know I fucked up yesterday. I hate fighting with you.”

I cross my arms, leaning against his desk, still feeling bratty and stubborn.

“Maybe I’m not ready to forgive you yet,” I say, tilting my head. “You were being a dick yesterday. And now I’m supposed to just get over it because you’re giving me those sad golden retriever eyes?”

Johnny runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. He steps closer but doesn’t touch me, like he’s scared I’ll pull away.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I was stressed about the match and I took it out on you. That was shit of me. But baby… this?” He gestures at me in the short skirt, the flirting. “You’re killing me. You know I hate when you’re mad at me. I’ve been apologising all day because I can’t stand it when we’re like this.”

He looks so sweet even when he’s angry — a big, broad rugby boy who’s secretly a softie for his girlfriend. It makes it harder to stay mad, but I’m not ready to drop the attitude yet.

I shrug, looking away from him. “Maybe you deserve to feel a bit shit after yesterday.”

Johnny lets out a frustrated breath and steps even closer, towering over me. His hand comes up like he wants to touch my waist but he stops himself, clenching his fist.

“I do feel shit,” he admits, voice low. “I hate this. I hate when you’re like this with me. I just want my girl back.”

I tilt my head, looking up at him through my lashes with a small, challenging smile.

“Maybe you have to earn my forgiveness,” I say sweetly, voice full of fake innocence.

Then I turn and walk over to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it. I cross my legs slowly, letting the tiny skirt ride up even higher on my thighs as I lean back on my hands. The position makes my chest push out a little and I know exactly what I’m doing.

Johnny’s eyes follow every movement. His jaw clenches again as he watches me, that mix of frustration and want clear on his face.

He takes a slow step closer, hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying not to reach for me.

“Baby…” he says, voice low and strained. “Don’t do this.”

I blink up at him innocently, swinging one leg a little. “Do what? I’m just sitting here. You wanted to talk, right?”

Johnny runs a hand down his face, clearly fighting with himself. He’s still angry about the argument, still annoyed that I’ve been bratty and flirting with Patrick in front of everyone… but he’s also my sweet Johnny. The one who hates when I’m upset with him. The one who’s been apologising all day because he genuinely feels bad.

He stops a few feet away from the bed, eyes flicking down to my thighs and then back up to my face.

“You’re being a brat on purpose,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in it. Just that frustrated fondness he gets when I push him.

I shrug, biting my lip to hide a smile. “Maybe. Or maybe you just have to work a little harder to make it up to me. You were mean yesterday, Johnny. I think I deserve to be spoiled a bit.”

He lets out a long breath and steps closer, now standing right in front of me. He’s so tall like this, broad shoulders blocking out some of the light. His hand twitches like he wants to touch my leg but he holds back.

“I know I was,” he says quietly, eyes soft even though his jaw is still tight. “I hate that I made you feel like that. I’ve been trying to make it right all day.”

I look up at him, still sitting on his bed with my skirt barely covering anything, and tilt my head.

“Then keep trying,” I say, voice light and bratty. “Because I’m not convinced yet.”

Johnny’s eyes darken as he looks down at me. He’s clearly torn — part of him wants to stay sweet and keep apologising, the other part is getting more and more frustrated with my attitude.

He leans down slightly, one hand bracing on the bed beside me, bringing his face closer to mine.

“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmurs, voice low.

I smile up at him sweetly. “Mhm.”

Johnny looks down at me for a long second, something shifting in his eyes. Then he leans in and kisses me.

It’s soft at first — sweet, almost apologetic. But I don’t kiss him back right away, staying stubborn even as his lips move against mine. He doesn’t push. Instead he trails his mouth along my jaw and down to my neck, kissing that exact spot he knows makes my knees weak.

“You look so good tonight,” he murmurs against my skin, voice low and warm. “This skirt is killing me, baby. You wore it to torture me, didn’t you?”

I stay quiet, acting completely unbothered even though my pulse is racing. I tilt my head slightly to give him better access, but otherwise keep my expression neutral.

