Page 11 of My Girl to Ruin

The latch gives. I hear the hallway noises spill in—voices, somebody’s TV, a door swinging shut a few rooms down.

Then it’s quiet again, because he’s closed it.

He’s crossed the room before I understand that he’s moving.

His hand wraps around my arm, firm but not painful, and the next thing I know, my back hits the wall.

I lose my breath as his body cages mine in completely. Everything in me goes loud at once.

“Lachlan—”

His lips cut me off. The kiss isn’t soft. It’s immediate. Possessive. Measured in a way that feels like he’s been holding it back for too long and finally stopped trying. His hand slides up to my jaw, tilting my face exactly where he wants it, his other arm braced beside my head, boxing me in completely.

I gasp against him, my fingers clutching at his shirt before I can stop myself, heat rushing through me so fast it makes my head spin. This is nothing like before. Nothing like that first kiss in his apartment, the one he broke off and then spent ten minutes making me pay for.

His mouth moves against mine with purpose, not asking, not waiting, taking… It sends a sharp, electric pulse straight through me. My body reacts instantly, pressing closer, my breath uneven as I try to keep up with the intensity of it.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his forehead resting briefly against mine, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Walking around like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I don’t…” My voice comes out soft, unsure, my cheeks burning. “I’m not…”

He huffs a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah,” he says, brushing his thumb along my cheek, his gaze locked on mine. “That’s the problem.”

His mouth claims mine again, swallowing whatever words I might have found. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that makes my knees weak. I melt into him, everything sensible in me going quiet at once.

Somehow, we move. I don't remember walking, but suddenly, the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, and I'm falling, pulling him down with me. The bed dips under our weight as he braces himself above me, never breaking the kiss, his body a solid wall of heat pressing me into the sheets.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His thumb traces my swollen lower lip, his breathing ragged.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough. “Tell me now, Tatum.”

I shake my head, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can feel it. “Don’t stop.”

He makes a low sound in his throat, almost a growl, and his hand slides down my throat, my chest, resting over my racing heart. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t touch you.” But even as he says it, his hand moves lower, palming my breast through my shirt, his thumb finding my nipple and circling until I arch into him. “But fuck, I’ve thought about this. Thought about you.”

His words send heat pooling between my thighs. I’ve imagined this too, but the reality of him—his weight, his scent, the roughness of his palms—is overwhelming.

“Lachlan,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I need to tell you something.”

He stills, his hand pausing its delicious torture. “What is it, kitten?”

The pet name makes my stomach flip. I force the words out, my face burning. “I’ve never...I’m a virgin.”

He goes completely still above me, something fierce and almost feral flickering across his features. For a moment, I think he’ll pull away, but instead, his grip on my hip tightens.

“Christ,” he mutters, his voice strained. He closes his eyes. When they open again, that darkness is there, deeper than before. “You saved that for me?”

I nod, unable to speak.

His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point hard enough to make me gasp. “Mine,” he breathes against my skin, and the possessiveness in his voice should terrify me. It doesn’t. “I’m going to be your first. Your only. You understand me?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

He pushes up on his knees, his hands going to the button of my jeans. “Lift your hips.”

I obey. And God, the way it feels to obey him. The way something in me goes loose and quiet the second he tells me what to do, like some part of me has been standing at attention for four years waiting for somebody to take the decision out of my hands.

He strips the denim from my legs, taking my underwear with it. I'm bare before him, exposed and vulnerable, and I fight the urge to cover myself. His gaze rakes over me, hungry and unapologetic.