I nod—but it’s shaky. “I don’t want to be scared.”
“I know.” He moves his hands, one to my knee, the other cupping the side of my face. “But being scared doesn’t make you weak, Ava. It makes you human. And still, you walked into that room and stood your ground. That was strength.”
“I hated showing them the photo.” The words tumble out. “That moment… that was ours. I didn’t want to share it. But I get it. I do. It just—”
“Felt like a violation?” he finishes for me. His thumb rubs a slow circle on my skin.
I nod again, tears suddenly burning behind my eyes.
“I never wanted anyone to see you like that,” he says, voice rougher now. “Not because I’m ashamed—God, no. Because that’smine. Your surrender. Your trust. It’s sacred. It’s ours.”
“I know.”
He leans in and presses his forehead to mine. “You said yes to that moment. You trusted me. And when I asked you to share it—for your safety—you said yes again. That’s not just brave. That’s fucking extraordinary.”
A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek. He kisses it away.
“I trust you, Daddy,” I whisper.
“I know, baby.” His hand slides around to cradle the back of my head. “And I won’t forget what you gave me tonight. What you gavethem. But that part of us? It’s still just ours. No photo, no threat, no ghost from your past can touch what we’re building.”
His kiss is slow, grounding. Not claiming—anchoring.
And when he pulls me into his lap and wraps his arms around me, I let myself melt there. Safe. Protected.Loved.
“I’ve got you, baby girl” he murmurs against my hair. “Always.”
And this time, I believe it down to the marrow of my bones.
His arms stay around me, firm and unyielding, and I sink deeper into his chest, the steady beat of his heart syncing with mine. For a long while, we just breathe together, the hush of the house wrapping around us like a blanket.
Then I feel it—the subtle shift in him. The way his hands start to move, not urgent, just intentional. One drifts up my back, the other cups my cheek again, tilting my face to look at him. His eyes are darker now, but soft. Always soft for me.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispers.
I nod before I even fully process the words. Because I know what he means. Not just sex.Care.Connection. Healing through the way we touch, the way we give ourselves to each other.
He stands, cradling me in his arms like I weigh nothing, and carries me to the bedroom. The moment he lays me down, he doesn’t reach for my clothes—he reaches forme, climbing into bed and hovering over me, our eyes locked.
“Elijah,” I breathe.
“Shhh,” he soothes. “Let Daddy remind you that you’re mine. That you’re safe.”
His kiss is gentle at first, brushing over my lips like a promise. Then it deepens—slow, deliberate, consuming me in the way only he can. His fingers slide under the hem of my shirt, skimming the bare skin of my waist, and I arch into his touch, craving more.
He undresses me slowly, reverently. Every movement is a caress, every glance a worship. When he peels away my clothes, he does it like I’m a gift he’s unwrapping, one he’s still amazed he gets to keep.
I reach for his shirt, and he lets me take it off, baring the body I know so well, the ink I’ve traced a hundred times with my fingers and tongue. But it’s his eyes I’m drawn to—how they hold me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
He settles between my thighs, pressing a kiss to my collarbone, then lower. His hands are everywhere, grounding me, coaxing the tension from my body one touch at a time.
When he finally enters me, it’s with a slow, careful thrust that makes us both exhale—him with a low groan, me with a broken whimper. He doesn’t rush. He moves with purpose, rocking into me like he’s trying to etch himself into every part of me.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, brushing my hair from my face.
I do. And what I see there undoes me.
Not just lust. Love. Devotion. Fierce protectiveness.
