Page 35 of Wings (Heavy Kings MC #5)

"The background needs to be sky but not boring sky. Sky with stories in it." She reached for the blues. "Maybe with those wispy clouds that look like dragon breath."

"Dragon breath?" I couldn't help but engage.

"Mmhmm. When dragons fly really high where it's cold, their breath makes special clouds. Everyone knows that, Daddy."

"My mistake."

She gifted me with a quick smile before returning to her work.

The monarch on the page was taking shape—purple wings edged with midnight blue, gold accents that caught the light.

Nothing like real monarch colors, but that wasn't the point.

This was Kiara's butterfly, painted in the colors of her joy.

Another thirty minutes passed. I'd moved closer, her using my thigh as a pillow while she worked. My fingers played with her hair, occasionally massaging her scalp in ways that made her pencil pause and eyes flutter.

"Almost done," she murmured, adding final touches. "Just needs . . . there."

She sat up suddenly, picture held at arm's length for inspection. Whatever she saw must have satisfied because she turned to me with shining eyes.

"So you can remember today," she declared solemnly, presenting it like a state document.

I accepted it with the gravity it deserved, studying her work.

The butterfly dominated the page, wings spread in glorious defiance of nature's actual color schemes.

But it was the details that caught my throat—tiny flowers border she'd added, the careful shading that gave dimension, the way she'd signed it in the corner with a heart.

"It's perfect," I said, meaning it. "This is going right behind my desk where everyone can see it."

The light had shifted to that particular gold that only existed in the hour before sunset, painting everything in warm honey tones.

We'd lingered at the picnic spot longer than planned, Kiara insisting she needed "just one more" coloring page, then another.

Now shadows stretched long across our blanket, and the temperature had dropped enough to raise goosebumps on her arms.

"Getting cold, baby girl?" I reached for the light jacket I'd packed, but she caught my hand.

"No." Something in her voice made me look closer. The drowsy little girl was gone, replaced by focused intent that sent blood straight to my cock. "Not cold."

She shifted onto her knees, facing me fully. The setting sun backlit her hair, creating a purple-tinged halo that made her look otherworldly. But it was the expression on her face—determination mixed with pure want—that had me frozen in place.

"Kiara?"

"I need to thank you," she said softly, hands reaching for my chest. "Need to show you what today meant. What you mean."

"You don't need to—"

"I want to." Her fingers found the hem of my shirt, tugging upward. "Please, Daddy. Let me take care of you too."

The title in that context, with her eyes dark and hands insistent, shorted out higher brain function. I lifted my arms, let her pull the shirt over my head. The evening air was cool against heated skin, but her hands were warm as they mapped my chest.

"So strong," she murmured, tracing scars with reverent fingers. "My protector. My safe place."

She leaned forward, pressing kisses to each mark like she could heal old wounds with her mouth. Her lips found the bullet scar near my ribs, tongue darting out to trace its edges. I groaned, hands fisting in the blanket to keep from grabbing her.

"Let me," she whispered against my skin. "Let me worship you like you worship me."

Her hands moved to my belt, movements sure despite the tremor in her fingers. I should stop this—we were in public, anyone could walk by. But the trail had been empty for hours, and the way she looked at me...

"Fuck, Kiara."

"That's the idea." The little minx actually smirked as she worked my jeans open. "Want to taste you. Been thinking about it all day."

"Out here?"

"Just us and the butterflies." She freed my cock, already hard and straining. "And they won't tell."

Her hand wrapped around me, small and perfect, and my hips bucked involuntarily. She made a pleased sound, stroking experimentally. "So hard already. Is this for me?"

"Always for you." My voice came out wrecked. "Only you."

That earned me a smile of pure feminine satisfaction before she lowered her head.

The first touch of her tongue to my tip had me seeing stars.

She took her time, exploring like this was another form of art.

Long licks from base to crown, little kitten licks at the sensitive spot just under the head.

"Jesus." My hand found her hair, not guiding, just needing connection. "Your mouth . . ."

She hummed around me, and the vibration nearly ended things right there. Then she got serious, taking me deeper, cheeks hollowing with suction that had my balls drawing tight. Her free hand cupped them, rolling gently, and I had to fight not to thrust.

"So good," I gritted out. "Such a good girl, taking care of Daddy."

The praise made her moan, and she doubled her efforts, instantly finding a rhythm that had my vision going white at the edges. But when she pulled off to catch her breath, I saw the need in her eyes matched my own.

"Come here," I growled, pulling her up. "Need to be inside you."

"Yes." She was already reaching under her dress, tugging panties down and off. "Please, I need—"

I flipped her onto her back, dress rucking up around her waist. The sight of her spread out on our picnic blanket, skin flushed and eyes wild, nearly undid me. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Gabe." My name was a plea. "Don't make me wait."

I notched myself at her entrance, finding her soaked and ready. One smooth thrust had me buried to the hilt, both of us groaning at the connection. She was tight, perfect, made for me in ways that defied logic.

"Move," she demanded, nails digging into my shoulders. "Show me I'm yours."

Each thrust drew sounds from her that echoed across the meadow—gasps and moans and my name repeated like prayer. The sunset painted her skin gold and rose, turned her into something mythical.

"Look at me," I commanded when her eyes started to flutter closed. "Want to see you."

She forced them open, green gone dark with pleasure. The vulnerability there, the complete trust even as I took her apart, threatened my control. This beautiful creature who'd given me everything, who trusted me with her pain and her pleasure equally.

"Mine," I growled, hiking her leg higher to go deeper. "My baby girl. My perfect angel."

"Yours," she agreed, then gasped as I found that angle that made her whole body tighten. "Oh god, right there, don't stop—"

I didn't.

Couldn't.

Drove into her with purpose now, feeling her climb higher. Her hands clutched at me desperately, and I could tell she was close. So was I, balls tight and spine tingling with impending release.

"Together," I gritted out. "Wait for me, baby girl. We go together."

She whimpered but nodded, holding on by sheer will as I chased my own edge. Three more thrusts, four, and then I felt it—that moment of perfect suspension before the fall.

"Now," I commanded. "Come for me now."

She shattered with a cry that probably scared birds from trees, internal muscles clamping down so tight I saw stars. My own orgasm crashed through me, pulsing into her as spots danced in my vision. We clung to each other, riding wave after wave of sensation that seemed to go on forever.

When I could think again, we were tangled together on the disheveled blanket, her dress twisted around us, my jeans probably somewhere in the wildflowers. She pressed lazy kisses to my chest, humming with satisfaction.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For everything. For seeing me. For creating this perfect day. For letting me give back."

"You give me everything just by existing."

We lay there as the last light faded, skin cooling but neither wanting to move. Stars began appearing overhead, first one then dozens, like nature's reminder that beauty existed even in darkness.

"Tomorrow's a big day," I said eventually, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Got something important to discuss."

She shifted to look at me, curiosity replacing drowsy satisfaction. "What kind of important?"

"The kind where we make this official. Contracts and negotiations and all the boring parts that make the fun parts even better."

"A contract?" Her eyes widened. "Like a real . . .?"

"As real as you want it to be," I confirmed. "Terms, limits, expectations. Everything spelled out so we both know where we stand. What we're building."

She was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then: "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes to contracts. Yes to official. Yes to building something." She sealed each yes with a kiss. "Yes to you, Daddy. Always yes to you."