Chapter 15 Elior #2
I shouldn’t be meeting Jace during the day.
Father would be furious if he knew.
But Father was already furious.
And the image of Marin—kneeling, crying, her hair falling like wheat being cut down—wouldn’t leave me.
My chest tightened painfully. I pressed my hands to my eyes. “Light preserve us…”
Footsteps sounded in the chapel—purposeful and familiar. My breath hitched as I waited.
A heartbeat later, the door to my rooms opened just enough for him to slip in. Jace moved quickly, closing it behind him before coming back to my bedroom.
For a moment, he didn’t speak.
He just looked at me.
“You okay?” he murmured.
The strangest thing happened then. My throat closed up, like the answer—no, I’m not okay—was too big to fit out of me.
I nodded instead, because it was easier. Because I’d spent my whole life pretending.
But my hands, still trembling in my lap, betrayed me.
Jace’s eyes flicked to them. A muscle in his jaw ticked.
He crossed the room in three strides and dropped to a crouch in front of me—not touching, not pushing, just close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
I breathed in—and breathed out.
“What do you need from me, cherub?” he asked, bringing his hands up to rest on my thighs. My toes curled from just that small touch.
“Can you just stay and talk for a few minutes?”
Jace’s hands stilled on my thighs, warm and steady. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I can do that. I’m right here, baby.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
The room felt too small, too quiet, like every thought I’d been trying to avoid had finally cornered me.
I shifted back on the bed, and Jace took the silent invitation, rising and sitting beside me instead of kneeling on the floor.
The mattress dipped under his weight, and a moment later, his arm brushed mine.
He angled himself toward me. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. My voice sounded thin. “Just… something. Something to get my mind off everything.”
Jace nodded like he understood exactly what everything meant.
I swallowed hard, a minute passing as I thought of something. I softly asked, licking my lips, “Can you… explain more about that… the thing you told me about? The Daddy thing?”
Jace blinked, surprised. “Yeah? You want to talk about that now?”
Heat rose to my cheeks, but I nodded. “You said you’d tell me more. I just… I keep thinking about it.”
Jace hesitated only a moment before he shifted closer, his thigh pressing against mine. The contact wasn’t demanding; it was reassuring.
“Okay,” he said, voice low. “We can talk about it.”
I let myself lean slightly into him, just enough that our shoulders touched. He didn’t say anything about it. He only adjusted so it felt natural—like he’d expected me to soften against him.
“So,” he began slowly, “a Daddy-boy relationship… it’s not about age. Or power in the way you’d think. It’s not just about being in charge all the time. It’s about caretaking too.”
“Caretaking?” I echoed.
“Yeah.” His voice warmed, deepened. “It’s about one person wanting to protect the other. Look after them. Make sure they’re okay. It’s about trust. About comfort.” He paused, then added softly, “It’s about giving someone a safe place to fall apart.”
My breath caught, because the words felt too close—too much like exactly what I wanted but didn’t know how to ask for.
Jace continued, “A Daddy looks out for his boy. Guides him.” He glanced at me then, eyes gentle. “Sometimes that includes rules or structure, but it’s supposed to feel supportive. Not mean or cruel.”
Not like Father, he meant. My chest ached.
“So it’s… like being cared for,” I murmured. “On purpose.”
“On purpose,” Jace repeated. “That’s the important part.”
I shifted again, just a little, and this time Jace moved with me, his arm lifting in silent question.
I nodded.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, giving me every chance to pull away. But I didn’t. I leaned in until my head rested against his chest. His robe was warm from the sun, and his heartbeat thumped solidly beneath my ear.
My whole body loosened with a soft exhale.
“You doing okay?” he asked, his hand sliding up to rest at the back of my neck, his thumb brushing a faint arc over my skin.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. It was the truest thing I’d said all day. “But this helps.”
His hold tightened a fraction. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s what I’m here for.”
We stayed like that—quiet and breathing in sync—until the trembling in my hands finally stilled.
* * *
A few hours later, Jace slipped into my rooms as quietly as he always did, closing the door behind him without a sound.
But the moment he crossed the threshold, something in me relaxed.
I didn’t have to pretend with him. I didn’t have to hold myself perfectly still, perfectly pure, perfectly obedient.
I could just… breathe.
We ended up on my bed without really discussing it—just a wordless understanding, like we both needed closeness after the day we’d had.
