Chapter 20 #3
His eyes found Tyson across the room, talking to Duke but tracking my movements.
Always aware, always watching. "Him. He was going dark before you.
Real dark. Seen it in too many brothers who came back from the sandbox broken.
" Tank spun me carefully. "You gave him something to fight for besides the past."
The song shifted, something slower, and Duke appeared at Tank's shoulder. "My turn, brother."
Tank surrendered me with a small bow, disappearing into the crowd. Duke danced like he did everything—with controlled precision and unexpected grace. Where Tank had been careful, Duke was commanding, leading with the easy confidence of a man used to being followed.
"You clean up nice," he said after a moment.
"Thanks." I tried not to feel like I was being evaluated, but Duke had that effect. Even being nice, he carried weight. "Beautiful ceremony."
"Thor cried like a baby." But his tone was fond. "Never thought I'd see it. Him or Tyson, settling down. You women have a way of changing things."
"Not changing," I corrected carefully. "Just . . . adding to what's already there."
He studied me with those sharp eyes. "That's why you work. Both of you too stubborn to change for anybody. Just found someone worth adding to the picture." A pause, weighted. "He's planning something."
My heart stuttered. "Duke—"
"Not my place to say what." He spun me, using the movement to cut off my questions. "Just be ready. When Tyson decides something, he doesn't do it half-assed."
The music shifted again, slow and sweet. Couples paired off, swaying together in that way that made single people feel extra alone. But I wasn't alone for long.
"My turn." Tyson appeared like smoke, polite but firm. Duke surrendered me immediately.
“All yours, brother.”
Tyson pulled me close, closer than proper, one hand splayed possessively on my lower back. We fit together like puzzle pieces, my head finding that spot on his chest that seemed designed for it. Around us, other couples danced, but we might as well have been alone.
"Missed you," he murmured into my hair.
"I was right here." But I pressed closer, understanding. Even in the same room, the distance felt wrong. "Duke says you're planning something."
"Duke talks too much." His hand traced patterns on my back, innocent to observers but making me shiver. "But yeah. I am."
"Want to share?"
"Not yet." He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. "But soon. Need to say this first though. Want this. All of it."
My breath caught. "Tyson . . ."
"Not asking here," he clarified quickly. "Not stealing Thor's thunder. Just . . . need you to know. You're it for me, wildflower. My everything. The reason I wake up, the last thing I think about at night. My home."
Tears pricked my eyes. "You can't just say things like that when my mascara isn't waterproof."
"Sure I can." He thumbed away a tear that escaped, infinitely gentle. "You're mine, Lena. In every way that matters. Just need to make it official."
"I'm already yours," I whispered. "Have been since forever."
"Yeah?" His eyes darkened. "Say it again."
"I'm yours," I repeated, watching his pupils dilate. "Completely. Permanently. Violently yours."
He made a sound low in his throat, grip tightening. "Careful, baby. Keep talking like that and we'll miss the cake cutting."
"Promises, promises." But heat pooled low in my belly, responding to that tone. That look. That barely leashed control that said he was counting minutes until he could get me alone.
"Ladies!" The DJ's voice boomed. "Time for the bouquet toss! Single ladies to the floor!"
"Go," Tyson commanded, stepping back reluctantly. "Before Mandy hunts you down."
I joined the cluster of single women, some eager, some dragged by friends. Mandy stood with her back to us, bouquet held high, milking the moment. The countdown started—three, two, one—
The flowers hit me square in the chest. Not even close to subtle, a direct strike that left no room for interpretation. I caught them automatically, purple roses and white lilies tied with silver ribbon.
The room erupted. Whistles, catcalls, Tyson's brothers making extremely inappropriate suggestions about what came next. But I only had eyes for him, standing at the edge of the dance floor with heat and promise written across his face.
"Let's get out of here," he said, appearing at my side before the cheering even died.
"But the party—"
"Now, Lena." The command in his voice made my core clench, responding to that particular tone that meant plans and possession and very good things in my immediate future.
