Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Ava
Elijah leans back on the sofa, legs spread, his dark eyes locked on me. That look—lazy hunger and complete control—sends heat curling through my stomach.
“C’mere, baby girl,” he murmurs, voice low and firm.
I move toward him, already feeling the shift in energy, breathless before he even touches me.
He pulls me in by the hips until I’m standing between his legs. His fingers slip beneath the hem of his hoodie—his fingers tracing the skin there in slow, lazy circles.
“You remember when you said…” His tone is soft but commanding. “That your body’s mine. That I can have it when, where, and how I want?”
I nod, heat rising in my cheeks.
His hands slide up my thighs, grip tightening just enough to make me shiver. “Then listen carefully,” he says, tilting his head back, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Climb up here and sit on Daddy’s face.”
My breath catches.
The words knock the breath right out of me. My body floods with heat, but then—I freeze.
“I… I can’t,” I whisper, suddenly small in my own skin.
He stills, but only for a heartbeat. Then he looks up at me, brows drawing together—not angry, not impatient. Just focused. Present.
“Why not, baby girl?” His voice is gentle, but there’s steel underneath.
I look away. “I’m… I’m too heavy. What if I hurt you? What if I crush you?”
The silence that follows is immediate and heavy. When I glance back, Elijah is staring at me like I’ve just insulted something sacred.
“You think I’d ask you to do something just to prove a point? That I’d ever let you do something that would actually hurt me or you in any way?” His voice is low, sharp, but not at me. At the thought. At the lie I’ve clearly told myself more than once.
I can’t answer. I just shrug, embarrassed. “You’re strong, I know, but—”
“No.” His hands come up, cupping my hips, grounding me. “You don’t get to shrink yourself for me or for anyone. You don’t have to protect me from your body, Ava. I want all of you. I want you exactly as you are—soft, full, real.”
He leans forward, lifts up the sweatshirt I'm wearing until my panties and stomach are exposed, pressing a kiss low on my stomach, right above where the hem of the hoodie ends.
“I love how you feel,” he whispers. “I love how you look when you come apart for me. And I want you on my face, not because of some fantasy—but because nothing turns me on more than making my girl fall apart in my arms. With my mouth.”
I bite my lip. My legs are trembling now, but not from fear. From pure need.
“I won’t let you fall,” he adds, his voice going softer. “You won’t crush me. But even if you could? What better way to go than with your sweet taste on my tongue giving you pleasure.”
A shaky laugh escapes me—and with it, the last of my resistance.
“Okay,” I breathe.
His grip on my thighs tightens—not rough, but firm. Claiming. Grounding.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His gaze is molten, locked on mine like nothing else in the world exists but the two of us, here, in this moment.
He leans in, kissing my inner thigh, just above the edge of my underwear.
I shiver—part anticipation, part disbelief that this man can make me feel worshipped just by looking at me.
“You trust me, baby girl?” His voice is low and edged with hunger, but there’s a gentleness threading through it that melts every wall I still have.
“Yes,” I whisper, breath catching.
“Let go. Daddy’s got you.”he says. “Let me devour you.”
Heat coils through my stomach, my spine, my entire body. I feel like trembling glass in his hands, fragile, yet somehow stronger than I’ve ever been.
He picks me up and then eases me down, slow, reverent, like he’s positioning something precious. The moment our bodies align, his grip shifts—still tender, still careful, but more commanding now. I feel his breath against me, and my whole body draws tight with anticipation.
And then…
Pleasure. Overwhelming. Drowning in the sensation of being wanted, tasted, claimed. The only sounds in the room are my gasps, the low rumble of his approval, and the rapid rhythm of my heart. I lose track of time, of thought, of anything that isn’t him.
There’s no shame here. No insecurity. Just his mouth, his hands, and the raw, worshipful way he pulls me apart and puts me back together again.
When the world finally settles, I’m left gasping, trembling, folded forward over his shoulders as he holds me like I’m fragile and holy all at once.
He doesn’t let go—not when I slump against him, not when my breath stutters, not even when I whisper his name like a prayer.
