Page 44 of Thor

"Is what?" I prompted, barely breathing.

"Fucking amazing," he finished simply. "Smart, strong, beautiful. And brave as hell for trusting me with this."

Our eyes locked, and I felt something shift between us—like tectonic plates realigning, changing the landscape forever. I leaned toward him unconsciously.

Thor's gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. His hand, still near my face, slid to cup my cheek. His palm was warm and calloused, surprisingly gentle for hands that could do so much damage.

I could see the golden stubble on his jaw, count the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, smell the coffee on his breath. Everything about him felt hyper-real, as if my senses had been dialed up.

We both leaned closer, drawn by an invisible force that had been pulling us together since the first day I'd walked into the garage with the club's books.

The harsh ring of Thor's phone shattered the moment. We both jumped. Thor's expression shifted to annoyance as he reached for his pocket.

He glanced at the screen and frowned. "Club business," he muttered.

I pulled back slightly, reality crashing back. Of course. He had responsibilities, a life beyond this room, beyond me. The Heavy Kings came first—they had to. I understood that intellectually, even as disappointment washed through me.

To my surprise, Thor hit a button to silence the phone and set it face-down on the coffee table.

"Later," he said firmly, turning his attention back to me.

"You don't need to take that?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise. I'd seen how the club operated—calls were answered immediately, business handled with urgency.

Thor shook his head. "Nothing that can't wait an hour. Or two. This conversation is more important."

Thor was choosing me over immediate club business. I could hardly believe it.

"Where were we?" he asked, his voice rough with something I desperately wanted to explore further.

"You were telling me how amazing I am," I said, attempting lightness despite the heaviness in my chest.

Thor's mouth quirked up at one corner. "That's right. And I was about to show you just how much I meant it."

His phone buzzed against the wood of the coffee table—a text this time. We both ignored it, suspended in the bubble we'd created. But I could see the tension in Thor's shoulders, the way his awareness had split between me and his responsibilities.

"It's okay," I said softly. "We have time, right?"

Thor's expression softened. "Yeah, we do." He reached out again, this time taking my hand in his. His thumb traced gentle patterns across my knuckles. "But don't think for a second that I'm not serious about this—about us."

The way he said "us"—like it was already decided, already real—made my heart stutter. I wasn't used to certainty, to someone who knew what they wanted and didn't play games.

"I'm serious too," I admitted, vulnerability making my voice unsteady. "Terrified, but serious. Seriously terrified." Another nervous laugh.

Thor's hand tightened around mine. "Nothing to be afraid of. We'll figure it out together."

"So where would the boundaries be?" I asked. "Between work-me and... the other side of me."

"That'd be up to you, mostly. I'm flexible."

"But you must have thoughts," I pressed. "Preferences."

"When you're in work mode, I respect that completely," he said finally. "Your career matters to you. I'd never undermine that."

I nodded, relieved. "And when I'm . . . when I need time in Little space?"

A small smile softened his face. "Then I can help create that safety. Whatever you need—whether it's coloring together, watching cartoons, or just holding you while you decompress. No judgment, just care."

The casual way he mentioned activities that had been my most closely guarded secrets made my heart race. There was no mockery in his tone, no discomfort—just acceptance.

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