Chapter 27 Ava
Chapter twenty-seven
Ava
The rain won’t stop.
It’s the kind of storm that feels personal, low skies, cold wind that seeps into your bones, and customers who come in damp and irritated, just like me.
The espresso machine won’t stop leaking. A vendor messed up a bulk order of books and now I have a shelf full of the wrong titles and no way to replace them before next week’s event.
It’s one of those days where everything feels… heavy.
And I can feel myself slipping.
That voice in my head, my mother’s voice, really, starts whispering cruel things.
You’re not cut out for this.
This isn’t a real business.
You’re playing house with a hobby and pretending it matters.
I drop a ceramic mug while cleaning up behind the counter. It shatters on the tile.
That’s when it hits me in the chest. The sting of failure. The heat of shame.
I brace my hands on the counter and close my eyes. Then I feel it.
The bracelet. Cool leather against my skin. The charm brushing my wrist. My collar. My breath stutters, but this time it doesn’t spiral. Instead, I do something I’ve never done before. I take a breath. And I text him.
Me: Can you come?
Me: I’m not okay. I need… you. Please, Daddy.
The reply is instant.
Daddy: I’m on my way, Baby Girl. Don’t move.
Five minutes later, he walks in, damp from the rain, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready to take it apart for me.He says nothing at first. Just comes behind the counter and pulls me into his arms like I’m fragile but worth saving. I melt.
He holds me until the ache in my chest loosens, until I breathe easier, until I remember how to be here.
“Bracelet still on?” he murmurs near my ear.
I nod into his chest. “Yeah.”
“You remembered?”
“I tried. At first I didn’t. But then I felt it. And it was like… like you were reminding me, even when you weren’t here.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “That’s what it’s for, Ava. It’s an anchor. When the world tries to shake you loose, it’s your reminder that you’re not alone.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Baby Girl. Asking for help is not bothering me. It’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest again.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
His hand strokes my hair, and I feel him kiss the top of my head.
“You did good. I’m proud of you. Now let's get you home.”
***
We’re curled up on the couch at home. I’m wearing one of his hoodies, the sleeves too long. He’s got his hand wrapped gently around my ankle, grounding me, and the bracelet still catches the light when I move.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I failed. I feel held. And that? That might be the hottest, softest, strongest kind of love there is.
We eat on the couch, my legs tucked over his lap. He feeds me a strawberry from his fingers without thinking. I take it without flinching.
Something’s shifting in me.
I feel it like a door slowly opening, one I kept bolted shut for years. I’ve always been afraid of wanting too much. Of asking for more and being told I don’t deserve it.
But with Elijah… he wants me to ask. He needs me to speak.
I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist. The leather is warm from my skin, the silver dahlia charm catching the light. He gave it to me weeks ago, said it was a symbol of our dynamic, of trust, of being cherished.
He called it “ours.”
“Daddy?” I say softly, testing the word in my mouth like it still might crack something inside me.
His eyes lift immediately, alert but calm. Present. “Yes, baby?”
“I think…” I swallow, heart racing. “I want to ask for something.”
His hand finds my thigh, warm and steady. “You can ask me anything.”
I shift a little, turning toward him, pulling the fuzzy blanket over my lap like armor.
“I don’t just want the soft parts,” I whisper. “I want the rules. The structure. I want to know you’ll tell me when to stop spiraling before I fall off the edge.”
He doesn’t speak, just watches me. Letting me find my own words.
“I want the discipline, the control, the rituals. I want to feel held, even when I’m too stubborn to say I need it.”
A slow breath escapes his chest. “Are you asking to go deeper into our dynamic?”
I nod.
Something shifts in his expression. It’s reverence. Not lust, not heat, reverence. Like I just gave him something sacred.
“You want rules?”
“Yes.”
“Bedtime?”
“Yes.”
“Approval for what you wear when we go out?”
I blush, but I nod. “Yes.”
He leans in, brushing a kiss against my temple.
“You have no idea how proud I am of you,” he murmurs. “My brave girl.”
I bury my face in his chest. I don’t cry. Not this time. I just breathe him in and let myself be held.
“I just want to be yours in every way,” I whisper.
He kisses the crown of my head. “You already are.”
A week later
We start small. Little things. Like what time I go to bed. What clothes I wear. Letting him know when my thoughts start spiraling, when the noise in my mind becomes too loud to manage alone.