Only when I look down, dazed and glowing, he murmurs against my skin:
“That’s my good girl.”
I don’t remember when the trembling started—just that it’s still there, lingering in my limbs like a storm that hasn’t quite passed.
Elijah doesn’t say a word at first. He just holds me, carefully guiding me off of him and into his lap like I’m something precious. His hoodie—still half off me—ends up tangled around us both as he gathers me close, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders.
“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Just breathe.”
I do. Slowly. One inhale. One shaky exhale. His chest rises and falls beneath mine, steady as always, and I let it anchor me.
“I didn’t… I didn’t expect it to feel like that,” I murmur, my voice small against the curve of his neck.
He pulls me closer, like that wasn’t even possible.
“That’s what happens when you trust,” he says quietly. “When you let go. That was everything, baby girl. You are everything.”
I close my eyes, holding on tighter. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“For not letting me disappear into my own head.”
His hand strokes slowly down my back, again and again, like a lullaby. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that,” he says. “Keeping you safe—physically, emotionally, all of it—is my job. My privilege.”
I laugh softly. “You’re making me cry again.”
He smiles against my skin. “Then cry, baby. I’ve got you.”
And he does.
For a while, we stay like that—tangled up in each other, in his office, in the quiet aftermath of something bigger than either of us expected. His hands never stop moving: stroking, grounding, praising in the silence.
“You were so good for me,” he murmurs. “So brave. So beautiful. Letting me take care of you like that… it means more than you know.”
My eyes flutter shut. “I feel safe with you.”
His arms tighten, and I feel him sigh like the words mattered.
“You are safe,” he says. “Always.”
Minutes—or maybe hours—pass, and I drift between sleep and stillness, curled up in his lap like I was made to fit there. When I start to stir, he shifts just enough to kiss my temple.
“Come on, let's take you home, where I'll prepare you a nice bubble bath and more pampering.” he says while helping me get up and get dressed.
***
As soon as we arrive, Elijah takes me straight to my room, or rather, to ours, because he's been with me every night since we started dating. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
“C’mon, princess,” he says softly. “Let’s get you in the bath. Warm water, lavender salts. Then I’m making you tea and curling you up in bed until you fall asleep on my chest again. Sounds good?”
“Perfect,” I whisper.
And I mean it.
Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel too much. I don’t feel like I have to apologize for the space I take up.
I just feel… loved.
Later, after the bath, he helps me into one of his soft t-shirts and brushes my hair with that quiet, focused patience he always has with me. Elijah tucks me into bed like it’s his favorite ritual.
And maybe it is. Because the way he looks at me—like I’m the calm after a storm he’s waited all day for—makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
He climbs in behind me, wrapping himself around me. One arm under my neck, the other across my waist. My back fits perfectly against his chest. I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my spine.
“Comfy?” he murmurs into my hair.
“Mmm.” I nod. “Safe and happy.”
His grip tightens slightly. “That’s all I ever want for you, baby girl.”
We lay there for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers trace lazy circles over my stomach, and I can’t help but smile. The kind of soft, tired smile that only comes when every wall is down.
“I like this,” I whisper. “You. Us. Ending the day like this.”
He hums in agreement. “I do too. This is the best part of my day.”
“Better than the part where I was sitting on your face?” I tease, voice barely above a whisper, heat rushing to my cheeks.
He lets out a low, warm laugh against my neck. “That was heaven. But this?” He pulls me tighter. “This is peace.”
I melt a little more into him.
“I used to think I wasn’t good at this,” I say quietly. “Being vulnerable. Being wanted. But you make it… feel easy, safe. Like I don’t have to pretend I’m not scared sometimes.”
His voice is serious now. “You never have to pretend with me. Not ever. Brave girls get scared too. Doesn’t make you any less strong.”
“Even when I fall apart?”
“Especially when you fall apart. That’s when I get to hold you like this.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t cry. I just reach for his hand and lace our fingers together.
“Thank you for loving me the way you do,” I murmur.
He presses a kiss just behind my ear, soft as a promise.
“There’s no other way I’d ever love you, baby girl.”
