Chapter 10 Jace
Jace
Elior was blossoming under my care.
It was impossible not to notice. Even if I’d wanted to pretend otherwise—which I didn’t—there was no denying the change. A month after that first therapy appointment, after three more weekly sessions with Mark, he looked like someone who’d stepped back into the light after a long time underground.
And, gradually, he’d started eating more.
Not just the smoothies I’d started him on in the beginning, but real food—actual meals and even snacks some days. Toast with honey. Yogurt with fruit. Pastries from the little bakery near Mark’s office. He still took small bites, but he finished his plates more often than not.
And God, he loved sweets. It was like he couldn’t get enough of them.
Chocolate pudding cups vanished from the fridge.
Cookies didn’t last a day. I caught him one afternoon sitting cross-legged on the couch, licking frosting off his fingertip with an expression of pure awe, like he couldn’t believe something was allowed to taste that good.
I indulged him every chance I got—picked up candy bars at the checkout line, brought home cupcakes just because.
I watched the way his eyes lit up every single time, like it was a miracle I’d performed just for him.
He was filling out again, too.
The sickly, hollow look he’d had when he came home from the hospital was gone.
His cheeks were softer. His collarbones didn’t jut so sharply anymore.
I noticed the extra weight first when I held him—how there was more of him to hold, how he started to fit against me like he used to.
It made me both proud and aroused. I couldn’t deny that I loved the way my fingers sank into the soft skin around his hips and the way his ass jiggled when I slammed into him from behind.
So fucking hot.
His eyes were always bright now, wide and curious. His skin had a glow to it that hadn’t been there before, like his body was finally getting what it needed.
I’d bought him a whole closet full of clothes—not the drab, shapeless things he’d arrived with, but things he never would’ve chosen for himself.
Soft fabrics, pastels, lace at the edges—delicate and pretty, just like him.
Sweaters that slipped off one shoulder. Shorts with silly little patterns.
And my personal favorite: silky, expensive underwear.
He’d blushed the first time I laid them out on the bed, fingers hovering over them like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.
“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to,” I’d told him.
He’d looked up at me then, eyes shining. “But you picked them out for me, Daddy.”
So he wore them.
Seeing him like that—colorful, cared for, clearly cherished—did something to me. There was a deep satisfaction inside of me that made me want to beat my chest every time I saw him. He was my prized possession, and his looks reflected that.
I adored how radiant he’d become under my direction, but there was a downside to it. One that was becoming increasingly concerning.
At first, I told myself it was nothing, that I was imagining it.
But it kept happening.
A lingering glance from a cashier, a smile from a woman passing us on the sidewalk, or the man at the coffee shop who had watched Elior stir sugar into his drink a second too long.
They saw him.
They saw how sweet he was, how open, how trusting. How easily he smiled when someone was kind to him. They saw the way he clung just a little closer to my side in unfamiliar places, and the way his hand sometimes found the hem of my shirt to rub between his fingers without him even realizing it.
And it made something ugly coil in my gut.
Elior didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t question it.
He was doing so well.
Thriving.
Healing.
Because of me.
And the thought that someone else might see him the way I did—might think they had any right to him at all—set my nerves on edge. I told myself it was just protectiveness. That after everything he’d been through, it was natural to be vigilant.
But the reality was, the more he opened himself up to the world, the more I wanted to tie him to our bed and leave him there forever, completely reliant on me for survival.
My thoughts were spiraling when Elior’s soft voice cut through them.
“Daddy?” he asked. “What do you want to do today?”
I blinked, realizing I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, jaw clenched so tight it ached. I looked up at him and felt my breath catch.
He was standing a few feet away, watching me with open curiosity.
The lilac-colored bow-neck sweater I’d bought him hugged his shoulders just right, the fabric plush and inviting, the little tie resting against his collarbone.
His white shorts were soft and temptingly short, leaving his smooth, pale thighs bare.
The little blonde hairs on his legs were so light that they were almost invisible, unless they caught the light, which made it appear as if his skin were shimmering.
Anyone would notice.
The thought hit me hard and sharp. Anyone would see those legs first, the gentle curve of his hips, the way his body seemed made to be held. They’d think him pretty in that quiet, approachable way—the kind of beauty that made people feel like they were allowed to want him.
