Page 31 of My Girl to Take

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

I nod. “I needed you,” I hold his gaze, “I need you,” I add, softer.

That does it. Something in him shifts instantly. His hand moves to my chin, lifting my face up just enough for him to see me. Then, his gaze scans mine quickly, searching, assessing.

He knows there’s something. I can see him decide not to make me hand it over.

Then he kisses me. Deep and certain.

I melt into it just as fast, my hands gripping his neck as everything else fades. The tension from earlier dissolves into something else entirely. Heat builds quickly, intensely, pulling me further into him with every second.

He moves us inside without breaking the kiss. My bag hits the ground just as the door shuts behind me. His hands tighten around my waist, his control slipping just enough to match mine, to meet me where I am instead of holding back.

“You don’t just show up like this,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rougher now. “Tell me you missed me and expect me to stay calm.”

“I don’t want you calm,” I whisper.

That’s all it takes.

His hands are under my thighs, lifting me, and I wrap my legs around his hips automatically, my dress riding up, my heels digging into his back. He carries me like I weigh nothing. Like I’m something precious and necessary all at once, and the thought makes my chest ache with how much I need this. Need him.

“Bedroom,” he growls against my mouth, but he’s already pressing me against the nearest wall, his body hard and demanding between my legs.

“Can’t wait,” I breathe, my fingers fumbling at his belt, desperate, frantic. “Please. Now.”

“Look at me.”

I do. His eyes are dark, and there’s something underneath the want—something watchful, like he’s still reading me.

“You want me to take it out of your head,” he says. It isn’t a question. “Whatever it is.”

My throat closes.

“Yes.”

“Then say it properly.”

“Take it out of my head,” I whisper. “Please. Make me not think about anything.”

Something in his face changes—settles, sharpens.

“Alright,” he says. “Hands off me.”

“What?”

“You heard.” He catches both my wrists and pins them flat to the wall on either side of my head, and holds them there. “You came here to stop thinking. So you don’t get to do anything. You don’t touch me, you don’t help, you don’t decide. All you do is what I tell you.”

My whole body goes molten.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He spins us away from the wall, carrying me toward the bedroom with long strides. He drops me onto the bed, and I bounce slightly, my dress twisted around my middle, my chest heaving.

He stands over me, looking down with an expression that makes my stomach flip. Hungry. Possessive. Completely in control in a way that dissolves every thought of my mother, of Garth, of everything except this moment.

“Take off your panties,” he commands, his voice low and rough. “Slowly. I want to watch.”