Page 42 of Daddy's Girl

He leans in, lips brushing my jaw.

"No, baby girl. I believe in us."

He slides his hands down to my hips, lifting me easily onto the workbench. I gasp as he steps between my thighs, hands tangling in my hair.

"You think I'm just some caveman who wants to keep you barefoot and pregnant?" he murmurs, lips trailing down my neck. "I want you full and happy and mine, but that doesn't mean small."

His hands tighten on my thighs, pushing them wider as he presses closer.

"I want to watch you grow. In every way." His voice roughens. "Want to see you round with my baby, yes. But also fierce with your own purpose."

My heart stutters. My hands find his shoulders, feeling the solid strength there.

His cock is inside me again, pushing me to the heavenly place I never want to come back from.

When we’re done, he puts himself back in his pants, striding toward his desk against one wall of the shop, beckoning me to follow him.

"Come here a second, baby girl."

His voice is low, steady. The kind of voice you follow. I hop down, legs wobbly, walking until I’m next to him as he holds up a folder.

"What is this?" I ask, fingers brushing the corner.

His eyes don't leave mine.

"It's yours."

I open it, my eyes scanning, fingers starting to shake.

Deed papers. Bank accounts. My name. My name next to his.

"What, this is the house—"

"The house," he says, voice rough. "The land. The accounts. All of it."

My eyes blur as I flip through the pages. He's put me on everything he owns. "Jack, I can't—"

"You can. You will." He steps closer, hand sliding to cup my face. "You understand what this means?"

I shake my head.

"Means if I piss you off, you get half my mountain," he says, a rare smile touching his lips. "Means I trust you with everything I've built. Means we're in this together, for real."

"Half your mountain?" I whisper, unable to fathom the enormity of what he's giving me.

"The view's fucking epic," he says with that dangerous half-smile. "But the neighbors are assholes."

I laugh, the sound choked with tears. "Jack—"

"I watched him pull up in that fucking car," he cuts me off, voice suddenly intense. "Thinking he could take you back. Made me realize I'd burn down this whole goddamn mountain before I'd let that happen."

He pulls something from his back pocket. Small. Wood-grained. A ring.

It's carved from walnut. The same walnut he’s making the chair from. And the cradle.

He doesn't get on one knee. He grabs my chin with one hand. “Hold up your hand.”

I do, and he slides the wooden ring onto my finger, then uses his teeth to tug my bottom lip into his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make me gasp.

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