Chapter 36 Ava
Chapter thirty-six
Ava
I test him. I don’t mean to—not exactly.
But there’s a stubborn, nervous part of me that still doesn’t believe this is real.
That he’ll stay. That rules won’t turn into punishment like I'm used to. That he won’t end up using the silent treatment as a weapon.
Deep inside, I know Elijah is not my ex-husband, or like my mother.
And then I stay up past midnight reading.
I hear the click of the bedroom door as he walks in quietly. I’m still curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around me, book open in my lap, pretending I didn’t just flinch when I heard his footsteps.
His voice is calm. Not angry. “What time did we agree on, princess?”
My throat tightens. I look down. “Ten, Daddy.”
“And what time is it now?”
I swallow and glance at the clock. “After midnight.”
I expect the lecture. The coldness. The emotional distance.
But Elijah kneels in front of me instead.
“You’re testing me,” he says, voice low. “To see if I’ll follow through. To see if I’ll change the rules when it’s inconvenient. Am I right?”
My eyes sting. I nod, barely.
Then I whisper, “I’m afraid that if I do something wrong, you’ll leave me. That you’ll get tired of me making mistakes, or not doing what you’ve told me. So... part of me looks for a reason for you to leave. I’m sorry.”
Elijah exhales slowly, his hands resting gently on my knees. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t scold. He just looks at me like he sees right through every wall I’ve built.
“Oh, baby,” he says softly. “You don’t have to earn my love by being perfect. And you won’t lose it by messing up.”
His thumb brushes over my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “Not when you're sweet. Not when you’re scared. Not even when you push just to see if I’ll still be here.”
He tilts his head, eyes locked on mine.
“I will follow through. Not because I’m mad. But because consistency makes you feel safe, doesn’t it?”
I nod again, trembling, ashamed, and still somehow relieved.
“I love you, even when you break the rules,” he says, voice steady. “But I’m still your Daddy. And you know what happens next, don’t you?”
There’s no malice in his tone. No anger. Just the truth.
My stomach flips. I whisper, “Yes, Daddy.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Good girl. Now I want you to hear me, princess.”
His voice is low—steady, but not cold. It’s the kind of tone that slips beneath my skin and makes my heart race for a whole different reason.
I nod, trying to look at him, but the guilt keeps pulling my gaze down to where my hands twist nervously in my lap.
“I’m not punishing you because I’m angry with you,” he says, voice like velvet over steel. “I’m punishing you because you broke a rule. A rule we agreed on together.”
My throat tightens, and I force myself to whisper, “I know.”
“You disobeyed me,” he continues, tilting my head so I can’t avoid his gaze.
“And when you break the rules, baby, there are consequences. That’s how this works.
Not because I’m mad. Not because I want to hurt you.
But because I love you, and I need you to trust that structure. To feel safe inside it.”
I blink quickly, but a tear slips free anyway.
Elijah lifts one hand, brushing another tear away with his thumb. “I want you to understand something, and I need you to hear it in your bones. Even when you disobey me—even when you’re being stubborn or scared—I love you. Nothing changes that.”
My lip trembles. “But I—”
He gently shushes me, moving closer between my legs, still kneeling, still completely focused on me.
“You are not bad,” he whispers. “You are my good girl. You made a mistake. You’ll take your punishment, we’ll get through it together, and then it’s over. No shame. No guilt. We won’t speak of it again. That’s what we agreed on. That’s what I promised you.”
I nod, tears falling freely now as his hands cradle my hips like I’m something breakable and precious.
“Do you trust me, princess?”
“Always,” I breathe.
“And do you understand why this is happening?”
I sniffle and whisper, “Because I broke the rules. And rules keep me safe.”
A soft smile pulls at his lips, and he kisses my knee. “Good girl.”
And even as nerves twist in my stomach, there’s a kind of peace too—because Elijah isn’t punishing me to hurt me. He’s showing me that I’m still safe. Still seen. Still his.
Especially when I need it most. More tears slip down my cheek. He kisses them away.
“Stand up,” he says gently. “Go to the bedroom. Pajamas off. Kneel at the end of the bed. We’re going to correct this. Then it’s over.”
My whole body flushes with nerves—but also relief. I don’t have to carry guilt. He’ll carry it with me.