Johnny’s hands slide up my sides, gentle but sure, as he keeps kissing and sucking lightly on my neck — exactly the way I like it. He knows my body too well.

His fingers find the hem of my top and slowly start lifting it. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, voice full of that sweet sincerity that makes it hard to stay mad. “Even when you’re being a little brat… I can’t get enough of you.”

He pulls my top off and drops it on the floor. His hands run over my waist, thumbs brushing my ribs as he leans in to kiss my collarbone.

“Missed touching you,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Missed my girl.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying my hardest to look unaffected as he reaches behind me and unclasps my bra. He slides it down my arms, eyes darkening as he looks at me.

“Fuck… you’re perfect,” he breathes, leaning down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses across my chest. “So pretty for me.”

His hands are gentle but confident as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my skirt, slowly sliding it down my legs along with my panties. I lift my hips to help him without thinking, still trying to act like none of this is affecting me.

Johnny straightens up a little, looking at me fully naked on his bed. His eyes are soft and hungry at the same time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick. “My beautiful girl. I hate when we fight. I just want to make you feel good.”

He leans back in, kissing my neck again, hands sliding up my thighs as he gently spreads my legs.

I stay quiet, breathing a little faster but refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan or reaction. Even though every kiss and touch is exactly what I’ve been craving.

He gently pushes me further up the bed and lays me down on my back. He settles between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs as he looks up at me one more time.

Then he leans in and starts eating me out.

His tongue is warm and slow at first, licking long stripes through my folds before focusing on my clit. He knows exactly how I like it — the pressure, the rhythm, the way he occasionally sucks gently. It feels so good my stomach tightens, but I force myself to stay still. No sounds. No movement. Just quiet breathing as I stare at the ceiling, pretending I’m completely unaffected.

He keeps going for a while, getting more focused, more desperate. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he works his tongue deeper. I can feel how much he’s trying to get a reaction out of me, but I stay stubbornly silent.

After a few more minutes he pulls back, breathing hard. He crawls up my body until he’s hovering over me, blue eyes searching my face.

“C’mon, baby… please,” he murmurs, voice soft and a little desperate. “I know you can feel it. Let me hear you.”

I keep my expression neutral, looking up at him like nothing’s happening.

He lets out a frustrated little breath and kisses me deeply while his hand slides back down between my legs. Two of his fingers push inside me easily — I’m soaked even if I won’t admit it — and he starts curling them against that perfect spot while his thumb rubs my clit.

At the same time his mouth moves to my neck, kissing and sucking the exact places he knows drive me crazy. His fingers work steadily inside me, deep and skilled, while he whispers against my skin.

“Please, baby… stop being stubborn. You’re so wet for me. Let me make you feel good.”

I try to hold out. I really do. But the combination of his fingers and his mouth on my neck is too much. A small, involuntary whimper finally slips out of me.

He freezes for half a second, then I feel him smile against my neck.

“There she is,” he breathes, sounding relieved and a little smug. His fingers start moving faster, curling harder. “That’s my girl. Don’t hold it in.”

Another soft moan escapes me as he keeps going, kissing my neck while he fingers me deeper. My hips finally twitch against his hand, the bratty act starting to crack.

My hands finally move, reaching up to grip the hem of Johnny’s shirt. I tug at it impatiently and he sits up just enough to let me pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

The second it’s gone I can’t help staring.

His abs are right there — hard, defined, flexing a little every time he breathes. But it’s his arms that make my brain short-circuit. Those thick rugby biceps. The ones that look even bigger when he’s hovering over me like this. I reach up and run both hands over them, squeezing, feeling the solid muscle under his warm skin.

God. His biceps.

I dig my fingers into them, almost greedily, as he leans back down and keeps fingering me. Every time he moves, those arms flex under my palms and it makes me even wetter. I can’t stop touching them — sliding my hands up and down, squeezing the thick muscle, watching the way they tense when he curls his fingers deeper inside me.

