Page 25

"Then tell him." She moved back to the bed, taking my hands in hers. "Be honest about what you need. I promise you, the way that man looks at you? He's just waiting for permission to give you everything."

Everything. The word echoed in my chest, too big to fully grasp. But sitting in this perfect little space, holding hands with a woman who understood, I started to believe it might be possible.

T he night air was a cold shock after the warmth of the bar. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself as Dex led me to his bike. Everything felt different now—sharper, more possible, like Mia's fairy lights had illuminated more than just her room.

"Chill?" He was already shrugging out of his leather jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders before I could answer. It smelled like him—leather and sawdust and something warm I couldn't name.

"Thanks." The word came out breathless. Everything about him felt magnified suddenly. The careful way he adjusted the jacket's weight on my shoulders. How his hands lingered just a second too long. The heat in his eyes when I looked up at him.

"Come on, little one. Let's get you home."

Little one. He'd been calling me that more lately, always quiet enough that only I could hear. Now the words sent electricity down my spine, carrying new weight after what I'd seen upstairs.

He helped me onto the bike, hands spanning my waist with easy strength. I pressed closer than strictly necessary once he settled in front of me, my arms tight around his middle. The jacket was huge on me, making me feel smaller. Protected. Safe.

The engine rumbled to life, vibrating through my whole body.

Every sensation felt heightened—the wind catching the loose strands of my hair, the heat of him between my thighs, the solid wall of his back against my chest. I turned my face into his shoulder, breathing him in, letting the rhythm of the ride calm my racing thoughts.

By the time we pulled into his apartment complex, I was thrumming with nervous energy. Need and want and fear all tangled together until I couldn't tell them apart.

He helped me off the bike, steadying me when my legs wobbled. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just . . ." I stopped, not sure how to explain the riot in my chest.

"Come on." He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. "Let's get inside."

His apartment welcomed me with familiar warmth. I'd been staying here a week now, but it still felt like trespassing in his space. Everything so neat and organized, a place for everything and everything in its place. So different from the chaos I'd lived in before.

I slipped off his jacket, immediately missing its weight. He hung it on the hook by the door, movements efficient as always. But I caught the way his hands lingered on the leather, like he was thinking about how I'd looked wearing it.

"Mia showed me her room," I blurted out, needing to say it before I lost my nerve.

He went still, hand still on the jacket. "Yeah? Her room?"

"Her little space." The words tumbled out faster now. "It was beautiful. Like something out of a dream. All purple and soft and perfect." I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold again. "Duke made it for her. So she could have somewhere to just . . . be."

He turned to face me, expression unreadable in the dim light. "What did you think?"

"I . . ." My throat closed up. How could I explain the ache that room had created? The desperate want for something I'd never dared voice? "It made me want things."

"What kind of things?" His voice had dropped, gone rough in that way that made my knees weak.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Safe things. Soft things. Someone to read to me and tuck me in and tell me I'm good even when I don't feel good."

He crossed the room in two strides, hands coming up to frame my face. "You are good, Cleo. So fucking good it breaks my heart sometimes."

"I want—" The words stuck, too big to push past my teeth.

"Tell me." His thumb stroked my cheekbone, gentle encouragement. "What do you want, baby?"

"A space like that. Someday. If I stayed. If you wanted me to stay." Everything came out in a rush. "Could I have something like that? Somewhere that's mine but also ours? Somewhere I could be . . ."

"Little?" he supplied when I couldn't finish.

I nodded, face burning. But he didn't look disgusted or disappointed. He looked hungry. Desperate. Like I'd just offered him water in the desert.

"If you stay," he said, voice rough with promise, "I'll build you whatever you want. A room, a whole house, anything that makes you feel safe and loved and little."

Little. There it was again, spoken aloud between us. No more dancing around it, no more pretending we were something we weren't.

"I want to stay," I whispered, then louder: "I want to stay. I want to be yours."

"Cleo—"

"I want to be yours, Daddy."

The word changed everything. His control shattered, hands tightening on my face as he stared at me like I'd just handed him the universe. Then his mouth was on mine, desperate and claiming and perfect.

