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TWENTY-FIVE

ASHER

A sher gazed up at the tapestry of stars blanketing the night sky.

His arm draped possessively around Danica as they swayed on the patio swing.

The gentle rhythm matched his heartbeat—steady and content—a rare sensation for a man who'd spent years running at full speed.

The stone patio cooled beneath his feet while quiet cricket songs carried across his property.

His black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest as he shifted, pulling Danica closer against him.

Her curves pressed against his side, the fitted cotton of her V-neck top revealing just enough cleavage to make his dragon stir with appreciation.

Those tight jeans she wore hugged every perfect inch of her, making him silently thank whatever cosmic force had delivered her into his life.

"See that constellation?" He pointed upward. "Ancient dragons believed that was the first of our kind, watching over us. Draco."

Danica leaned her head against his shoulder. "So even the stars have dragon stories?"

"Everything has a dragon story if you listen long enough." He inhaled her scent, letting it fill his lungs. Sweet, intoxicating, and entirely his.

The quiet moment settled around them, comfortable in a way Asher hadn't experienced in years. Five days ago, his life had been a lonely mountain of responsibility. Now, somehow, sharing that mountain made it feel less steep.

He stood abruptly, decision made. "I want to show you something."

"Right now?" Danica raised one eyebrow, her lips curved into that challenging smile that drove him wild.

"Right now." He pulled her to her feet in one fluid motion. "I've been keeping something from you."

"If it's another dragon secret, I should warn you my surprise threshold is pretty high after this week."

Asher led her across the expansive yard, his fingers laced possessively through hers. At the far edge of his property stood a building separate from the main house—a spacious workshop with large windows, dark now under the moonlight.

"Your furniture workshop," she whispered as recognition dawned. "You're finally showing me your secret lair."

"Not many people get invited in here." He unlocked the heavy wooden door, flipping on lights that illuminated the space.

The workshop came alive under the warm glow—tools meticulously organized on pegboards, the rich scent of sawdust and varnish hanging in the air.

Across the space, finished pieces stood like silent sentinels.

A mahogany dining table with intricate inlay work, a walnut bookshelf with dovetailed joints, and an oak rocking chair with curved lines that seemed to flow like water.

Asher watched her face carefully, searching for her reaction. This space was more than his hobby—it was the part of himself he'd been forced to set aside when duty called. The vulnerability of showing it to her scraped against his alpha instincts, yet felt necessary.

"These are incredible." Danica ran her fingers along the edge of the dining table. "You made all of these?"

"Most of them before I became Alpha." His voice roughened. "Haven't had much time lately."

"How long has it been since you worked in here?"

"Too long."

Danica wandered toward his workbench where a half-finished chair sat, its frame assembled but the seat unfinished, sanding incomplete. "What about this one?"

"Started it about six months ago. Got called away for town business and never made it back in here." Asher's throat tightened as he approached the abandoned project. "Story of my life lately."

She traced the incomplete curves. "Could you teach me? Maybe we could finish it together."

Something ancient and protective surged in his chest—the desire to share this private part of himself with her, his mate. Nobody had ever asked before. Nobody had cared enough to want to be part of this side of him.

"You want to learn?" He moved behind her, his chest against her back.

"I want to understand the things that make you who you are." She leaned into him. "Besides, I've always been good with my hands."

Asher growled softly at the double meaning, nipping at her earlobe. "I've noticed."

He selected two sheets of sandpaper, handing one to her before positioning himself behind her again. Taking her hand in his much larger one, he guided her movements along the grain of the wood.

"Gentle but firm," he instructed, his breath hot against her neck. "Let the wood tell you what it needs."

They worked together in perfect rhythm, his body cradling hers as they smoothed rough edges into silken curves. The intimacy of teaching her, of sharing this passion, sparked something deeper than desire. A connection that he'd never experienced with anyone else before, a bone-deep soul connection.

