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 wanthim.
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 inus.
***
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.
