Page 24 of Tyson
"Yeah. Got it. Code memorized. Very professional achievement unlocked." I turned toward him, then immediately regretted it.
He looked wrecked. Hair slightly messed from running his hands through it. Eyes dark with something that wasn't about alarm codes. That careful control cracking around the edges.
"Lena—"
"Bathroom," I blurted. "I need to—bathroom. The bathroom. Where people go. For bathroom things."
I fled before he could respond. Locked myself in the single-stall bathroom and slumped against the door.
My hands shook as I splashed cold water on my face. My reflection looked wild—pupils blown, cheeks flushed, that just-been-fucked look without any of the actual fucking.
Good girl.
Two words in that commanding voice and I'd nearly come in my jeans. What was wrong with me? Besides the obvious—touch-starved, praise-hungry, desperately needing something I refused to name.
I pressed my thighs together, trying to ease the ache. My clit throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
I couldn't go back out there. Not like this. Not when my body was screaming for things I couldn't have. Shouldn't want. Definitely shouldn't want from the club’s uptight security specialist who was just trying to do his job.
But I did want. Wanted so bad it hurt.
When I went back out, mercifully, there was a distraction. Mandy was there, looking like sunshine in a sundress, all flowing fabric and joy and everything I'd never let myself be. Thor's massive frame filled the entrance behind her, protective and proud and so obviously gone for his girl it made my teeth hurt.
Tyson was nowhere to be seen.
"Baby girl, you sure you need more ink?" His voice held indulgent fondness, the kind that said he'd give her anything she asked for. Probably already had.
"Daddy, it's for our wedding! Matching tattoos were your idea!" Mandy bounced—actually bounced—to my station while Thor settled into the waiting area. The plastic chair groaned under his bulk, but he made it look like a throne. King of his domain, watching over his princess.
I swallowed past the knot in my throat and pulled out my sketch pad.
"Hey babe!" Mandy hugged me, smelling like lemon and happiness. "Ready to design something amazing?"
"Always." I forced brightness into my voice.
“Did you see Tyson?”
“Yeh,” Thor growled. “Sent him on a coffee run.”
I nodded. That was good. I didn’t know whether I could act normal with him around right now. "So,” I said to Mandy, “What are we thinking? Traditional? Modern? Viking berserker to match your man?"
Thor chuckled from his throne. "No berserkers on my baby girl. Something soft. Pretty like her."
The casual possession in 'my baby girl' hit like a physical blow. So easy. So natural. Like breathing.
"Flowers," Mandy said, settling into the client chair. "Forget-me-nots for remembrance, maybe some lavender for devotion?"
I started sketching, letting muscle memory take over while my brain tortured itself. Every few minutes, Thor would make some comment—checking she was comfortable, asking if she needed water, reminding her about dinner reservations—and Mandy would respond with perfect trust. Perfect ease.
"Daddy, I'm fine," she'd say, or "Whatever you think is best," or "Thank you for taking care of that."
Each exchange was a knife between my ribs. Twisting deeper with every casual intimacy.
My pencil moved faster, creating delicate flowers while my chest compressed into a black hole of envy. This was what it looked like. What I'd convinced myself I didn't need. Didn't want. Couldn't have.
Someone strong enough to hold all your chaos. Someone who saw the little girl inside and cherished her instead of exploiting her. Someone who made you feel safe enough to be soft.
"Be right back, baby girl," Thor announced suddenly. "Bathroom."
