Page 85 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

"I've been planning it longer."

"How long?"

"Since the night I snuck into your room and violated you in your pretend sleep."

She tilts her head back. "You're a bad daddy."

"The best ones are."

I kiss her. She melts into it, palms slapping my chest, rising on her toes. I grab handfuls of her ass and savor it all.

We're home.

When I pull back, her pupils are wide and that sexy, lusty little girl look makes my dick fucking weep. "I want to christen every room."

"We will." I land my forehead against hers. "But first."

I reach into my pocket.

Three days. I've been carrying this ring for three days everywhere. Art deco, rose gold, a vintage, pristine pink diamond from a New York estate sale I found online. The once in a lifetime kind of design that understands beauty is structural, foundational, not just decorative.

I saw it and heard her voice in my head saying, 'Yes, Daddy' and bought it without a second of doubt about the price or our future.

Now, I've been waiting for a moment that felt honest instead of staged. And here it is — her tear-streaked face in a house that made her smile, afternoon light cutting through windows and no camera in sight.

She sees the box and goes absolutely still.

"Grant."

"That's not what you call me now."

"Daddy." She whispers and the world stands still. Her pussy flavor is still on my tongue from this morning and I know myload I deposited earlier is also leaking out of her tight little breeding hole right now.

I pop it open. The stone catches the light and does what I knew it would.

Her hand flies to her mouth. More fucking laughing tears.

Her eyes narrow as my heart lodges in my throat.

What if she says no?

I shake my head, doesn't matter. She's not fucking getting away.

Her hands flutter around her throat as she quirks her lips into a playful smile, nose crinkled. "Get on your knee, Daddy."

"I'm forty-four. My knees have been through two deployments and a—"

"Get. On. Your. Knee. Daddy."

"Bossy brat."

The corner of my mouth lifts just enough for her to know I was always going to do it. Then I drop onto one knee on thehardwood of our home, the ring between us, looking up at the woman who showed up on my doorstep like a hurricane and blew away every moral and ethical reason I thought I had for staying away.

"Marry me, Wren."

"That's not a question."

"No. It's not."