I lay on my side, and Jace stretched out behind me, his chest warm against my back, his arm resting loosely around my waist. We hadn’t been able to lie like this earlier, too worried about being caught, but now I was able to indulge in it.
His breath stirred the back of my neck, and I sank into him without hesitation.
I wasn’t fighting myself anymore.
For years, Father had preached that my body wasn’t my own, that touch was dangerous, that affection was a weakness that led to sin. Even when Father himself touched me, I felt that flicker of shame, like I shouldn’t enjoy it too much.
But now, with Jace’s arm draped around me and his fingers tracing quiet shapes along my hip, I didn’t feel sinful.
I felt… happy.
“I’m not crushing you, am I?” Jace asked softly, his lips close enough that his words brushed my skin.
“No,” I murmured. “You’re not.”
Truthfully, I wanted him even closer. I wanted his breath on my neck, his hand on my chest, his weight anchoring me to the bed so I wouldn’t float away the way my thoughts always tried to.
I curled back into him a little, testing my courage.
Jace gathered me in without question, pulling me tighter against him. His leg slid between mine, his arm around my waist firming, and I let out a breath.
“I like this,” I whispered.
Jace’s voice came lower now. “Yeah?”
I nodded, my cheek brushing the pillow. “I didn’t think I would. Before. I always thought touching someone would feel… wrong.”
“Does it?” he asked, his thumb stroking a small circle against my stomach through the thin fabric of my robe.
“No,” I said, and the truth felt almost dizzying. “It feels… safe.”
He pressed his forehead lightly to the back of my head, exhaling slowly. “Good,” he murmured. “How’s your back? I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”
“It’s fine. It aches a little, but I don’t want you to go.”
I closed my eyes. I could still see flashes of the courtyard, Marin crying, Father’s hand gripping her hair.
His voice echoed in my skull.
Temptation.
Vanity.
Sin.
Purity.
But Jace’s body around mine muted those echoes, softened it all.
“Jace?” I said quietly.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t think…” I hesitated, curling my fingers around the hand he’d left resting on my stomach. “I don’t think touching you is sinful.”
His breath hitched. Barely—a small sound, but I felt it. Right against my spine.
“Elior,” he murmured, voice suddenly thick.
“Thank you for teaching me that,” I whispered. “Father—Father was wrong,” I added, the words so soft I almost didn’t hear them myself.
Jace’s grip tightened just slightly—not enough to startle me, but enough to let me know he’d heard every syllable.
“I know,” he said. “And I’m going to keep proving it to you. Every time you want this… every time you want me close… you’ll see.”
I turned in his arms slowly until I was facing him. The motion was clumsy—we bumped knees, and his hand slid awkwardly down my side—but Jace just smiled softly, helping guide me until I was tucked against him, forehead near his throat.
His arms wrapped around me again, cocooning me in his warmth. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”
“Me too,” I murmured.
His hand drifted up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading gently into my hair.
“My brave boy,” he purred, scratching lightly at my scalp.
I leaned into the feeling, and when a certain word came to mind, I let it free. “Daddy.”
Jace’s pupils expanded, and he groaned, “Say it again.”
I gulped. “D-Daddy.”
The sound that left Jace’s throat when I said it was low and rough and nothing like the careful, gentle voice he normally used with me. His fingers slid a little deeper into my hair, tugging and holding me close but not trapping me. I could’ve pulled away at any moment, but I didn’t want to.
He leaned his forehead against mine, breathing unsteadily. “Elior… baby, you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I do,” I whispered. My hands had found the front of his shirt without me noticing, clutching the fabric lightly. “I… I feel it.”
Jace let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah? What do you feel?”
“You,” I breathed. “Everywhere.”
His thumb traced the curve of my cheek. “Come here.”
I did.
Our lips brushed—not quite a kiss at first, more like the idea of one, the anticipation humming warm and sweet between us. Jace’s nose bumped mine softly. His breath caught. Then, with a quiet groan, he closed the distance.
The kiss was gentle at first, barely any pressure, just the warmth of his mouth against mine. I melted instantly. Every muscle in my body loosened as I grabbed the front of his shirt tighter, pulling him close without realizing it.
“My little cherub,” he murmured against my lips. “Every inch of your body tastes like the sweetest fucking ambrosia. It’s goddamn addicting.”