Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Woodrow
I've killed men for less than a look in Priscilla's direction.
I've broken bones, spilled blood, ended lives to keep her safe.
But nothing—not a single fucking thing I've done in my violent life—has terrified me as much as what I'm about to do right now.
The small velvet box burns a hole in my pocket as I pace the bedroom, waiting for her to finish her shower.
I've faced down death a hundred times without flinching, but the thought of asking this woman to be mine forever has my palms sweating like a goddamn teenager's.
Pathetic. But she's changed me. Broken me open.
Made me want things I never thought I could have.
A future. A family. A fucking lifetime with one woman—this woman, my woman, my Priscilla.
The shower shuts off, and I freeze mid-pace. Too late to back out now. Not that I want to. I've never been more certain of anything in my life than I am about her. About us.
She emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapped in one of my towels, her dark hair dripping onto her bare shoulders. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her—all soft curves and damp skin, those big hazel eyes lighting up when they find me.
"Hey," she says, smiling that smile that still knocks me on my ass every time I see it. The one meant just for me. "You look serious. Everything okay?"
"Fine," I grunt, running a hand through my hair. Words. I need fucking words now, and they're deserting me when I need them most. "Just thinking."
She crosses to me, still in that too-big towel, reaching up to touch my face. "About what?"
I capture her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. Grounding myself in her touch, her scent, her presence. "About us. About the future."
Something shifts in her expression—hope, maybe? Uncertainty? "Oh?"
Now or never, Walker. Don't fuck this up.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small velvet box. Not getting on one knee—that's not us, not our style. Just holding it out to her, my heart in my throat.
"Marry me," I say, the words coming out more demand than question. I soften my tone, try again. "Be mine, Priscilla. Officially. Forever."
Her eyes widen, flicking between my face and the box in my hand. "Woodrow..."
"I know it's fast," I cut in, needing to get the words out before I lose my nerve.
"I know this whole thing is fucking insane—the way we met, everything that's happened.
But I've never been more sure of anything in my life.
I will protect you, provide for you, worship you until my last fucking breath.
I will kill anyone who tries to harm you.
I will burn the world down to keep you safe. Just…be mine. Officially."
I open the box, revealing the ring inside. Not a traditional diamond—too common, too expected for a woman like her. Instead, it's a deep green emerald surrounded by smaller diamonds, set in white gold. The color reminded me of the flecks of green in her hazel eyes when she's aroused.
She stares at it for what feels like an eternity, tears welling in those beautiful eyes. Just when I think I've miscalculated, pushed too hard too fast, she throws herself at me, arms wrapping around my neck, the towel coming dangerously loose.
"Yes," she breathes against my lips. "Yes, Woodrow. I'll marry you."
Relief and triumph surge through me in equal measure. I kiss her hard, claiming, possessive, lifting her off her feet as I do. The towel falls away completely, leaving her naked and perfect in my arms.
I carry her to the bed, laying her down with more gentleness than I knew I possessed. She looks up at me, all wide eyes and parted lips, her dark hair spreading across the pillow like a halo. Mine. Forever mine.
"Let me see it on you," I tell her, taking the ring from its box.
She offers her left hand, trembling slightly. I slide the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit, just as I knew it would be. The emerald catches the light, throwing green fire.
"It's beautiful," she whispers, admiring it. "Perfect."
"Like you," I tell her, meaning it more than I've ever meant anything. "Perfect for me."
I strip quickly, efficiently, needing to be skin-to-skin with her, to seal this moment with the joining of our bodies. When I cover her with my weight, her legs part instinctively, welcoming me into the cradle of her hips.
"I love you," I tell her, the words still new on my tongue but no less true for their novelty. "More than I thought possible."
"I love you too," she says, her hands framing my face. "My protector. My monster. My everything."
I enter her slowly this time, savoring each inch, watching her face as she takes me completely. The tight heat of her envelops me, squeezes me, welcomes me home. Our eyes lock as I start to move within her, a connection deeper than the physical joining of our bodies.
"Never thought I'd have this," I confess, the words pulled from somewhere deep inside me. "Never thought I deserved it. A woman like you. A future. Happiness."
"You deserve everything," she tells me, her hands roaming my back, my shoulders, learning each scar, each imperfection. "And I'll spend my life making sure you believe that."
My thrusts deepen, intensify, emotion making me rougher than I intend. But she takes it, welcomes it, her hips rising to meet each drive of mine, her nails digging crescents into my skin.
"My perfect little girl," I praise, watching her eyes darken at the endearment. "Taking Daddy's cock so well. Going to be my wife. Going to carry my children."
"Yes," she moans, her inner walls fluttering around me at the words. "Want that. Want everything with you."
I reach between us, finding her clit, circling it with my thumb as I continue to move inside her. "Come for me," I command softly. "Let me feel you come around my cock."
She does, her back arching, a cry tearing from her throat as pleasure overtakes her. I follow her over the edge, emptying myself deep inside her with a growl of satisfaction.
