Page 57

I wanted to reply, but coherent words had abandoned me.

All I could do was hold on as he drove us both higher, the workbench creaking protest beneath us.

When my second orgasm hit, it was with the force of revelation—this man, all of him, was mine.

The dangerous biker and the gentle toymaker, the tactical genius and the patient artist.

"Dex!" His name tore from my throat as waves of pleasure crashed over me.

He followed me over, my name a prayer on his lips as he buried himself deep and let go. We clung to each other among the sawdust and scattered tools, breathing hard, skin glowing with exertion and discovery.

"Holy shit," I finally managed, still seeing stars. "We should have done that sooner."

"You didn't know about the workshop sooner," he pointed out, pressing kisses to my temple.

"Well, now I do." I stretched, feeling deliciously used and perfectly content. "Expect me to interrupt your carving time regularly."

"Interrupt away." He helped me sit up, both of us laughing at the sawdust clinging everywhere. "Though we're going to need a shower. Or three."

I looked down at myself—covered in fine wood particles, hair probably a disaster, skin bearing the marks of his possession. Then I looked at him—equally dusty, eyes bright with satisfaction, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him.

"Worth it," I decided. "So worth it."

We attempted to brush the worst of the sawdust off, which mostly just spread it around. My bra had somehow ended up draped over a rocking horse. His shirt had sawdust ground into the fabric. We looked like we'd been blessed by some woodworking fairy godmother who worked exclusively in cedar dust.

"I love you," I said suddenly, needing him to hear it here, in this space he'd kept secret. "All of you. Every single piece—the parts that scare others and the parts you think make you soft. I love the whole package."

His eyes went suspiciously bright. Instead of answering, he kissed me again, slow and deep and full of promises. When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.

"I love you too, little one."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to show me who you are."

He gave me a smile. It almost looked like he was nervous.

"So what's this fairy tale series?" I asked, trailing my fingers over a partially carved castle. "For next year's drive?"

"Been thinking about it for months," he said, but there was something distracted in his voice. "Castles and dragons, knights and princesses. But updated, you know? Princesses who rescue themselves. Dragons who might be friends instead of enemies."

"Like the stories you read to me." Warmth bloomed in my chest at the memory of those nights—me coloring while his voice painted pictures of brave princesses and clever solutions.

"Exactly like those." He moved to the drawer again, and this time his hand lingered on the handle. "Actually, there's something else. Something I've been working on since . . . since a very specific day."

The nervousness was back, that same vulnerable energy from before. But this felt bigger somehow. More important. My heart started beating faster, though I couldn't say why.

"I've been working on this since the day we found your mother's letter," he said, finally pulling the drawer open.

His hands actually trembled as he withdrew something small wrapped in soft blue cloth.

"It's not fancy like what you could buy in a store, but it's made with my hands, made just for you. "

He unwrapped it slowly, like he was unveiling something precious. The late afternoon light caught on honey-colored wood, and my breath stopped completely.

A ring. But not just any ring—this was art carved small enough to wear.

The band looked like it had been shaped from a single piece of maple, the same warm tone as the wooden bear upstairs.

Delicate vines etched their way around the circumference, so fine I couldn't imagine how he'd managed the detail.

Where a stone would normally sit, he'd carved a small heart, perfect in its simplicity.

"Dex," I breathed, but he was already moving.

In one fluid motion, he dropped to one knee right there in the sawdust we'd so recently disturbed.

The sunset light streaming through the workshop windows caught the gold in his eyes, turned the silver at his temples to flame.

He looked up at me holding that impossible ring, and I saw everything in his face—love, hope, certainty, and just a touch of that vulnerability that undid me every time.

"Cleo Elizabeth Brown," he said, voice steady despite his shaking hands. "Will you marry me? Will you let me take care of you and protect you and love you for the rest of our lives?"

The words were simple. No flowery speeches about destiny or elaborate promises about the future. Just the essential question, asked by a man who'd shown me in a thousand ways exactly what his love looked like.

"Yes," I whispered, then louder because he deserved to hear it clear. "Yes, yes, absolutely yes."

His smile could have powered the entire city. He took my left hand with infinite care, sliding the wooden ring onto my finger like he was performing a sacrament. It fit perfectly—of course it did.

The wood was smooth against my skin, warm in a way metal never could be.

I lifted my hand to see it better, watching how the carved vines seemed to dance in the light.

It was rustic and elegant at once, clearly handmade but with the kind of skill that spoke of hours of patient work.

Of love made tangible in maple and time.

"I measured while you were sleeping," he confirmed, standing to pull me into his arms. "Took three tries to get the size exactly right."

"It's perfect," I said, and meant so much more than just the fit. "I can't believe you made this."

"Carved it from the same piece of maple as your bear," he admitted. "Wanted them to be connected. Wanted everything to be connected—your room, your bear, your ring. All pieces of the same promise."

When he kissed me, we were both crying. Happy tears that made everything sparkle and blur. I could taste salt and sweetness, sawdust and forever. We clung to each other in that workshop surrounded by toys that would bring joy to children we'd never meet, and I'd never felt more complete.

"I love you, Daddy," I whispered against his mouth, the title carrying extra weight now. Not just my dominant, not just my protector, but my future husband. The man who'd build our life with the same patient care he used for dollhouses.

"I love you too, little one," he whispered back. "My brave, beautiful, perfect little girl."

We stood there swaying slightly, neither willing to let go. Around us, his creations watched our joy—teddy bears and rocking horses and half-finished dreams all bearing witness to this moment.

I couldn’t wait to see what the future would bring.

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Dex and Cleo's story.