Page 95 of My Vigilante Valentine

And no… apparently, I hadn’t let her take me down just so she could get that win. It was because I was finally ready to let gravity catch up with me—way too in love with her to care if I fell.

“I love you,” I rasped, the words out there before I even thought about stopping them.

Her breath caught, hands still braced against my chest, wide eyes locking onto mine. “You?—”

I nodded once. No hesitation. “Yeah.”

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

And then—she kissed me.

It was deep, desperate. Like she was trying to absorb the words straight from my lips, needing to feel them as much as I needed to say them.

And when she finally pulled back, eyes shining, she whispered, “I love you too.”

A slow, stunned exhale left me, but I didn’t loosen my hold on her.

I couldn’t.

She bit her lip, studying me like she was committing this moment to memory. Like she was creating a new core memory… if that were even possible for an adult to do. I just hoped that meant that, like her mom’s mac and cheese recipe, she would never get sick of me, either.

And then, when she leaned down for another kiss—this one less teasing, more claiming—I was wholly unprepared.

Our confession, the warmth between us—and the fact that neither of us seemed like we were in any rush to stop?

We were building something precious during these distractions I’d worked so hard to avoid, and I knew right then that it was worth protecting at all costs.

Reluctantly—because if I didn’t, we’d be here all day—I loosened my grip on her waist, rolling us so I could stand before pulling her up with me.

Luna stretched, arms overhead, eyes full of something warm. Lighter than usual.

Training her was already important, but the way I’d dedicate myself to it now? It’d be next-level stuff. Any tool she needed to make sure she was safe? She’d have it. No question.

And I knew—knew deep in my bones—I wasn’t losing this.

Losingher.

Ever.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring, “C’mon. Back to work.”

She sighed dramatically, straightening her tank top where it had ridden up. “Fine. But I think we can safely say I’ve mastered taking you down.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think happened?”

She gasped, feigning outrage, but the light in her eyes told me exactly how much she was enjoying this game. “Are you saying it wasn’t?”

“I’m saying maybe I let you win.”

Her mouth dropped open—mock outrage. “Wanna go again and find out?”

The second I beckoned her forward, her expression shifted—determination replacing her playfulness.

We circled each other again, slow at first.

Testing. Waiting.

And then—she moved, and this time, it was different. Sharper. More controlled. She wasn’t just reacting—she was anticipating.

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