Page 108 of Second Chance Daddy

“Legs up,” he commands, gripping my thighs, spreading me wide, the angle wrecking me as he pounds into me harder, deeper, his body owning mine, his cock stretching me, filling me.

“Mine,” he snarls, voice ragged, hips slamming into me, the headboard rattling, my orgasm building sharp and fast. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I cry, walls clenching, the heat coiling tight, my body seconds from breaking. “God—always yours.”

I shatter, my body locking around him, my climax crashing over me, wild and brutal as he groans my name, hips driving deep, spilling inside me, filling me, every muscle tight as he comes undone.

We collapse together, and when we do, his mouth trails along my jaw, my pulse still racing.

We stay like that for a moment, connected, breathing hard, his weight a comforting pressure above me. Then he rolls to the side, taking me with him, keeping us joined for as long as possible.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my hip.

“Better than okay.” I sigh, curling into his warmth. “Though I’m pretty sure you destroyed a few hundred dollars’ worth of lingerie.”

He laughs. “Worth every penny.”

We lie there for a while, heartbeats slowing, sweat cooling on our skin. His fingers tangle in my hair, gentle now, a stark contrast to the man who just fucked me senseless.

Then he shifts slightly, reaching over to the nightstand drawer. “Got something for you.”

I prop myself up on one elbow, curious. “If it’s another round, I might need a minute.”

His smile is soft, almost shy—an expression I’ve rarely seen on that dangerous face. “Not that. Though I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

He pulls out a small velvet box. My heart stops, then kicks into overdrive.

“Dante—”

“I said I’d get you a ring,” he interrupts, pushing the box toward me. “Let’s do this right.”

I blink down at it, still breathless, still ruined.

“Open it,” he demands.

I flip the lid.

Holy shit.

A diamond two times the size of my ego gleams under the low light, massive, blinding, unapologetically insane.

“Dante…”

“Let’s do this right,” he murmurs, sliding the ring onto my finger, sealing the deal.

And I know—there’s no walking away from him now.

I wouldn't want to, anyway.

34

CASSIE

If you’d told me a year ago I’d be standing in a white dress with the Bratva king over all of America sliding a ring on my finger—in broad daylight, no less—I probably would’ve thrown flour in your face and locked my bakery doors.

But here we are. Small town. Small wedding. Big promises.

Tina’s the one crying the hardest, mascara halfway down her cheeks. “I swear to God, if you ever run off on her again, I’ll bury your body so deep that father won’t find you.”