Page 43 of My Girl to Take

“Look at me,” he commands, his hands gripping my hips, his thrusts hard and relentless. “Don’t look away. I want to see your face when you come apart.”

I hold his gaze, my nails digging into his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. He’s hitting a spot inside me that makes my toes curl, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his rhythm faltering, his control slipping. "Mine, Kiera. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I choke out, my body tightening again, building impossibly fast. “Only yours, Logan. A-always,” I answer, whimpering.

He shifts, grinding against my clit with every thrust. I break again, my second orgasm crashing through me, harder than the first, my pussy clamping down on him.

He groans, low and guttural, his grip bruising, his pace becoming erratic.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his forehead dropping to mine, his thrusts deep and desperate. “I’m going to come.”

He thrusts deep one final time and stills, pulsing, spilling into me with a sound that’s most of my name. He collapses into me, his face pressing into my neck, his breath hot against it.

We stay like that, both of us shaking, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close.

. “I love you, baby,” he rasps.

I smile, my heart full, my body sated. "I love you too."

He pulls back slowly, helping me sit up, his hands gentle now as he buttons my blouse with trembling fingers. “We should probably leave before someone actually walks in.”

I laugh, the sound light and free. “Probably.”

After our clothes are righted, I hold his gaze. “I guess I’ll have to come with you to London,” I say lightly.

His expression shifts. Amusement. Something else.

“You won’t,” he replies.

I blink. “What?”

“I’m not going back,” he says.

My breath catches. “You’re not?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint smile forming. “I’ve already started relocating the company. California makes more sense.”

“Since when?”

“Since the second week.” He watches me take that in. “I signed the first set of papers four days after I met you. I’ve been calling it interim ever since because saying it out loud meant admitting what it was.”

For a second, I just stare at him. Then I laugh softly, the tension finally breaking completely.

“So…does that mean you’re finally moving out of Wilder House?” I tease.

He smirks. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I’ll move somewhere better.”

“Better than Wilder House?” I raise a brow.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze softening slightly as it lingers on me. “Somewhere that feels more like home.”

My chest tightens. In the best way.

Because for the first time, I don’t feel alone. The future doesn’t scare me.

It feels right.