I'd been kissed before. Gentle pecks, drunken fumbles, forgettable moments with forgettable people. This was different. This was Dex pouring everything he couldn't say into the connection of our mouths—all his want, his need, his fierce protection.

His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him eagerly. He tasted like fire, like home and safety and like he was all mine. I made a sound I'd never made before, needy and small, and he swallowed it like communion.

My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. I needed more—more contact, more skin, more everything. He backed me against the wall, caging me in with his body, and yes. This was what I needed. To be surrounded, protected, claimed.

"Say it again," he growled against my mouth.

"Daddy." It came out breathless, wrecked. "My Daddy."

He made a sound like I'd gutted him, then kissed me deeper. One hand tangled in my hair while the other spanned my waist, holding me steady as he took me apart with lips and tongue and careful teeth.

When we finally broke apart, I was panting. He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing just as hard.

"You mean it?" he asked. "You want this? Want me?"

"So much," I admitted. "Scared how much."

"I've got you." The words were a vow, sacred as any ceremony. "You're mine now, little one. I've got you."

The kiss deepened, became something desperate and necessary. When Dex lifted me in his arms, I didn't protest. Being carried to his bedroom felt like crossing a threshold— from the careful distance we'd maintained to something real and honest and inevitable.

He set me down beside his bed with infinite care, hands framing my face like I was made of spun glass. The only light came from the hallway, casting everything in soft shadows that made this feel like a dream.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough with want and restraint. "Once we do this, there's no going back. You'll be mine, little one. Completely."

"I want to be yours," I whispered, hands fisting in his shirt. "I want you to take care of me, in every way."

"Fuck." The word came out reverent, prayerful. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"Show me." I pulled him down for another kiss, trying to pour all my certainty into it. "Please, Daddy. Show me."

His control cracked at the title. He kissed me harder, deeper, walking me backward until my knees hit the mattress. But even desperate, he was careful. Always careful with me.

"Let me see you." He pulled back, hands moving to the hem of my sweater. "Can I?"

I nodded, raising my arms so he could pull it off. The cool air hit my skin, making me shiver. Or maybe that was the way he looked at me—like I was a miracle, like he couldn't believe I was real.

"Beautiful," he murmured, fingertips tracing my collarbone with reverent care. "So fucking beautiful."

My hands shook as I reached for his shirt buttons. He let me fumble through the first two before covering my hands with his, helping guide them. Together we removed his shirt, revealing the chest I'd been dreaming about. Hard muscle under warm skin, a few scars that spoke of a life lived rough.

"You're the beautiful one," I said, then blushed at how cheesy it sounded.

But he smiled, soft and genuine. "Sweet girl."

The endearment made me melt. He caught me as my knees went weak, lowering me to the bed with that same infinite care. Like I was precious. Like I mattered.

Dex’s hands hovered over me before touching down, mapping my body slow and reverent, like he was tracing ley lines under skin.

He started with my jaw, thumbs brushing the hinge of it, then traced both palms down my throat to my collarbones.

Every move a silent question, and I shivered yes.

He let out a breath, soft and shaky, like he needed permission just as badly as I did.

His mouth followed, pressing careful kisses behind his fingers' path—along my jawline, down the slope of my neck, lingering at the hollow of my throat until my pulse thudded into his lips.

My head fell back when he bit just above my shoulder. Not hard—just enough to mark. I made a sound between a gasp and a whimper. He tasted it against my skin, humming low like he could drink the noise straight from my veins.

If I’d had any doubts about what I was to him, they were gone now. There was nothing in his eyes but hunger and awe and that bone-deep need to keep me safe.

He ran hands up under the band of my bra, pausing like he was asking for another yes.

“Please,” I whispered.

He eased one cup down, exposing me inch by inch, then brushed his thumb over the nipple until it peaked hard in the cold air. It wasn’t enough friction and somehow it was too much—I arched into him before I realized what I was doing.

“There she is,” he said. “That’s my girl.”

The praise made me dizzy. My whole chest got tight and achy in the best way. He did it again—more pressure this time—and watched me squirm beneath him.

“Like that?” he asked.