Page 21 of My Girl to Ruin

He doesn’t stop until we reach an empty classroom. He pushes the door open. Pulls me inside. And shuts it behind us.

The click echoes. I turn toward him, my breath uneven, my chest rising and falling faster than it should.

“What was that?” I ask, my voice shaky under the frustration trying to push through.

His eyes lock onto mine. Dark. Intense. “Who was he?”

I blink. “I just told you. He’s in my class.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” I snap, irritation flaring now. “We were just talking.”

His gaze sharpens, turning possessive. “Didn’t look like nothing.”

My breath catches. Because I hear it. The jealousy. Clear as day. And it does something to me it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want to squeeze my thighs together and relieve the ache between them. But I do. And that only makes me angrier.

“We were talking,” I repeat, lifting my chin, refusing to let him pull me into whatever this is without pushing back. “That’s what people do, Lachlan. They talk.”

“Do they?”

“You hung up on me.”

That lands. I watch it land.

“I know,” he says.

“You don’t get to do that and then show up at my school and—”

“I know.”

“Then say something.” My voice cracks on it. “Say anything that isn’t I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Long enough that I think, actually think, he’s going to.

And then he doesn’t.

His gaze darkens. He steps closer until my back hits the wall, and we’re a breath apart.

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. You’re mine, kitten,” he declares.

Then his mouth is on mine, and it’s a claim, not a kiss.

I return it with the same fervor. Everything I’ve been carrying since the phone call—the frustration, the confusion, the hurt—tangles up with something else entirely. Potent need. His hand comes up to grip my jaw, tilting my face where he wants it.

“You drive me insane,” he mutters against my lips, his voice rough, edged with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down my spine.

My breath stutters, my fingers tightening against him as I try to steady myself, but it’s useless. His hand slides from my jaw to my waist, gripping tightly, anchoring me to him as he deepens the kiss.

You’re mine.

Instead of pushing it away, I lean into it. The wall is cold against my back, but he's scorching everywhere he touches, and I can't get enough.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips, his hand sliding down to grip my thigh, lifting it to wrap around his hip. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I breathe, the words slipping out before I can stop them. But it's true. I've been his since that first night, maybe even before.

He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Again.”