Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Ava
The light in the room is soft—just the faint glow of dawn slipping through the back window curtains.
Everything is still.
The city hasn’t stirred yet.
The world feels like it’s holding its breath.
And Elijah is here.
His arm is slung across my waist, his chest rising and falling against my back, the heat of him warming every inch of me. I can feel the roughness of his stubble where it brushes the curve of my shoulder, the weight of his thigh tangled between mine.
He’s heavy and solid and safe in a way I never knew I needed.
I lie still for a long time, just listening to the rhythm of his breathing. Letting myself be held.
Last night still feels unreal.
The way he touched me was like I was art. The way he looked at me like I was something special… someone special. The way he didn’t just want me—he saw me.
No one’s ever done that before. Not like that.
I trace my fingers gently over his forearm, the inked lines of his tattoos still a little intimidating. They don’t match who he is when he’s like this—soft, asleep, unknowingly vulnerable. But maybe they do. Maybe his body, like mine, is full of stories that people never bother to ask about.
He shifts behind me, his nose brushing my neck.
“Mmm… you’re awake,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, low and warm like honey.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper.
“You didn’t,” he says, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “You just exist too loud.”
I stiffen slightly, just enough for him to notice.
He stills behind me. “Hey,” he says softly, brushing his thumb along my hip. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
I hesitate. “It’s just…” I swallow. “Sometimes I worry I’m too much. I talk too fast, feel too hard, laugh too loud. Maybe I love too loudly, too. And when you said that—”
“That you exist too loud?” he says, gently cutting in. “Baby, that wasn’t a complaint.”
I stay quiet.
He nudges his nose against the curve of my neck. “I meant it the way people say the sun rises too bright. Or a storm rolls in too bold. You are, and the world can’t help but feel it.”
His voice is still thick with sleep, but now there's something steadier in it—like truth anchoring us both.
“I didn’t fall for silence,” he murmurs. “I fell for the way you take up space without even trying, for how you light up a room with just being there. I fell for your loud heart.”
And just like that, something inside me unclenches.
“Loud isn’t exactly what people like about me.”
“Well,” he says, tightening his hold around me slightly, “they’ve clearly never had the pleasure of hearing you screaming my name under my hands, and mouth.” – He says teasingly
I bury my face in the pillow, groaning. “God, don’t say stuff like that first thing in the morning.”
“Why not? It’s true,” he says, pulling me closer.
“You think I’m going to pretend last night didn’t happen?
That I didn’t spend half the night enjoying every inch of this sexy as fuck body of yours, pleasuring you, claiming you?
Memorizing the way you look at me like you still don’t understand how perfect you are? ”
My smile fades just a little. “I don’t understand it.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he rolls me gently onto my back and leans over me, propped on one elbow. His other hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together.
“Then I’ll show you,” he says. “Every day. Until it’s the first thing you think and believe when you wake up.”
I blink quickly, and he must see the emotion rising in my chest because he presses a kiss to my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ava. You don’t scare me.”
“I scare me,” I admit.
“I know,” he says. “But I’ll hold the fear with you. Until it’s not so heavy.”
The knot in my chest loosens—just a little. Not gone. But not alone anymore either.
And when he kisses me again, it’s slower. Sweeter. Like we have time.
We cuddle, showered together—Elijah making sure I started the day with a couple more orgasms. This man is unreal. His hands, his mouth, and God, that tongue… he takes me to heights I didn’t even know existed.
After breakfast, we lounge on the couch for a while—he sketches a design for a client, and I pretend to read. But I’ve gone over the same paragraph at least five times. I can’t focus. My body’s still humming, but more than that, my mind won’t slow down.
I glance over at him—so focused, so effortlessly talented. The way his brow furrows in concentration makes my chest tighten. Not just with affection, but with something heavier. A quiet, creeping fear.
“Elijah?” I say softly, not sure if I really want to break the calm.
He looks up right away, eyes warm. “Yeah?”
I hesitate, then close my book. “Can I tell you something? Something kind of… ugly?”
He immediately sets his sketchpad aside, giving me his full attention. “Of course.”
I take a breath, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I used to hate mirrors”, I say quietly, eyes on the chipped rim of my mug—even though I know Elijah already knows this.
He doesn’t react with surprise. Just looks at me with that same patient softness he always does when I talk about the past. “Still do sometimes, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. But when I was younger, I avoided them completely. I learned to do my makeup without ever looking myself in the eye.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just lets the silence settle, safe and steady between us.
“My mom... she had a way of pointing out every flaw like it was her sacred duty,” I say, fingers tightening around the warmth in my hands. “My stomach. My arms. The way my thighs touched. To her, love came with a dress size.”
Elijah’s jaw flexes, but he stays quiet.
“I was thirteen when she first said no one would ever love me unless I lost weight,” I murmur. “And I believed her. You hear something enough times that it becomes part of you. Like it’s buried into your bones.”
I finally look up at him, my chest tight. “My ex didn’t have to say anything. He just… stopped touching me. Slowly. Quietly. Like I was becoming something unlovable in real time.”
My voice cracks. “And I stayed. For years. Because I thought maybe he was just seeing what everyone else already saw.”
Elijah sets his mug down and reaches for my hand. No dramatic speeches, no attempts to correct my truth. He just holds me—firm, steady—his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin.
“I’m not telling you this for pity,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m telling you because… you keep looking at me like I’m magic. And I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know how to take it without bracing for the day you see what I see—and leave.”
He leans in, forehead to mine, his voice barely a breath. “I already see it, Ava. The pain. The strength. Everything. And I’m not loving some perfect illusion. I’m loving you.”
The tears come before I can stop them. I turn my head slightly, and he kisses my cheek—soft, unafraid, like nothing about me scares him.
“You don’t have to shrink for me,” he says. “You don’t have to earn anything. You are enough. Right now. Just like this.”
A sob breaks loose from me—sharp, sudden—and he pulls me into his chest without hesitation. I cling to him like I’m unraveling, and he holds me like he’s ready to catch every single thread.
For the first time in years, I don’t feel broken when I cry. I feel safe.