Page 28 of My Girl to Take

She breaks, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that has her screaming against my hand, her body convulsing, her pussy clamping down on me so tight I see stars. I keep moving, drawing it out, holding her in place while she comes apart.

“Again,” I growl before she’s even finished. "One more.”

“I c-can’t…”

I change the angle, thrusting deeper, harder, hitting a spot inside her that makes her jerk, her eyes flying open.

“You can,” I insist, slamming into her over and over again. “And you will.”

I feel it when she tips over the edge again, her second orgasm rocking her on the heels of the first. Her body goes limp, her moans turning to whimpers, pleas, and broken versions of my name. I can’t hold back anymore. I push in deep one final time, burying myself to the hilt, and come with a roar I don’t bother to muffle. I spill inside her, marking her, claiming her in the most primitive way I know how.

We collapse together, my weight pressing her into the desk, my hand still over her mouth, her body still trembling beneath mine. I ease my fingers from her mouth, pressing gentle kisses to her shoulder, her neck, anywhere I can reach.

“Mine,” I whisper, the word barely audible, but I know she hears it. “You’re mine, Kiera. Don’t ever forget it.”

She turns her head, her eyes meeting mine, glazed and satisfied. And filled with something else—an emotion I willed myself not to understand. “Yours,” she agrees, her voice hoarse. “Only yours.”

I close my eyes, holding her tighter, and wonder how I’m ever going to let her go.

Because walking away from this—from her—is starting to feel like the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

And I’m not sure I can anymore.

Chapter Six

Kiera

I shouldn’t be this nervous.

And yet, as I stand in the middle of my room with my overnight bag sitting open on the bed and my fingers hovering over the last few things I need to pack, my chest feels tight. My thoughts are louder than they should be, circling the same question I’ve been trying not to ask myself for days now.

What is this to him?

Because I know what it is to me. Or at least, I know what it’s becoming.

I swallow hard, forcing my hands to move again, folding the last piece of clothing and placing it carefully into the bag before zipping it shut. The sound is louder than it should be in the quiet space, making this real in a way I can’t undo.

Two weeks ago, none of this existed. Now, it feels like everything. And that terrifies me.

I sit down on the edge of the bed for a moment, my hand resting in my lap as I stare ahead without really seeing anything. Because the truth is sitting right there, unavoidable, no matter how much I try to push it away.

I am falling for Logan. Fast. Too fast. And I have no idea if he’s anywhere near where I am. He wants me. That much is obvious.

But want and love are not the same. And Logan…Logan is leaving.

London is still waiting for him. His life is still there. This—whatever this is between us—exists in a space that feels temporary. He uses the word himself, constantly. Interim. The chair, the apartment, the flight he keeps not booking. He says it like it’s a fact about the arrangement and not a fact about me.

Even if it does not feel that way when I am with him.

The thought of watching him walk away hits hard.

I inhale slowly, pushing the feeling down before it can take over. I can’t afford to fall apart over something that hasn’t even been defined. Something that could end just as quickly as it started.

Holding it in hurts. But saying it out loud could hurt more.

I stand quickly, grabbing my bag before I can sit there and think about it any longer. I force myself to move, to act, to focus on something else as I head toward the door and step out into the hallway.

By the time I reach the living room, I feel steadier.