“Uh huh,” he says, sliding a finger under the spine and tugging it from my hands. “Let me guess. Hot guy with tattoos. Growly. Overprotective. And she calls him… what, exactly?”
I try not to squirm. “You read too much into things.” I try to deflect, no news here.
He skims a page, eyes flicking across the text. Then he stops. His mouth curves.
“Daddy, huh?”
I glare at him, but I’m smiling, caught.
Elijah tosses the book on the coffee table and sinks down onto the couch beside me. “Didn’t know that was your thing.”
“It’s not,” I say. Then I pause. “I don’t know. Maybe it is? I’m curious.” The strings of words just keep coming out of my mouth.
His hand finds my thigh, squeezing gently. “You nervous to say it?” I look at him—his inked forearms, his cocky smirk, the way he always watches me like I’m his whole galaxy, and I'm only capable of nodding.
“Give it a try then” - he encourages me.
“Come on, try it, it's okay. Try it and see how you feel when you say it, when you say it to me.” His voice is calm, without a hint of judgment.
And I try it.
“Daddy,” I say softly, the word like velvet in my throat.
Something snaps behind his eyes. He exhales like he’s just been punched in the gut—in the best way.
“Oh fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent.
I shift toward him, bolder now. “You like that?”
His grip tightens. “Ava. Say that again, and I won’t be responsible for what happens tonight.”
Apparently, I have an inner brat. It’s the only explanation for why the next words out of my mouth are:
“Please, Daddy…” I whisper my gaze slightly lowered in submission
He groans, dragging me into his lap, and suddenly his mouth is on mine—hot, claiming, starving. His hands find my hips, my waist, sliding under the dress I sometimes wear at home, with that rough gentleness that ruins me.
His lips hover just above mine, breath warm, teasing. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint. “All that sweet little sass—and now this?”
I arch into him, fingers gripping his shirt. “You’re the one who told me to say it.”
“Yeah,” he growls, “but I didn’t know it would sound so sinful on your lips.”
He dips his head, mouth brushing along my jaw, down the side of my neck, slow and deliberate. I shiver beneath him, every nerve awake and waiting. His hand slides under my thigh, lifting, guiding, until I’m straddling his lap.
“You’re dangerous like this,” he murmurs against my skin. “All flushed and curious and looking at me like I might be your next chapter.”
I grin, breathless. “That depends—do you like happy endings?”
He laughs, low and wicked. “Baby, I'll write us one. We will write one together.”
Then his hands are on my hips, gripping tight, guiding the slow grind of my body against his. I can feel him—hard, restrained, holding back like he’s determined to savor this. His mouth crashes into mine again, messier now, hungrier, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise and a dare all at once.
I gasp against him as he pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes again. “You still okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, breath hitching. “More than okay.”
His eyes darken, and his voice drops an octave—slow, commanding, lethal.
