Page 101 of Thor

I’d never seen emotion like this in his face.

“But I believe in taking the chance life gives you. So, please, marry me, Mandy," he said, holding my gaze with an intensity that made everything else fade away. "Be my wife, my Little one, my everything. You'll never have to worry about being judged for being with a biker—you'll be Mrs. Eriksson, and no one will dare say a word."

His eyes held mine, hope and fear battling in their blue depths. "I love all of you—the accountant, the Little, every part. Say you'll be mine, officially."

The tears I'd been holding back spilled freely now. In that moment, I saw all of Thor—not just the intimidating biker, not just the gentle caregiver, but the complete man. The craftsman who built dollhouses with the same hands that could break bones. The protector who paid my sister's medical bills without expecting anything in return. The lover who accepted every part of me, even the parts I'd hidden from the world.

I dropped to my knees in front of him, bringing our faces level. His eyes widened in surprise, his hands instinctively reaching to steady me.

"Yes," I whispered, the single word containing everything—forgiveness, promise, future. "Yes, Thor."

For a moment, he seemed frozen, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. Then his face transformed with a joy so raw and unguarded that it took my breath away.

He pulled me into a kiss that tasted of salt and hope and home. His arms wrapped around me, strong and secure, lifting me effortlessly until I was cradled against his chest. I wound my arms around his neck, holding on as if I might float away without his anchor.

When we finally broke apart, both breathless, Thor pressed his forehead against mine. "I thought I'd lost you," he admitted, the words a rough whisper. “I really did.”

"I'm sorry I ran," I said, needing him to understand. "I was scared and hurt and—"

"Shh," he interrupted gently. "I understand and I don’t blame you. Not one bit. The blame is on me. But I will make amends. What matters is what we do next."

He carried me to the window where his reading chair now faced the forest. Sitting down with me still in his arms, he settled me in his lap, my head tucked under his chin. For several minutes, we just sat there in silence, watching the trees sway in the breeze, feeling the solid warmth of each other.

"So," Thor finally said, his voice rumbling through his chest against my ear, "Mrs. Eriksson's Alternative Accounting Services? Or is that too on the nose?"

I laughed, the sound surprising me with its ease. "Maybe we should workshop the name a bit more."

"We've got time," Thor replied, his arms tightening around me. "All the time we need."

Chapter 18

Thor

ThreeMonthsLater

I leaned against the back wall of The Golden Crown, my shoulders too broad for the delicate gold wallpaper, my heavy boots out of place on the polished marble floor. But I didn't give a fuck about fitting in. My eyes were locked on the only person in the room who mattered—Mandy. My Mandy. My fiancée. In three months, she'd risen from the ashes of her old life like a goddamn phoenix, and watching her work that room of potential clients made my chest tight with a feeling I was still getting used to—pure, unfiltered pride.

Three months. Just ninety days since she'd come back to my cabin with tears in her eyes and hope in her heart. Since I'd dropped to my knee like some lovesick fool and asked her to be mine forever. Since she'd said yes and changed my world for good.

The event space glowed with soft lighting that bounced off crystal chandeliers and polished glasses. Duke had pulled strings to get this place—a favor from some business owner who owed the club. It was fancy as hell, with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over downtown Ironridge. Nothing like the grimy bars and club meetings where I usually spent my evenings.

Mandy stood across the room, her copper hair swept up in some complicated twist that showed off her neck. Her emerald suit hugged her curves just enough to be professional but still sexy as sin. The color matched her eyes perfectly—something she'd planned, no doubt. Everything about tonight had been planned down to the smallest detail. My girl was nothing if not thorough.

I watched her explain her business model to a middle-aged couple dressed in conservative clothes—except for the barely visible collar peeking out from underneath the woman's blouse. They were part of the "lifestyle community," as Mandy called it. People who understood the dynamic between us because they lived it too, though everyone had their own flavor. From what I gathered, most of Mandy's potential clients were professionals with secrets they couldn't afford to have exposed—doctors, lawyers, executives who enjoyed dominance and submission behind closed doors.

"Wright Financial Solutions: Specialized Accounting for Alternative Lifestyles." The name gleamed in gold letters on the banner hanging above a display table of brochures and business cards. Simple but direct. That had been Mandy's vision—no euphemisms, no hiding. Just the truth, presented with professional confidence.

The stylized W with a small crown above it had been my suggestion. "Because you're my queen," I'd told her when I sketched it out one night at the cabin. She'd teared up at that, then bounced onto my lap with the enthusiasm of her Little side, peppering my face with kisses. Those were the moments I lived for now.

Three months ago, she'd been shattered—her career destroyed, her privacy violated, her sister's health hanging in the balance. Now Amy was responding well to treatments, and Mandy had transformed her humiliation into empowerment. Instead of hiding the Little side that those leaked photos had exposed, she'd made it part of her brand. A unique selling point that set her apart in the financial world.

I felt my lips curve into a smile as she gestured animatedly, explaining something about tax deductions for medical expenses to the couple. Her voice didn't carry to where I stood, but I could read the confidence in her posture. Back straight, chin up, one hand occasionally touching the emerald pendant at her throat—my engagement gift to her.

No diamond ring for my girl. She'd blushed when I'd asked what kind of ring she wanted. "Not diamonds," she'd whispered. "They're too flashy for accounting. But maybe something green?" So I'd found a raw emerald pendant, had it set in a silver that matched her unicorn keychain, and strung it on a fine chain that could hide beneath her professional clothes or be displayed proudly, like tonight.

A tall man in an expensive suit approached her next, leaning in with too much familiarity for my taste. My fingers twitched, instinct urging me to cross the room and stake my claim. But I held back. This was her night. Her triumph. She didn't need her overgrown caveman of a fiancé scaring off potential clients.

Besides, I knew she was mine. The engagement ring on her finger—a simple band with three small emeralds that matched her pendant—marked her as taken. And later tonight, when the professional facade fell away and her Little side emerged, she'd be all mine in a different way.

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