Ava melts, giggling again, trying to hide it in her cup. And for a little while, everything is simple, just laughter, warmth, and the quiet kind of love that settles into the cracks without asking for permission.
This right here, her in my hoodie, coffee in hand, breakfast at my counter, this is everything I ever wanted and didn’t know I could have.
Chapter twenty-one
Ava
Elijahleansbackonthe sofa, legs spread, his dark eyes locked on me. That look—lazy hunger and complete control—sends heat curling through my stomach.
“C’mere, baby girl,” he murmurs, voice low and firm.
I move toward him, already feeling the shift in energy, breathless before he even touches me.
He pulls me in by the hips until I’m standing between his legs. His fingers slip beneath the hem of his hoodie—his fingers tracing the skin there in slow, lazy circles.
“You remember when you said…” His tone is soft but commanding. “That your body’s mine. That I can have it when, where, and how I want?”
I nod, heat rising in my cheeks.
His hands slide up my thighs, grip tightening just enough to make me shiver. “Then listen carefully,” he says, tilting his head back, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Climb up here and sit on Daddy’s face.”
My breath catches.
The words knock the breath right out of me. My body floods with heat, but then—I freeze.
“I… I can’t,” I whisper, suddenly small in my own skin.
He stills, but only for a heartbeat. Then he looks up at me, brows drawing together—not angry, not impatient. Just focused. Present.
“Why not, baby girl?” His voice is gentle, but there’s steel underneath.
I look away. “I’m… I’m too heavy. What if I hurt you? What if I crush you?”
The silence that follows is immediate and heavy. When I glance back, Elijah is staring at me like I’ve just insulted something sacred.
“You think I’d ask you to do something just to prove a point? That I’d ever let you do something that would actually hurt me or you in any way?” His voice is low, sharp, but not at me. At the thought. At the lie I’ve clearly told myself more than once.
I can’t answer. I just shrug, embarrassed. “You’re strong, I know, but—”
“No.” His hands come up, cupping my hips, grounding me. “You don’t get to shrink yourself for me or for anyone. You don’t have to protect me from your body, Ava. I want all of you. I want you exactly as you are—soft, full, real.”
He leans forward, lifts up the sweatshirt I'm wearing until my panties and stomach are exposed, pressing a kiss low on my stomach, right above where the hem of the hoodie ends.
“I love how you feel,” he whispers. “I love how you look when you come apart for me. And I want you on my face, not because of some fantasy—but because nothing turns me on more than making my girl fall apart in my arms. With my mouth.”
I bite my lip. My legs are trembling now, but not from fear. From pure need.
“I won’t let you fall,” he adds, his voice going softer. “You won’t crush me. But even if you could? What better way to go than with your sweet taste on my tongue giving you pleasure.”
A shaky laugh escapes me—and with it, the last of my resistance.
“Okay,” I breathe.
His grip on my thighs tightens—not rough, but firm. Claiming. Grounding.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His gaze is molten, locked on mine like nothing else in the world exists but the two of us, here, in this moment. He leans in, kissing my inner thigh, just above the edge of my underwear. I shiver—part anticipation, part disbelief that this man can make me feel worshipped just by looking at me.