I made quick excuses, hugged Mandy—who winked knowingly—and grabbed my purse. Tyson's hand on my lower back guided me through the crowd, firm and possessive, broadcasting ownership to anyone watching.
His bike waited in the lot, gleaming chrome and power. He handed me my special purple helmet without asking if I wanted to stay longer. He knew. Could probably smell the arousal on me, see the way I pressed my thighs together.
"Hold on tight," he growled, and I did, arms wrapped around him, feeling every breath, every shift of muscle.
The ride home was torture. Every rev of the engine vibrated through me, every turn pressed me harder against his back. His hand kept dropping to my thigh, squeezing, reminding me he was just as affected.
By the time we reached my apartment, I was liquid heat and desperate need. Whatever he had planned, I was ready. More than ready.
Aching for it.
The apartment door barely clicked shut before Tyson spun me against it, his body caging mine with delicious pressure. Four hours of watching me in that purple dress had clearly tested his control to the breaking point—I could feel it in the tremor of his hands, the harsh breath against my neck.
"That fucking dress," he growled, fingers already searching for the zipper. "Been hard since I saw you in it. Every spin on that dance floor, every glimpse of your thigh . . ."
"Daddy," I gasped, arching into his touch. The word always hit him like a physical thing, made his control slip just enough to show the hunger beneath. "Need you."
"Yeah?" His teeth scraped my pulse point, making me shiver. "Need Daddy to take care of you? Been aching for it all day?"
His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the silk higher, finding the evidence of exactly how affected I was. The lace panties were soaked through, probably had been since our first dance. He groaned against my neck, fingers teasing through the fabric.
"Fuck, baby. This wet already?" He pressed harder, finding my clit through the lace, making me whimper. "Such a needy little girl. Could smell how turned on you were during that slow dance. Wanted to bend you over right there, show everyone who you belong to."
"Please," I begged, hips rolling against his hand. "Daddy, please, I need—"
"I know what you need." He spun me suddenly, hands braced against the door, my ass pressed back against him. I could feel how hard he was through his suit pants, the rigid length that promised exactly what I craved. "But first, these are coming off."
His fingers hooked in my panties, and I heard fabric tear. The lace gave way with a rip that made me moan, cool air hitting heated flesh. He kicked my feet wider, the dress bunched around my waist, leaving me exposed and desperate.
"Tyson!"
"Told you," he murmured, dropping to his knees behind me. "These were coming off the second we got home."
Then his mouth was on me and coherent thought fled. He ate me like a man starved, tongue plunging deep while his fingers worked my clit. I had to brace harder against the door, legs already shaking, the overwhelming sensation making me cry out.
"That's it," he encouraged between licks. "Let me hear you, baby. Let the whole building know who's making you feel this good."
He slid two fingers inside, curling them just right, and I shattered. The orgasm hit like a lightning strike, my whole body convulsing, only his grip on my hip keeping me upright. He worked me through it, drawing out every aftershock until I was whimpering from oversensitivity.
"Good girl," he praised, standing and turning me to face him. His lips glistened with my arousal, and I pulled him down for a messy kiss, tasting myself on his tongue. "So perfect for Daddy. But we're not done."
He lifted me easily, carrying me to the bedroom while I worked on his tie, his buttons, needing skin against skin.
By the time he set me on the bed, his shirt hung open, revealing the body that never failed to make my mouth water.
Scars and ink and solid muscle, all mine to touch and taste and worship.
"Leave the dress," he ordered when I reached for the zipper again. "Been fantasizing about fucking you in it all day."
I obeyed, spreading my legs wider, showing him everything. His eyes went dark, dangerous, that particular hunger that meant I was about to be thoroughly claimed. He stripped efficient, revealing himself to me, and I licked my lips at the sight.
"How do you want me, Daddy?"
"On your back. Legs spread. Show me that pretty pussy."
I arranged myself as requested, purple silk pooled around my waist, completely exposed where it mattered. He stood at the foot of the bed, stroking himself slowly, just looking. The weight of his gaze made me squirm, made me wetter, made me need.
"Mine," he said roughly. "Every inch of you. Mine."
