Chapter 49
Chapter forty-nine
Ava
Sebastian and Gabriel left a while ago. Talking to them helped more than I expected. For a little while, it felt like life was inching back toward normal—like I could breathe again without checking over my shoulder.
But now, in the quiet that follows, another kind of longing rises in me.
Not just for safety. For connection. For the part of our relationship that used to make me feel powerful, seen, cherished in a way that had nothing to do with words. I miss the closeness, the dynamic that grounded me even in chaos.
So I do the only thing I know will tell him—without speaking—that I’m ready. That I need him.
I kneel beside his favorite chair, completely bare. Vulnerable, but not afraid. I want him to see all of me, like he always has.
When the bathroom door opens, I lift my head, heart beating in my throat. Our eyes meet—and whatever doubt I had evaporates in that instant.
There’s a shift in him, subtle but unmistakable. His gaze darkens, sharpens, not just with desire—but with love, protectiveness, reverence. I see the man who saved me, who held me through nightmares, who never asked for more than I was ready to give.
Now, I am.
His eyes sweep slowly over me, and I feel it—heat blooming low in my belly, nerves alive with anticipation. His silence says everything.
I don’t just want him. I need my Daddy.
And from the way he’s looking at me, I know he needs me too.
He doesn’t say a word at first. He just watches me.
That intense, steady gaze wraps around my body like a touch, and I feel the weight of it—how much he wants me, how much he’s holding back to be sure this is real.
“Daddy,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath.
It’s all he needs.
He crosses the room in a few slow steps, stopping right in front of me. His fingers brush through my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. His touch is soft, reverent, and when he finally speaks, his voice is a low, velvet growl.
“You’re sure?”
I nod, keeping my gaze on his, steady even through the pulse of anticipation thudding in my chest.
“Yes,” I say. “I need this. I need you.”
A beat passes. Then he crouches down, leveling with me, one hand cupping my cheek while the other rests against my chest, feeling my heartbeat.
“You have me, baby girl,” he murmurs. “You always have. And you always will.”
He leans in and kisses me—slow and deep, his lips claiming mine not with desperation, but with devotion. I melt into it, hands clutching his shoulders, and when he pulls back, his thumb traces my lower lip.
“I missed this,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “Me too.”
Then he rises to his full height, towering over me, and the shift in him is palpable. Still Elijah, still my love—but also something more. My Daddy.
“Up,” he says gently but firmly, offering his hand. “Come sit on my lap.”
I stand, and he takes my hand, guiding me onto his lap as he settles into the chair. My legs straddle his thighs, skin against fabric, and I can already feel how hard he is beneath me.
His hands cradle my hips, but his eyes stay on mine.
“I’m going to remind you who you belong to,” he says softly, brushing his mouth over my jaw, “not because I need to prove anything…”
He moves lower, kissing the hollow of my throat, the curve of my shoulder.
“…but because you deserve to feel worshipped. Every inch of you.”
My breath hitches, and I grip him tighter.
“You were never broken, Ava,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to help you remember how powerful you are.”
His hands move up, fingers trailing along my spine, up to my hair, guiding my mouth to his again. His kiss deepens, taking, giving, consuming. And I let it.
Because in this moment, I’m not remembering the pain or the fear or the lost time.
I’m remembering us.
I’m remembering love.
And I know, without a doubt, that I’m safe.
That I’m his.
His hands roam slowly over my back, fingers tracing my spine, grounding me in the now. The air between us thickens with heat and something deeper—need, yes, but also reverence.
Elijah looks up at me, his voice a husky promise.
“Tell me what you want, baby girl.”
“You,” I whisper, already breathless. “All of you.”
He groans softly, gripping my hips, and tilts them forward, grinding me against his hard shaft. The friction draws a gasp from my throat, and I shiver—because it feels like everything I’ve been missing, everything I’ve been aching for.
“I missed the way you melt for me,” he murmurs against my throat, kissing, sucking gently, leaving heat in his wake. “I missed your sounds, your skin… your fire.”
I arch into him, pressing my bare chest against his shirt. “Then take it, Daddy. I’m yours.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest, and he lifts me with ease, standing as he carries me to the bed. He lays me down like I’m something precious, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s anything but gentle tonight. And I don’t want gentle. I want him.
