Chapter 18 Elior
Elior
So, maybe I’d overestimated myself… or at least underestimated Jace.
I’d thought I’d seen the edges of what he was capable of. I’d seen him tense and brooding, watched him clamp down on himself like a lid on something boiling.
But now…
Now I had a feeling that that side of him went far deeper than I’d thought.
I could’ve written off the weird things he’d said about kidnapping me as just very strange sex talk. From what Daddy had shown me on his computer, it seemed like there were a lot of people who liked all sorts of crazy things.
But the way he’d said it, the way his tone had been—I didn’t think it was just a sex thing.
It was hard to explain, but something in me knew that there was truth in his words.
My brain was telling me that if Jace had met me another way—a way where no one was invested in me, no one was watching—he would have taken me.
The other thing that threw me was how fast he’d reverted to the Jace I knew best.
One moment, the air had been thick and heavy and terrifying in a way that made my body hum. The next, he was back to “normal,” like he’d shoved that part of himself back into a closet in the recesses of his mind.
He’d peppered my face with kisses as his hands had worked to remove the blindfold. And once it was off, and he’d thrown it onto the bathroom floor, he’d looked at me with the deepest adoration.
“Hey, baby,” he’d said softly, voice steady. “Let’s get you cleaned up and comfy.”
I remembered blinking up at him, my head fuzzy, my body buzzing in strange, leftover ways. Words were too heavy for my tongue then, and he understood.
The zip ties were carefully cut away. He didn’t yank or rush. He rubbed my wrists and ankles as soon as they were free, thumbs pressing into my skin in firm, soothing circles until the pins-and-needles feeling eased.
“Tell me if anything feels wrong,” he’d murmured.
He cleaned me up next, letting me stay limp as he used warm water and a washcloth to gently wash my body and face. He unlocked the chastity cage, cleaning it and my privates. When he noticed I flinched, even just a little, he stopped immediately.
“Too much?” he asked.
I shook my head.
He applied ointment with clinical focus, his jaw set—not with anger, but concentration. He massaged circulation back into areas that had gone numb, continuously checking my color, breathing, and responses. He dressed me afterward in soft clothes he knew I liked, the ones that didn’t press or cling.
And then he tucked me into bed.
I lay there afterward, watching him move around the room, tidying up, locking things away, restoring order.
I wasn’t scared.
I wasn’t upset.
Mostly, I was… thoughtful.
“Normal” Jace would never hurt me. He’d proven it over and over again—in his patience, in his gentleness, in how carefully he watched me for signs I was overwhelmed.
But the other Jace?
He hadn’t cared about hurting me at all.
He’d cared about using me.
And the unsettling truth—the one that made my chest feel warm instead of cold—was that they didn’t feel like different people.
Jace had still felt like Jace, just unrestricted.
I wondered how many people had seen that side of him.
And if it was weird that I wanted to be the only one to see it?
I rolled slightly onto my side as he came back to the bed, sitting beside me. His hand brushed my hair back softly.
“You okay, cherub?” he asked quietly.
I nodded.
He studied my face for a long moment, searching for something—fear, regret, doubt.
He wouldn’t find it.
“Good,” he said, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? For now, you need a good night’s sleep.”
I nodded again and snuggled into him.
* * *
I woke up slowly to warm, soft sheets and my Daddy pressed against my back.
Last night lingered in my body in quiet ways—tenderness, fatigue, and a dull ache that wasn’t unpleasant so much as present.
I shifted slightly, and Jace’s arm tightened around my middle automatically, even though he was still asleep. His chin dipped into my hair, breath warm against my scalp.
So nice.
I realized I must’ve fallen back asleep because the next time I opened my eyes, I was alone. Jace must’ve slipped out of bed without waking me, which honestly felt like a miracle considering how little he’d wanted to let me out of his sight lately.
I was debating whether I was allowed to get up on my own when the bedroom door opened.
Daddy stepped in, dressed in soft sweats and a t-shirt, carrying a tray like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“Morning, cherub,” he said quietly.
My eyes went immediately to the tray.
Chocolate chip waffles. Two of them. Perfectly golden. A swirl of whipped cream piled high in the center, already melting just a little. There was also a little bowl of strawberries and a mug of hot chocolate.
