Page 100 of Second Chance Daddy
He walks toward me, unhurried, the storm rumbling outside like even the sky knows what’s coming.
My knees nearly buckle when he takes my hand.
Then he drops to one knee.
The room tilts.
No ring. Just him. Dangerous, gorgeous, wrecked for me.
“I don’t have a ring as yet,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges. “But I’ve got a promise.”
My throat tightens.
“You’re mine, Cassie,” he murmurs, thumb skimming my wrist. “Always have been, always will be. You’ve lived in my head even when I was half a world away. Fighting this? Fighting us? It’s the only mistake I refuse to keep making. You gave me the one thing I never thought I’d have—a child, a family. I’ve failed you before, but I’ll spend every damn day proving I won’t fail you again. I’ll love you. Protect you. And as long as you’re by my side, no one touches what’s ours.”
The storm cracks overhead.
“Marry me, Cassie. Not because you have to. Not because you’re afraid. But because I want to build something with you that’s stronger than all the shit that’s tried to break us. What do you say?”
The world blurs around the edges.
And me? I stare at him, this man who’s torn my world apart more times than I can count, and realize I can’t live without him.
His eyes are locked on mine, burning with that intensity that makes my knees weak and my pulse race. His grip on my wrist tightens just enough to remind me he’s waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” I whisper as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks, the word punching out of me like it’s the first time I speak truth. “I’ll marry you.”
He stands, pulling me against him, mouth ghosting over mine.
“Want champagne?” His voice is teasing, cocky, and dangerous.
I look at the champagne, then back at him, heat pooling low in my belly. “I can think of better ways to celebrate.”
His eyes darken with understanding. “Is that right?”
I nod, stepping closer, my hands reaching for the collar of his shirt. “Much better ways.”
I yank him down into a kiss that’s messy, desperate, hungry.
Needless to say, we don’t celebrate with champagne.
Because that shit? It’s basic. Dante and I? We make our own fucking rules.
“I am going to get you a rock, you know? The biggest the world’s ever seen,” he whispers against my lips.
“For God’s sake, shut up.” I bite his lower lip, grazing my teeth against it. “I’ve never been the diamonds and white picket fence type anyway.”
His mouth curves into that devastating half-smile. “I’ll get you one anyway. Something that tells the world you’re mine.”
“I am, you know,” I whisper, my hands sliding up his chest. “Yours.”
He growls, and his fingers slide into my hair, pulling my neck up, only for him to slide his tongue in through my mouth. When he licks the ridges of my mouth, my toes fucking curl.
He’s hungry, carnal, like he’s been starving for years and tonight’s the first bite.
I whimper into the kiss, knees wobbling as his other hand slides down, gripping the curve of my ass through the slinky fabric. His fingers flex, bunching the silk up higher along my thighs, and I now start to wish the slit didn’t exist. The dress didn’t exist.
I want him, skin to goddamn skin.