“You’re obsessed with them,” Johnny murmurs against my neck, a soft little laugh in his voice. He flexes on purpose just to tease me and I let out a quiet, needy sound.

“Shut up,” I breathe, still gripping his arms. “They’re… distractingly big.”

He smiles against my skin and keeps working his fingers inside me, slow and deep, while I keep my hands locked on his biceps like I can’t let go. Every flex, every shift of his body makes them tighten under my fingers and it’s driving me crazy.

Johnny kisses my neck again, voice low and warm.

“You can keep holding onto them, baby. I like when you get like this.”

I squeeze harder, thumbs brushing over the solid muscle as another soft moan slips out of me. His fingers feel so good, but those arms… fuck. I could stay here just touching them for hours.

Johnny kisses me once more, deep and slow, then starts trailing his mouth back down my body. He takes his time — pressing soft kisses over my collarbone, between my breasts, down the centre of my stomach — until he’s settled between my legs again.

This time when he leans in and starts eating me out, he doesn’t hold back.

His tongue is focused and hungry, licking through my folds before sucking my clit into his mouth. One of his thick arms wraps around my thigh, holding me open, and the sight of that bicep flexing against my skin makes me moan louder than I mean to. I reach down and grip his other arm, fingers digging into the solid muscle while he works me with his mouth.

“Fuck— Johnny…” I breathe, hips twitching against his face.

He hums against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine, and doubles down. His tongue moves faster, alternating between long, firm strokes and tight circles around my clit. Two of his fingers slide back inside me, curling perfectly while he sucks harder.

I’m holding onto his arm like an anchor, feeling every flex of his bicep as he eats me out. It only makes everything hotter. My thighs start shaking around his head and I can’t keep quiet anymore — soft, broken moans spilling out of me with every movement of his tongue.

Johnny doesn’t stop. He keeps going, relentless and skilled, like he’s determined to make me fall apart. His fingers thrust deeper, tongue working my clit in that exact way that always ruins me.

The pressure builds fast. My grip on his arm tightens as my stomach coils tight.

“I’m— fuck, I’m gonna cum—” I gasp.

He doesn’t pull away. He just sucks harder, fingers curling, and I break.

My orgasm hits hard, thighs clamping around his head as I cry out his name. Waves of pleasure crash through me while he keeps licking me through it, drawing every last shudder out of my body. My fingers are still digging into his bicep, holding on like I might float away.

When the last tremors finally fade, Johnny presses a soft kiss to my inner thigh and looks up at me, lips shiny, eyes dark and satisfied.

Johnny crawls back up my body and settles over me, resting his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush me. His hair is a mess and his lips are still shiny. He looks down at me with that soft, hopeful expression he gets when he knows he’s done something right.

“So…” he says, voice low and a little teasing. “Am I forgiven?”

I pretend to think about it, still trying to look mildly annoyed even though my legs are shaking and I just came hard on his tongue.

“I suppose,” I mutter, looking off to the side like I’m still pissed.

Johnny’s eyes go wide in fake shock. He gasps dramatically, hand flying to his chest.

“You suppose? After all that? My poor heart.”

I can’t help the tiny smile that breaks through, but I quickly school my face again. He leans down and kisses me softly, then rests his forehead against mine.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

Then I clear my throat and push lightly at his chest. “Right. I was actually interested in that story Patrick was telling me… so I need to get back.”

Johnny blinks at me, then lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh as I start sitting up. I reach for my clothes and start getting dressed again — bra, top, then the tiny skirt. He’s still kneeling on the bed watching me, looking half amused and half possessive.

When I stand up and try to fix the skirt, Johnny reaches out and tugs the hem down a little lower himself. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head.

“Feely shouldn’t get to see all that,” he mutters, eyes dark as he looks at my thighs. “That skirt’s for me. Nobody else.”

I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips at the possessive edge in his voice. I lean in and give him one more quick kiss before heading for the door.

“Don’t take too long,” I say over my shoulder, still playing it cool. “Wouldn’t want people thinking you were busy apologising.”