And in that warmth—held tight, completely safe, wrapped in the quiet strength of his arms—I finally let myself drift to sleep.
***
A soft kiss on my shoulder is the first thing I feel before I even open my eyes.
“Good morning, baby girl,” Elijah whispers, his voice still low and sleep-rough. He sounds like warmth and home.
I stretch beneath the blankets, still wrapped in his shirt and the lingering safety of the night before. I don’t open my eyes right away. I just hum, basking in the feel of his body against mine.
“Are you awake?” he asks gently.
“Mmm… maybe.”
“Liar.” His lips brush the curve of my neck. “You always make that sound when you’re trying not to smile.”
I let the tiniest grin slip, and his arms tighten around me from behind. We lie there like that for a while—bodies tangled, the world still quiet. No rush. No pressure. Just warmth.
Eventually, he shifts. “Stay right here. I’m making coffee.”
“You spoil me,” I mumble sleepily.
He leans over to kiss my forehead. “That’s the whole point.”
He disappears into the kitchen, and I hear the familiar hum of the machine. A few minutes later, he’s back—with a mug in each hand.
“For you, my sleepy little coffee addict,” he teases, handing me the mug.
I take it eagerly, letting the smell of strong black coffee and sugar wrap around my senses. “No cream?”
“Never.” He smirks. “As if I’d mess up your sacred ritual.”
I take a sip, closing my eyes in bliss. “You’re dangerously close to earning extra snuggles for this.”
“Oh no,” he says, mocking dramatically. “Not extra snuggles. How will I ever survive?”
He sets his mug down and crawls back into bed, pulling me into his lap effortlessly. “I think I deserve a little reward, don’t you?”
“Reward?” I raise an eyebrow.
“For being the best Daddy ever.”
I pretend to think about it. “Hmm. Maybe one forehead kiss.”
“Just one?” He grins and leans in anyway, brushing the softest kiss across my skin. “I’ll work for the rest.”
I giggle and snuggle in closer as I sip my coffee. “You already have them.”
We sit like that for a while—his hand rubbing slow circles on my back, my head tucked under his chin, coffee warming our hands and the morning unfolding quietly around us.
And for once, everything feels just right.
***
We’re curled up on the couch, our second coffee mugs long empty and forgotten on the table, Elijah’s fingers trace lazy circles on my arm. The quiet hum of the morning stretches out around us like a soft blanket.
Still curled up on the couch, our fingers intertwined, Elijah’s voice breaks the comfortable silence. “So, what should we do this weekend, baby girl?”
I smile, thinking it over. “This morning, definitely the farmers’ market. I want to grab some fresh bread—maybe that sourdough you liked last time—and those quirky jams. You know, the raspberry-lavender one you said was weird but good.”
Elijah chuckles. “I’m down for weird and good. Maybe some fresh coffee beans too? We can grind our own.”
I nod, feeling warmth bubble up. “Yes! And maybe some fresh flowers." He squeezes my hand gently. “Perfect. Saturday afternoon?”
I glance at him, biting my lip a bit. “There’s that new art exhibit downtown. You know, the one with the modern and abstract pieces? It seemed interesting.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go.” His smile is easy, but then his gaze sharpens for a moment. “You okay with crowds?”
I nod, but the little knot in my stomach tightens unexpectedly. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
“Sunday”, he says, “It's all ours. No plans. Just breakfast in bed, cuddles, some binge-watching, and well… maybe some extra snuggles and more orgasms for my sweet baby girl?”
I blush but grin. “Only if you promise to keep being my Daddy.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Always, baby girl. Always.”
We settle back into the quiet comfort of the moment, the weekend ahead full of promise and the kind of love that makes everything feel a little brighter.
The morning smells like fresh earth and sunshine as we wander through the farmers’ market, hand in hand. We pick up a crusty loaf of sourdough, a jar of tangy raspberry-lavender jam, some ripe berries, and a bouquet of wildflowers with bright yellows and purples.
At a little stand, Elijah lingers over a bag of dark roast beans. “These will make mornings a lot better.”
“Best coffee,” I say, feeling happy to share this simple joy with him.