“I couldn’t stop watching you,” he says, his thumb brushing the bare skin just above my waistband. “Every time you laughed, it was like I forgot how to breathe.”
My heart lurches.
“Eli…” I breathe his name like it’s the only truth I know. “I don’t know what you see in me.”
His brows furrow, eyes dark and intent. “Everything. I see everything. I see you trying to shrink yourself when you should take up the whole damn room. I see the way you care, how fiercely you protect the people you love. I see the way you look at me like I’m something worth holding onto—when it’s me who’s been holding onto you for four damn years.”
I blink, startled. “That long huh?”
He nods, stepping closer, like the air between us is too much. “Yeah, Ava. Since the day I helped you open your bookstore door and saw that spark in your eyes. You asked me what kind of inkI’d give a fictional character, and I knew right then—you were going to ruin me.”
I laugh—quiet and shaky—and press my forehead to his chest. He wraps his arms around me without hesitation, anchoring me to something steady.
“You didn’t seem ruined,” I murmur.
“I am. But the good kind. The kind that rebuilds you better.”
His lips brush the top of my head, then lower to my temple. “You want to get out of here?”
I look up at him, and the answer is so easy.
“Yes,” I whisper. “With you? Always.”
He slips his hand into mine, fingers curling tightly around mine like a lifeline. We weave back through the crowd, eyes occasionally meeting with that secret smile that says we’re stealing away from everything else for just a little while.
Outside, the cool night air feels like a balm, crisp and clean. Elijah pulls me close under the glow of the streetlamp, his breath warm against my cheek.
“Where to?” I ask, heart hammering in a way that’s both exciting and calm.
“Your place?” he says simply, voice low and sure.
I nod, and we walk in silence, the city around us fading until it’s just the two of us.
At my apartment, Elijah pauses, looking at me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
We move inside, the world shrinking to soft touches and whispered words. Elijah doesn’t push—he’s patient, adoring, every motion a prayer for my comfort and pleasure.
Time blurs as he traces the lines of my body, lips leaving trails of heat and tenderness, his hands gentle yet sure.
I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the sensation of being seen, cherished, wanted—not rushed or pressured, just loved.
The night stretches around us, a cocoon of softness and slow discovery.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel safe enough to let go.
The night settles deep around us, but something stirs inside me—a quiet, daring urge that I haven’t let myself feel in a long time. Elijah’s lips trail down my neck, his breath hot and steady, and suddenly I want more than just to be touched. I want to taste him.
I shift slightly, looking up at him with a hesitant smile. His eyes meet mine, dark and curious.
“Can I?” I whisper, my voice barely a breath.
He nods, fingers tangling in my hair, giving me permission without a word.
I lean in, letting my lips brush against his skin—soft, warm, intoxicating. I trace the curve of his jaw, feeling the subtle roughness of his stubble beneath my tongue.
His breath hitches, and he closes his eyes, leaning into me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.
I move slower now, exploring, tasting every inch I can reach. It’s not about hurry or urgency—it’s about connection, about worshiping him the way he worships me.
