Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Elijah
She 's asleep now. I feel it in the way her breath slows against my chest, in the weight of her body fully melting into mine like she finally let herself believe she’s safe.
My hand keeps tracing gentle circles over her back, more out of instinct than anything else. I don’t want to stop touching her. Not when I've spent so long dreaming about this moment—when she’d finally let me in without pulling away, without questioning if she deserved to be loved like this.
She has no idea how wrong she is about herself. How fucking furious I get when she talks about her body like it’s something to apologize for. I see her, every part, every inch, and all I feel is hunger and awe. And love. God help me, I love this girl.
My eyes fall to the bracelet on her wrist. The dahlia glints faintly in the low light. She thinks it’s just a charm—something pretty and symbolic. She doesn’t know it’s more than that. A quiet guardian. I know how her mind works. She’d push back if she knew.
Call it overprotective. Maybe even invasive. But it’s not about control. It’s about keeping her safe in a world that hasn’t been kind to her. She may not trust herself to be worth that kind of care… but I do. I always will.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in.
“You’re mine,” I whisper, so softly it’s only meant for the dark. “My baby girl. And I’ll keep you safe. No matter what.
When morning comes, the light filters in slow and gold through the studio windows. She’s still curled up against me, one leg hooked over mine, her fingers loosely tangled in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
She’s wrong about that. I’m not going anywhere.
I shift carefully, not wanting to wake her just yet. Her face is relaxed, peaceful. No traces of the storm from last night. Seeing her like this—finally at rest—hits me harder than I expected.
There’s something holy about it. Quiet. Real.
I brush a few strands of hair from her face and let my fingers trail down her cheek, to the edge of the bracelet now resting against her skin. The charms catch the morning light—the book, the coffee bean, the tiny tattoo machine, and the dahlia with the stone.
She murmurs something soft in her sleep, pressing her face closer to my chest.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “Still here.”
And I mean it. Through every doubt, every scar, every fear she hasn’t named out loud—I’ll be here. Holding her when she breaks, and worshiping every piece when she lets me put her back together.
She stirs a little, lashes fluttering before her eyes meet mine. Groggy. Soft.
“Morning, baby girl,” I say gently.
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Morning, Daddy.”
Yeah. That’s all I need. She's all I need.
She yawns and stretches like a kitten, the blanket slipping off one bare shoulder. I catch it before it falls to the floor and tuck it gently back around her.
“Stay warm, sleepyhead.”
She gives me a soft smile, still drowsy, but there’s a little glint behind it. “Will you make me coffee, Daddy?”
I arch a brow. “That depends. Are you going to be a good girl this morning?”
She sits up a bit, pressing a kiss just under my jaw, her lips warm against my skin. “I was good last night…”
I let out a quiet laugh. “That you were, baby girl. Come on.”
Before she can protest, I scoop her up. She lets out a surprised squeal, arms flying around my neck.
“Daddy! I can walk!”
“I know,” I say, grinning as I carry her to the small kitchenette in the back corner of the studio. “But I like carrying you. And it’s early—you’re still on princess duty.”
She giggles as I set her down on the stool by the counter and hand her a hoodie. One of mine, of course. She puts it on without a word, drowning in it, and looking like the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
I reach for the beans and grind them fresh—dark roast, just how she likes it. I pour the steaming black coffee into a thick ceramic mug and drop in just the right amount of sugar, stirring slowly.
“No cream. I remember,” I say, setting the mug in front of her.
She takes a sip and lets out a soft sigh of approval. “You do listen.”
“To everything,” I say, already working on some eggs and toast. “Especially when it comes to my baby girl’s coffee.”
She watches me from across the counter, chin in her hand, legs swinging lazily. “You’re really domestic for a Daddy Dom covered in tattoos,” she teases.
I shoot her a look over my shoulder. “And for someone who talks a lot of sass, you sure moaned a lot last night.”
Her cheeks flush instantly. I smirk. Point, Elijah.
“Touché,” she mumbles into her mug when I set my coffee in front of her.
I slide her plate in front of her,toast golden, eggs soft just like she likes. “Eat up, princess. Then maybe we’ll talk about dessert.”
She eyes me, cheeks still red. “It’s breakfast.”
“And yet,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth, “you taste like sugar and sin either way.” She digs in, still blushing, still glowing, and I can’t stop watching her.
Ava melts, giggling again, trying to hide it in her cup. And for a little while, everything is simple, just laughter, warmth, and the quiet kind of love that settles into the cracks without asking for permission.
This right here, her in my hoodie, coffee in hand, breakfast at my counter, this is everything I ever wanted and didn’t know I could have.