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Johnny and I stayed at the party for quite a while longer that evening after re-emerging into the crowd following our intimate encounter.
My friends and his alike, bless their hearts, were no less than saintly in their response to our more-than-mildindiscretion. I was pleased to find that, no, everyone at the party did not actually get a glimpse of my undercarriage during our very public display of affection—luckily, Johnny had blocked me from the direct eyeline of the crowd, shielding me from view with his body.
And, much to my relief, it seemed everyone still in attendance at the gathering was as keen as I was to ignore the fact that Austin had caused such an unwelcome disturbance.
I went home with Johnny a few hours later, feeling completely drained. I fell asleep on the ride back to his place within minutes of being on the road, my head slumping onto his shoulder.
I didn't remember arriving back at Johnny's, or him putting me to bed, at all. We were pretty intoxicated, after all. I woke up early the following morning in his bed—with him beside me; wearing his clothes. He was always so attentive; so good at taking care of me.
His arms were locked around my waist, holding me close to him with his face buried in my hair as he breathed deeply, still fast asleep. A feeling came over me that I hadn't experienced in any of my other relationships, ever, with the warmth of his body enveloping mine. I felt so safe with him—so secure, and wanted, and loved.