In the mornings, Elijah lays out my clothes for the day. Not just the outfit, but everything, down to the underwear.
He never pushes. He already knows there are certain things I’m not comfortable wearing, not yet. And he respects that without question. I never have to explain twice.
But he also made something clear from the beginning.
“As we grow into this,” he’d said one night, his voice a calm rumble against my skin as we lay curled together in bed, “I’ll start adding new things.
Slowly. Things that will push you out of your comfort zone just a little, because I believe in how strong you are.
But only ever with your trust. Only ever if you say yes. ”
And I remember nodding, my breath catching when he kissed my forehead and added, “And if anything feels wrong, or too much, Marshmallow, baby. That’s all you have to say. You’re always in control, even when you give some of it to me.”
That word, Marshmallow, is my safe word. Soft. Sweet. Strong. Just like this relationship we’re building.
And the more we lean into this rhythm, his quiet authority, my growing surrender, the more I feel it taking root in me.
Not as something foreign, but as something I’ve always needed. Permission to let go. To feel safe being led. To trust.
And here I am now, looking at this outfit as if it's going to attack me any moment. I almost talked myself out of it three times.
The first time is when I reach for the black lace set I tucked away weeks ago, tags still on. The second is when I see the little card he left on the dresser this morning:
The third time is when I check the clock and realize it’s 6:56. My hands are shaking.
But I do it anyway. Because I asked for this. Because I trust him. Because I want to know what it feels like to be brave and still safe.
I kneel beside the bed, the soft throw rug cushioning my knees. My hands rest gently on my thighs. My heart is beating too fast, but I’m breathing through it.
I’m ready.
The door opens behind me at exactly 7:00.
I don’t look up. I don’t have to.
I hear him shut it behind him. Feel the energy shift.
Then I hear his voice. Quiet. Deep. Steady.
“You look stunning, on your knees for your Daddy. Good girl.”
My heart skips a beat when I hear his words. That quiet conviction in his voice, the way he speaks to me like I’m precious and powerful all at once, it settles something deep inside me.
Knowing that I’m doing what he’s told me to do, that I’m giving him what he needs, and that it pleases him… it’s one of the best feelings in the world. Not because I’m trying to be perfect, but because I’m seen. Because I’m trusted.
His praise wraps around me like warmth in the dark. His hand strokes softly down my spine, and his lips brush against my temple as he whispers, “You’re doing so well, baby girl.”
He walks around me, slow and deliberate. I keep my eyes down, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on every inch of my skin.
“Did exactly what Daddy told you to. I like that.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“And how did that feel?”
I swallow. “It wasn’t easy… but it felt good. Deep down. And I wanted to make you proud.”
He pauses, just long enough to let the words settle between us, then kneels in front of me, hands warm as they cradle my face. His touch grounds me instantly.
“You did. I am so proud of you baby girl.” His voice is low, sincere. “More than you know.”
I blink fast, the tears pricking behind my eyes too sharp to ignore now. But they don’t fall. Not yet. His thumb brushes just beneath my cheekbone, steadying me.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” he murmurs. “You just have to be mine. Open. Honest. That’s everything.”
His lips meet mine, soft at first, then deeper, tasting the truth of what we’ve built between us. Trust. Safety. Permission to be exactly who I am.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“I’ve got you, baby girl. Every piece of you.”
And in that quiet, warm space between us, I finally believe him.
Elijah's voice is soft, laced with heat.
"Are you ready to play, princess?"
A shiver runs down my spine as I nod, breath catching.
"Yes, Daddy."
My thighs clench in anticipation, the weight of his words settling deep in my chest.
His hand brushes through my hair, slow and deliberate. Then he gathers it gently, twisting it into a loose grip at the base of my neck.
“You want to please Daddy tonight, don’t you?”
I nod, my voice soft. “Yes, Daddy. More than anything.”
He moves back in front of me, standing tall while I remain on my knees. The warmth in his gaze has shifted into something heavier now, something that crackles beneath the surface of his restraint.
“Undo my pants.” If I was wet just kneeling at his feet before, I’m dripping now. I can practically feel myself dripping.
Slowly, I lift my hands to his belt and begin undoing it, the click of the buckle and our breathing the only sounds in the room. I unzip the pants with trembling fingers and push them down around his ankles.