They weren’t.
“Come here,” I said.
He didn’t hesitate, crossing the space between us.
I caught him easily, hands firm on his hips as I pulled him down onto my lap.
He made a small sound of surprise, then immediately relaxed, arms sliding around my shoulders as he hugged me.
His weight settled against my chest like it belonged there, like it had always been meant to.
I wrapped one arm around him, pressing him close, the other coming up to cradle the back of his head. He smelled faintly sweet—soap and sugar and something that was just him.
He sighed, melting into me, completely unaware of the storm he’d interrupted. His cheek rested against my shoulder, his fingers absently bunching the fabric of my shirt like a habit he didn’t even think about anymore.
“I was just wondering,” he said softly, content and warm, “if you wanted to go out… or maybe stay in. I’m okay with whatever you want.”
Of course he was.
I tightened my hold just a fraction, gaze drifting over him again, cataloging every little detail like I needed to memorize it. Mine, my mind supplied insistently.
“We’ll stay in today,” I decided, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Just us.”
He smiled against my neck, blissfully ignorant of the reason why, and nodded.
I let my hands move before my thoughts could catch up to them.
My palm slid up his back, fingers spreading over the soft knit of his sweater, tracing the line of his spine. He made a small, pleased sound at the touch, barely more than a breath, and it sent a low heat through my chest.
“My sweet boy,” I murmured, my thumb brushing lazy circles just beneath his shoulder blade. “So perfect for your Daddy.”
He nuzzled his face against my neck. His legs shifted, thighs pressing more firmly against my own.
My hand drifted lower, over the curve of his waist, lingering at his hip. I felt him relax even more, his body responding without hesitation, like he knew this touch meant safety. Comfort. Belonging.
My voice dropped without me meaning it to. “You feel so good like this,” I said. “Right where you’re supposed to be.”
He hummed, arms tightening around me in a brief squeeze. “I like being with you,” he said, simple and sincere.
I tipped my head down, brushing my lips against his temple, then his hair, breathing his sweet smell in. My hand slid over his thigh, warm skin under my palm, my fingers tracing the soft inside of it.
“You don’t need anything else,” I told him. My words were steady, but there was an edge creeping in, rougher than I intended. “Do you, baby? You don’t need anyone or anything besides me and what I give you. Tell me, El.”
“I just need you, Daddy. I promise.” He didn’t pull back. He just nestled closer.
“I take care of you,” I continued, my grip tightening just a little at his hip. “I keep you safe. I give you what you need.”
His breath stuttered, but he nodded. “You take care of me just like you promised you would.”
“You want Daddy to take care of you forever, don’t you?”
“Yes, please.”
A dark, satisfied warmth spread through me at that. I held him tighter, my mouth near his ear now. “Good,” I said. “Because I’m never letting you go.”
I slid my hand under his sweater, gathering the bottom into my grip and yanking it up to expose his abdomen. “Open your mouth, cherub.” Once his lips parted, I pushed the bunched-up fabric into his mouth, startling him. “Bite down. Don’t let it drop.”
Elior’s cheeks turned red, but he did as I said, his teeth clamping down on his sweater.
“Good boy,” I praised, my hand rubbing over his now bare stomach, fingers splaying possessively across the warm flesh. “You’re mine, Elior,” I murmured, thumb pressing into the dip of his navel. “Every single fucking inch of you. God help you if you ever forget that. But you won’t, will you?”
His breath hitched as he shook his head.
“No, you won’t. You’re my perfect angel. You know who you belong to.”
My palm drifted lower, brushing the waistband of his shorts, feeling the heat radiating from his core.
Leaning in, I nipped at his earlobe, my other hand gripping his ass to hold him steady. “Daddy needs to mark you up today, sweetheart. It might hurt a bit, but Daddy needs this. Can you be good?”
“Mhmm,” Elior hummed, the sweater preventing him from producing any actual words.
I smiled at him, then dipped my fingers just under the fabric of his shorts, tracing the line of his groin.
Sliding my hand fully into his pants, I cupped his cock through the thin barrier of his underwear. It twitched under my touch, hardening as I squeezed gently. “I have the perfect idea for this as well.”