"Yours," I agreed, spreading wider, shameless in my need. "Please, Daddy. Need you inside me."
He crawled over me, predatory grace in every movement. When he finally slid home, we both groaned at the perfection of it. The stretch, the fullness, the rightness of being joined. He started slow, deep strokes that hit every sensitive spot, building the pleasure gradually.
"That's it," he encouraged when I started clenching around him. "Take what Daddy gives you. So good, baby. So fucking perfect."
His pace increased, driving deeper, harder. The bedframe creaked with each thrust, a rhythmic counterpoint to our mingled moans. I wrapped my legs around him, heels digging into his ass, urging him on. The purple dress was probably ruined, wrinkled and stained, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, voice strained with his own approaching release. "Want to feel you come on my cock."
My fingers found my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building like a tide. He must have felt it because he shifted angle slightly, hitting that spot that made me see stars.
"That's my good girl," he growled. "Come for Daddy. Show me how good it feels."
I shattered with a scream, body bowing beneath him. He fucked me through it, extending the pleasure until I thought I might die from it. Then he pulled out suddenly, flipping me onto my stomach with rough hands.
"Hands and knees," he commanded, and I scrambled to obey despite shaky limbs.
He slid back in from behind, deeper from this angle, one hand tangling in my purple hair. The slight pull made me moan, made me push back to meet his increasingly desperate thrusts. His other hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, holding me steady for his possession.
"Gonna fill you up," he promised, pace punishing now. "Mark you inside like I've marked you outside. Everyone knows you're mine, but I need you to feel it."
"Yes," I sobbed, another orgasm building impossibly fast. "Please, Daddy. Want it. Want everything."
His fingers found my clit again, rubbing tight circles that had me seeing stars. "One more, baby. Give me one more and I'll fill this sweet pussy."
I came with a wail, clenching so tight around him it bordered on painful. He followed immediately, driving deep and holding there as he pumped into me, claiming me completely. We stayed frozen for a moment, both panting, bodies locked together in perfect completion.
He pulled out carefully, and I felt his release drip down my thighs. Instead of being embarrassed, I felt marked. Claimed. His.
"Don't move," he said softly, and I heard him pad to the bathroom.
He returned with a warm washcloth, cleaning me with gentle strokes that made me hum contentedly. Then he disappeared again, which was odd. Tyson usually wanted immediate post-sex cuddles, gathering me close like he needed the connection as much as I did.
"Tyson?" I sat up, suddenly worried. "You okay?"
He reappeared in the doorway, still gloriously naked, holding something behind his back. His expression was soft, nervous in a way I'd never seen.
"Lena Rodriguez," he started, then actually dropped to one knee beside the bed.
My heart stopped. "Oh my god."
"My wildflower, my little girl, my perfect brat." His voice was rough with emotion as he brought out a small velvet box. "You've brought color to my black and white world, shown me softness I didn't know I needed, given me reasons to smile that have nothing to do with bikes or brotherhood."
He opened the box, revealing a ring that stole my breath. Purple stone—an amethyst?—surrounded by diamonds, the band engraved with delicate wildflowers that matched my hip tattoo. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"I know I'm difficult," he continued, eyes locked on mine. "But I promise to love you through all of it. To be your Daddy when you need guidance, your partner when you need equality, your safe place when the world gets too big. To protect you, provide for you, and cherish you every single day."
Tears streamed down my face, but I didn't care. This beautiful, broken, perfect man was on his knees, offering me forever.
"Marry me," he said simply. "Let me protect you, provide for you, love you forever. Be my wife, my old lady, my everything."
"Yes," I sobbed, launching myself at him before he could even stand. "Yes, yes, yes!"
We went down in a tangle of limbs, me kissing every inch of his face while he laughed, trying to get the ring on my finger. When he finally managed it, we both stared at how right it looked. Like it had always belonged there.
"I love you," I whispered, overwhelmed by the perfection of it. "So much it scares me sometimes."
"Love you too, wildflower. More than I have words for." He kissed me soft and sweet, different from the desperate passion of earlier. This was promises and forever, dedication and devotion. "Mine now. Officially."