“You didn’t have to—” I started, smiling, my mouth watering.
“I wanted to,” he said simply, crossing the room. “Scoot up for me.”
I obeyed without thinking, pushing myself back against the pillows. He carefully set the tray over my lap, adjusting it so it was balanced just right, then sat on the edge of the bed.
“How do you feel?” he asked, eyes already scanning me.
I considered the question honestly. “Sore,” I admitted. “But… okay. And hungry,” I giggled.
He smiled, like that was the answer he’d been hoping for. “Eat up then, baby.”
I picked up the fork, but before I could take a bite, he reached out and wiped a bit of whipped cream from the edge of the waffle where it was about to drip and painted it on my lips.
“There,” he murmured. “Didn’t want it getting everywhere.”
My tongue flicked out immediately to lick it up. “Oh, it’s so yummy!”
I used the side of my fork to cut off a small piece of waffle, then took a bite. It was warm and soft, chocolate chips just melted enough to be messy. I couldn’t help but moan at the taste. It was amazing.
“So good,” I told him.
“There’s enough for seconds if you’re still hungry after these.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
I ate slowly while he watched, occasionally prompting me to take a sip of hot chocolate, adjusting the tray when I shifted.
Eventually, I glanced up at him. “You’re being quiet. Are you okay?”
“I just hope I didn’t scare you too badly last night,” he said cautiously.
I shook my head. “No. I just… didn’t expect it to be that intense. Or for you to switch back so fast.”
His gaze softened, and he reached out, brushing his thumb against my cheek. “After breakfast, I’m going to check you over again. Make sure everything’s healing okay. Then you’re staying on the couch with me all day. No walking around unattended.”
I smiled, feeling small and warm. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to my temple. “Eat up. You’ve got a long day of being taken care of ahead of you.”
I stayed in bed until the last bite was gone and the mug was empty, mostly because Daddy didn’t move to take the tray away right away. He watched me finish like it mattered—like this was the most important thing on his to-do list.
When he finally stood, he leaned down and kissed my forehead again. “Good job, cherub. You’ve become such a good eater for me. I’ll be right back, just going to take this to the kitchen.”
He returned shortly with a soft blanket and a water bottle, then helped me swing my legs over the side of the bed. His hands were steady at my waist.
“Okay, baby. Up you go,” he said, lifting me from the bed.
I rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent as he carried me down the hall and to the front of the house. The living room curtains were half open, sunlight spilling across the couch.
He deposited me onto the couch, then crouched in front of me, his expression focused. He checked my wrists and ankles first, thumbs pressing lightly, watching my face more than my skin.
“Any tingling? Sharp pain?” he asked.
“No,” I mumbled. “Just sore. Not really… um… there, though.” I couldn’t meet his eyes.
He hooked a finger under my chin, raising my head. “You promise you’re just sore in those places? I know I checked your hole last night, but you need to tell me if anything feels wrong.”
I nodded, flushing.
“Aside from down there, are you sore anywhere else?”
“My um… my throat a bit.”
“That makes sense. Did the hot chocolate help at all? I can make some more.”
“Maybe in a little bit, please,” I said. “It did help, but I’m too full right now.”
“Okay,” he said, sitting beside me on the couch.
For a while, we didn’t talk. He put on a nature documentary—one of the calm ones with the soothing narrator I’d become a fan of—and rested his arm along the back of the couch so I could lean into him if I wanted.
I did.
His hand came down automatically, fingers stroking slow, absent patterns through my hair.
My thoughts began to wander again, and eventually, I spoke without really planning to. “You said we’d talk today,” I murmured.
“I did,” he replied, not stopping the motion of his hand. “Do you want to now, or later?”
I thought about it. About last night. About how safe I felt right now.
“Now, please,” I said softly.
He shifted so he could look at me, still close, still petting my head. “All right. What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
He chuckled lightly, a small smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “I figured that, baby boy.”
“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted, my brow creasing.
Jace watched me for a beat, then nodded like that answer made sense. “Then I will,” he said calmly. “I don’t experience things the way most people do. Empathy, fear, guilt—they’re… conceptual for me. I understand them intellectually.”
“That’s so… sad.”
“What?” He looked confused.