He climbs onto the bed and spreads my thighs with his hands, watching me as if I’m the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.
“I need to taste you,” he says, and his voice is raw. “Need to make you fall apart on my tongue before I do anything else.”
I reach for him, tangled in his hair as he lowers himself between my legs. The first brush of his tongue makes me cry out, my hips lifting off the bed, but his hands hold me in place—firm and loving.
“Easy, baby girl. Let me make it right.”
And he does. Again and again, he builds me up, only to slow down, teasing me to the edge with patience and wicked skill. Every flick of his tongue, every moan that escapes him, tears down another wall I hadn’t even realized I’d built.
When he finally lets me fall, it’s not just my body that shatters—it’s something deeper. Something healing.
He kisses his way back up my body, and when he looks into my eyes again, I see it all: hunger, love, possession.
“You ready for more?” he asks.
I nod, heart racing. “I want all of you, Daddy. I need you inside me.”
He groans like I just said the most sacred prayer and guides himself to my soaked pussy. He doesn’t rush—he never does.
He slides into me slowly, inch by inch, watching every expression cross my face as my body welcomes him home.
We move together, our rhythm unhurried and aching with emotion. His forehead presses to mine, our breath mingling, our hands interlaced beside my head. Every thrust is a promise, every moan a confession.
“I love you,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “So damn much.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back, tears clinging to my lashes. “Always.”
When we fall over the edge together, it’s not just release—it’s rebirth.
We collapse into each other, limbs tangled, chests rising and falling in sync. He holds me close, one hand stroking my hair, the other tracing idle circles on my hip.
“You’re safe, baby girl,” he murmurs.
“You’re mine. And I’ll never stop showing you how loved you are.”
Wrapped in his arms, I believe him.
I believe in us.
***
At some point, sleep claimed me—soft, heavy, and wrapped in the glow of moonlight pouring in through the windows. When I stir awake, it’s to the feeling of being watched, but not with fear—with something electric.
Elijah is in his chair, still, silent, his eyes fixed on me like he hasn’t looked away in hours.
“Elijah,” I murmur, my voice husky from sleep. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, princess,” he replies, his tone low and calm—but threaded with something darker, more primal. Something I know well.
“What are you doing over there?”
“I woke up and saw you… peaceful, glowing.” His gaze drops slowly over my body beneath the sheet. “And all I could think about was claiming you again. Marking you. Over and over.”
I follow his eyes—and then I see it. The outline beneath the soft fabric of his pants. He’s hard. Feral. Barely restrained.
The room seems to tighten around us with the tension.
Without a word, I push the sheet off my body and rise from the bed—completely bare, the evidence of our earlier lovemaking still warm between my thighs. Elijah’s eyes darken, his jaw clenching as a low growl rumbles in his chest.
I walk to him slowly, deliberately, hips swaying with each step. His gaze devours me, and when I stop in front of him, he doesn’t move—only drags his hand up the length of my thigh, then over my hip, tracing the curves he already knows so well.
His fingers brush between my legs, and he inhales sharply.
“So wet for me,” he murmurs. “So mine.”
“All yours,” I whisper, voice trembling with want. “Take what you want from me, Daddy. Please… claim me. Mark me as yours.”
That’s all it takes. Something snaps in him—something hungry.
He grips my hips with strong hands and lifts me like I weigh nothing, setting me straddling his legs. His hands cup my ass, guiding me exactly where he wants me. I gasp as I feel his fingers slip between my folds again, slick and swollen for him, aching.
“You’ll always be ready for me, won’t you?” he says, voice ragged. “This sweet body was made for me.”
“For you,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Only you.”
And then he’s kissing me—deep, demanding, reverent.
“What does my good girl need? Is my princess wet because she wants me to fuck her, hard?”
All I can do is nod, barely able to breathe. His lips crash onto mine in a fierce, consuming kiss that breaks me down and rebuilds me all at once—just like his spanking and soft words of praise do.
“Take me out and ride Daddy's dick. Show me how much you love it when you're full of my cock.”
His words ignite the fire burning deep inside me.
I shift slightly on his lap, and he rises just enough to help me pull down his pajama pants—soft fabric sliding from his powerful body.
As soon as the pants pool around his ankles, he kicks them off with ease, spreading his legs wider.
His knees press gently against mine, opening me up further, a perfect invitation.