Page 22 of My Girl to Ruin

“I’m yours, Lachlan.” I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. “Only yours.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and wild. “That’s right. And don’t you fucking forget it.” His hand slides higher up my thigh, beneath my skirt, his fingers brushing the edge of my panties. “Who gets to touch this, kitten?”

“You,” I whimper as his thumb grazes the damp fabric. “Only you.”

“Damn right.” He hooks his fingers in my underwear and tears them down my legs, the fabric catching on my shoes. “Take them off. Now.”

I kick off my shoes and step out of the panties, my heart hammering. We’re in a classroom. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could hear. The risk should terrify me. It doesn’t. It sends adrenaline straight through me, making me wetter, needier.

Lachlan unbuckles his belt with quick, efficient movements, his gaze never leaving mine. “Turn around.”

I blink, momentarily confused. “What?”

“Turn. Around.” His voice is lower now, commanding, brooking no argument. “Hands on the wall. Ass out.”

My breath catches, my stomach flipping with a mixture of nerves and desperate arousal. I turn slowly, pressing my palms flat against the cool wall, my cheek resting against my forearm. I stick my hips out, feeling exposed and vulnerable and so turned on I can barely think.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I hear the rustle of fabric as he frees himself. “Look at you. Bent over in your own classroom with your skirt up, waiting on me.”

“Please,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Please what?” He steps closer, his heat radiating against my bare skin, his cock pressing against my entrance but not pushing in. “Tell Daddy what you need.”

“Please, Daddy. I need you inside me.”

He groans, long and low, his hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s my kitten.” He pushes forward in one smooth thrust, filling me completely. I gasp, my fingers scrabbling against the wall.

“So fucking tight. Such a dirty little thing for me, aren’t you?”

The words should land like an insult. They don’t. Coming out of him in that low, wrecked voice, they only make me clench around him.

“Yes,” I sob, pushing back against him, trying to get him deeper. “Yes, Daddy, please—”

He pulls out and slams back in, hard enough to make me cry out, his hand clamping over my mouth to muffle my cries.

“Quiet,” he orders, his breath hot against my ear. “You have to be quiet for me, kitten. Can you do that? Can you take it without making a sound?”

I nod frantically, my inner walls fluttering around him at the command. He keeps his hand where it is and starts to move, his thrusts hard and relentless, each one driving me into the wall.

“Look at you,” he grits out, his free hand sliding around to settle at my throat. Not choking, just holding. “Taking me so well. You like this, don’t you? Like being pinned against a wall in your empty classroom. Some other man smiles at you, and this is what you get.”

I wasn’t flirting, but I can’t form the words to defend myself, not with him overwhelming me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I love this. The possession, the dominance, the way he loses control around me.

He angles his hips, hitting the spot inside me that makes everything go hazy, and I moan against his palm.

“That’s it,” he growls, his rhythm turning erratic. “Come for me, Tatum.”

His command sends me over the edge. I shatter, biting down on his hand to keep from screaming. He fucks me through it, his grip tightening just a fraction, using my body until I’m limp and trembling.

His thumb finds my clit, rubbing rough, insistent circles. “One more time. I want to feel you squeeze my cock before I fill you up.”

“I’m too sensitive,” I whimper against his palm.

He stills. Everything stops—his hand, his hips, even his breathing.

I push back onto him.

That’s all it takes. He makes a sound against my shoulder that isn’t a word. His fingers find me again, merciless now, driving into that perfect spot until—impossibly—I feel another climax gathering, tighter and more intense than the first.