"Now we apply the finish." He dipped a soft cloth into Danish oil, guiding her hand in circular motions across the wood's surface. "This brings out the natural beauty."

As they worked side by side, Asher felt a complete fundamental shift within him.

This woman—this vibrant, fearless human—had waltzed into his life and naturally worked her way into his space, not just in his bed or his home, but in every corner of his existence.

Even here, in his most private sanctuary.

When they finally stepped back to admire the completed chair, something clicked into place in Asher's mind. The chair had sat half-finished for months, just as he had been half-complete before Danica. Now both were whole.

"It's perfect," Danica whispered, pride evident in her voice.

Asher turned her in his arms, cupping her face with his large hands. "You're perfect. Not just for helping finish this—but for seeing parts of me that no one else bothered to look for."

Her eyes darkened. "I like all your parts, Alpha."

He leaned in and captured her perfect lips in a passionate kiss, pouring five days of revelation and years of loneliness into the connection. This woman—his woman—had broken through barriers he'd forgotten existed.

"I was incomplete before you," he whispered against her mouth. "Like this chair. Half-done, gathering dust."

Danica's fingers traced the dark hair on his jawline. "We make a good team."

"The best." Asher pulled her closer, their bodies fitting perfectly together like pieces of a handcrafted puzzle. "Two halves of one whole."

Asher deepened the kiss with a hunger that burned hotter than dragon fire.

His hands roamed her body, tracing the curves he'd memorized but still couldn't get enough of.

The workshop, his sanctuary, felt alive with the energy between them, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and desire.

He broke the kiss just long enough to lift her effortlessly onto the sturdy workshop table, the same one where he'd crafted countless pieces of furniture.

But tonight, it would serve a far more intimate purpose.

"You're my finest masterpiece," he murmured, his voice rough with need as he tugged her shirt over her head. Her bra followed, leaving her bare from the waist up. Her full breasts rose and fell with each breath, her nipples already hard and begging for his attention. He didn’t make her wait.

His mouth descended, capturing one taut peak while his fingers teased the other.

She gasped, her hands tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer.

"Asher," she moaned, her voice trembling. "You're driving me crazy."

"Good," he growled against her skin, switching to the other breast. "You've been driving me crazy since the moment I saw you."

Her hands moved to his chest, pushing his black t-shirt up. He straightened, letting her pull it off, revealing his muscular torso. Her fingers traced the ridges of his abs, and he couldn't help but smirk at the way her eyes darkened with desire.

"You're so damn perfect," she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

"Not as perfect as you," he countered, his hands moving to the button of her jeans.

He made quick work of them, sliding them down her legs along with her panties until she was gloriously bare before him.

She lay back on the table, her long brown hair fanned out like a halo, her body a work of art that put every piece of furniture he'd ever crafted to shame.

He stepped back just long enough to shed his jeans and boxers, his hard cock springing free. Her eyes locked on him, and he saw the hunger in her gaze, the way her body arched slightly, inviting him closer. He didn't need a second invitation.

Asher got on top of her on the table and positioned himself between her legs. Her hands found his shoulders as he entered her in one smooth thrust. She gasped, her body tightening around him, and he groaned at the sensation.

"You feel incredible," he murmured, his voice filled with need.

He took her hands, pinning them above her head as he started to thrust, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips found her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, drawing out her pleasure with every movement.

"Faster," she begged, her voice breathless. "Please, Asher."

He obliged, his thrusts growing harder and deeper, his grip on her wrists firm but not painful. She moaned, her legs wrapping around him, pulling him even closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he could feel her heart racing, matching the frantic pace of his own.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive. "All mine."

"Yours," she agreed, her voice trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. "Always yours."

He released her hands, and she immediately grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer, her body arching against his. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and he knew she was close. He could feel it in the way her body tightened around him, and in the way her breath hitched with every thrust.

"Asher," she gasped. "I'm so close."

"Let go, Danica," he urged.