Chapter Eight #2
“Being right about people is easier than being wrong about you.”
He says it flatly, like it’s a thing he’s had four days to work out and doesn’t enjoy.
“If you’d betrayed me, then I was correct about everything since I was eighteen, and I never had to find out what happens if I let somebody all the way in.”
I don’t have anything to say to that.
“You gave me the fees,” he says. “You handed me the thread, and I used it on you. I’ve been sick about it since Thursday.”
My chest tightens. “I should have told you about her,” I admit softly. “Wednesday. You asked me, and I didn’t.”
“Why?”
And here it is.
“Because I’ve been counting,” I say.
He goes very still.
“You say interim about eleven times a day. The chair, the apartment, the flight you haven’t booked.”
My voice isn’t as steady as I’d like. “So I’ve been counting. I don’t know what the number is, but I know it’s a number, and my mother had already taken nine years of my life, and I wasn’t giving her any of what I had left of yours.”
Something happens to his face.
“So I didn’t tell you,” I finish. “Not because I was hiding her. Because I was hoarding you.”
A pause. Then he steps closer.
“So, we both messed up,” he says.
A small, fragile smile tugs at my lips. “Looks like it.”
He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him again. Close enough that the distance from before feels like it never existed at all.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he says.
“Good,” I whisper. “Because I don’t want to lose you.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Honest. Terrifying.
For a second, everything hangs on what he says next.
“You won’t,” he replies.
Relief hits so hard it almost knocks the breath out of me.
“I love you, Kiera.”
My heart stutters. And just like that, everything else fades.
“I love you too,” I breathe.
That’s all it takes.
He pulls me into him, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that feels desperate and hungry, like it carries everything we didn’t say before. Everything we almost lost. Everything we just fought through to get back to this moment.
The table presses against the back of my legs before I even realize we’ve moved. His hands, firm and grounding, pull me closer as the kiss deepens. The world outside the room disappears completely as the tension shifts into intense pleasure.
“You have no idea how close I was to losing this,” he murmurs against my lips.
“You didn’t,” I whisper back.
“And I won’t,” he adds.
The promise settles deep.
His hands grip my thighs, lifting me onto the conference table in one smooth motion. The wood is cool against my skin, my skirt riding up, and he steps between my legs, his body pressing against mine, hard and demanding.
“Here?” I breathe, glancing at the door.
But he’s already kissing me again, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, his hands rough and urgent.
“There’s a board of directors on the other side of that wall,” he smirks, his fingers finding the buttons of my blouse and undoing them with practiced efficiency. “Half of them are still in the corridor.”
My breath catches, heat pooling low and sharp. “Logan…”
“Say it, and I’ll stop.”
I don’t say it.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I want it,” I gasp, arching into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. “I want you. Now. Please…”
He doesn’t wait. He drags my blouse open, my bra following, his mouth closing over my nipple, sucking hard. I cry out, my head falling back, my hips bucking against him involuntarily. He groans against my skin, his hand sliding up my thigh, under my skirt, his fingers finding me wet and ready.
“Fuck,” he grits out, pressing two fingers inside me, curling them. “You’re soaked. Were you thinking about this the whole meeting? Standing up there running that room, wet for me, while we were at odds?”
I whimper, unable to answer, my body tightening around his fingers. He works me ruthlessly, his thumb circling my clit, his mouth moving to my other breast, his teeth grazing, his tongue soothing. My hands grip the edge of the table.
“Come,” he orders, his voice rough. “Now, Kiera. Now. Before anybody has the sense to knock.”
I shatter, my orgasm hitting me hard. It has me crying out. He keeps stroking me through it, drawing it out, his mouth on mine, swallowing my moans.
Before I can catch my breath, he’s freeing himself, his cock already leaking pre-cum. He pushes into me in one deep stroke. We both groan, the sensation overwhelming, perfect, exactly what I need after everything.
“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.