But I'm not done with her. Not by a long shot. This night—the night of our engagement—is just beginning.
After we've caught our breath, I roll her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, positioning her on her hands and knees. She glances back at me over her shoulder, eyes wide but trusting.
"Again?" she asks, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Again," I confirm, already hardening at the sight of her ass in the air, my cum leaking from her pussy. "And again after that. Going to claim every inch of you tonight, little girl. Seal our engagement properly."
She wiggles her ass teasingly. "I'm all yours, Daddy."
The invitation—the submission—makes something primal roar to life inside me. I deliver a sharp slap to her right cheek, watching the pale skin turn pink under my hand. She gasps, but pushes back for more.
I position myself at her entrance, pushing in slowly, groaning at how tight she is from this angle. "Fuck," I mutter, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "So perfect. So tight for me."
I set a relentless pace, each thrust driving her forward on the bed. She moans beneath me, her fingers clutching at the sheets, her back arching beautifully as she takes everything I give her.
"That's it," I encourage as I go deeper, harder, faster. "Take Daddy's cock like a good little girl. Taking it so deep, aren't you?"
"Yes," she gasps, pushing back to meet my thrusts. "So deep. So good, Woodrow. Please, don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping. Not until she's come around my cock again, until she's trembling and oversensitized and completely, thoroughly claimed.
My hand slides around to find her clit, circling it mercilessly as I pound into her from behind. "Come for me again," I demand, feeling my own release building. "Show me how much you love Daddy's cock."
She shatters beneath me, her pussy clamping down on my length so hard I see stars. I follow her over the edge with a shout, filling her up for the second time tonight, marking her from the inside as thoroughly as I've marked her skin from the outside.
We collapse forward together, both panting, sweat-slicked and satisfied. But only temporarily. I'm already planning our next round, my cock twitching with renewed interest despite having just come.
I roll onto my back, pulling her with me so she's sprawled across my chest. She looks up at me, eyes hazy with pleasure, lips swollen from our kisses.
"Insatiable," she murmurs, but there's no complaint in her tone. Just wonder, and maybe a little pride.
"Only for you," I tell her, stroking her hair back from her face. "Only ever for you."
We rest for a while, touching, kissing, exploring each other's bodies with unhurried hands. When I'm hard again—it doesn't take long, not with her soft curves pressed against me—I guide her on top of me.
"Your turn," I tell her, positioning her so she's straddling my hips. "Show me how much you want this cock, little girl."
Her eyes darken at the challenge. She rises up on her knees, taking my length in her small hand, guiding it to her entrance. Then, with a boldness that makes my heart swell with pride, she sinks down, taking me to the hilt in one smooth motion.
"Fuck," I groan, my eyes rolling back in my head. I damn near nut right then. My hands fly to her hips, helping support her. "Look at you, taking all of me. Such a perfect little cock sleeve for Daddy."
She blushes at the crude praise but doesn't shy away from it.
Instead, she begins to move, rising and falling on my shaft, finding her rhythm.
The sight of her above me—head thrown back, breasts bouncing with each movement, my ring glittering on her finger—is almost enough to make me come on the spot.
"That's it," I encourage, helping guide her movements. "Use me. Take your pleasure. Show me what you need."
Her pace increases, her movements growing more confident as she chases her own satisfaction. I let her lead, content to watch her come alive above me, this woman who was so shy, so innocent just days ago, now riding my cock like she was born for it.
"Touch yourself," I tell her, my voice rough with arousal. "Let me see you make yourself come on my cock."
Her hand slides between us, finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles as she continues to ride me. The dual stimulation has her panting, moaning, her inner walls fluttering around my shaft as she approaches her peak.
"That's it," I praise, feeling my own orgasm building. "Daddy's so proud of you, taking what you need. So fucking beautiful."
"Woodrow," she gasps, her movements becoming erratic as she nears the edge. "I'm going to—"
"Come for me," I command, thrusting up to meet her downward movements. "Let me feel that tight pussy squeezing my cock."
She comes with a cry of my name, her body convulsing around me, milking my shaft, drawing my own release from me in powerful jets. I grab her hips, holding her down firmly as I empty myself inside her for the third time tonight, filling her with my seed.
When she collapses onto my chest, spent and trembling, I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. I can feel our combined fluids leaking out of her, down my cock, onto my thighs. The primal part of me revels in it—in marking her, claiming her, filling her with my essence over and over.
"Mine," I murmur into her hair, my hands stroking down her sweat-slicked back. "All mine. Forever."
"Yours," she agrees sleepily, pressing a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "Forever."
As she drifts off to sleep in my arms, my ring on her finger, my seed in her womb, I allow myself to imagine the future stretching out before us. Marriage. Children. A life together built on this foundation of obsession and protection and bone-deep love.
It's not a future I ever thought I'd have. Not a future I ever thought I deserved. But with Priscilla in my arms, it doesn't just seem possible—it seems inevitable. Like every violent, blood-soaked moment of my past was leading me to her. To this. To us.
And I'll kill anyone who tries to take it away.