I do as I’m told. I strip out of my pajamas with shaky hands and kneel at the foot of the bed. I take a deep breath and that's when he enters the room. His presence fills the room, thick as smoke, leaving no space for air or thought.
He lowers himself onto the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, legs spread wide, hands pressing flat against the armrests.
“Remember your safe word, baby?” His voice is low, deliberate, the kind of voice that makes my hair stand on end, as if my body knows what’s coming before my mind does.
“Yes, Daddy.” I answer without hesitation, my throat tight with anticipation.
Elijah hums softly, a sound like a promise as his gaze locks onto mine. “Look me in the eyes.”
I raise my head, meeting his stare, and the heat in those eyes is overwhelming—dark, hungry, full of something that makes my knees go weak.
“Give me your word,” he demands.
“Marshmallow.” The word slips out, light and steady, but it carries weight between us.
He nods approvingly, his voice smooth as silk. “That's my good girl. Now crawl to me.”
His command catches me off guard—he’s never asked me to crawl before. But the thought ignites something wild inside me. My thighs squeeze together tightly, and I bite down on my tongue to stop a moan from escaping.
Still, Elijah notices. The edges of his mouth curl into that wicked, knowing grin—the one that melts me every single time.
The room seems to shrink around us, the tension crackling, and I’m helpless to his pull, ready to give him everything he asks for.
I feel the cool fabric of the carpet beneath my hands as I shift forward, every nerve alive, every breath shallow.
Crawling toward him feels vulnerable but thrilling—like giving him a piece of myself I don’t show anyone else.
His eyes darken further as I reach him and settle between his legs, and he slides one hand from the armrest to lightly pet my hair, steadying me, grounding me.
“You're being such a good girl for me,” he whispers, voice thick with approval. “You’re my perfect princess.”
The weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand, and the slow, steady beat of my heart all blend together, pulling me deeper into the moment. I’m his—completely, utterly his—and the thought makes my breath hitch.
Elijah’s hand moves with gentle authority, sliding up to cup the back of my head, his fingers threading softly through my hair. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down my spine. I tilt my head up, offering myself to him, every part of me open and waiting.
He leans in slowly, his breath warm against my skin. His lips brush the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I swallow hard, my body responding to the smallest touch.
“Do you trust me, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and thick with something fierce.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, voice barely more than a breath.
His lips find mine, soft at first, testing, then deepening with a hunger that makes my knees tremble. The world narrows until it’s just us, the quiet room, the electricity crackling between our skin.
I feel his hand tighten slightly in my hair, not rough, but possessive, reminding me that this moment belongs to him—and that I belong to him too.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes again, the fire still blazing there. “You’re my good girl,” he says softly. “Always.”
I smile, a shaky, happy thing, the warmth of his praise wrapping around me like a shield. Here, in his presence, I can let go of all the chaos outside—the fear, the worries, the danger.
For now, there’s only him. Only this.
“I’m going to spank you five times tonight,” he says quietly. “Not too hard. Just enough to remind you that when I give you structure, I mean it.”
I nod, eyes burning. “Yes, Daddy.”
He guides me over his lap and settles his hand over the curve of my ass. Warm. Possessive.
Then the first smack lands. Firm. Sharp, but not cruel.
“I told you lights out at ten.”
Smack.
“I told you to trust me.”
Smack.
“I love you enough to hold the line when you can’t.”
Smack.
It’s not about pain. It’s about presence.
Smack. Smack.
My breathing is shaky, but I’m calm. Centered.
After the last spank, Elijah pauses, his palm resting on the curve of my ass, heat radiating from my skin to his touch.
I’m still trembling, my breath shaky, heart pounding. The sting lingers, sharp and humming, but beneath it is something else—need, thick and warm and impossible to ignore.
He leans forward, his chest brushing against my back as he presses a kiss between my shoulder blades.
Then his hands begin to move—slowly, reverently. He caresses the punished flesh, his touch gentle where his palm had been firm. Up and down, tracing each curve, each swell, as though he’s memorizing me all over again.
“You did so good for me, princess,” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with heat. “You took your punishment so well.”
I whimper, too raw to speak. His praise wraps around me like a blanket, softening the ache.
His fingers drift lower, exploring with purpose now. He cups the heat between my thighs, and we both feel it—slick and undeniable.
He groans softly, more breath than sound. “You’re soaked,” he says, almost in awe. “Look what that did to you.”
I can’t look at him. My face burns hotter than my skin.