His hands slide up my thighs slowly, warm through the fabric of my leggings. “Take these off, baby,” he murmurs. “And then come right back here.”
I do, without hesitation.
Because I trust him.
Because this—being led, being cared for—this is where I feel strongest.
When I return, Elijah’s waiting on the couch just like before, but something in him has shifted. I can feel it in the way he looks at me. He crooks a finger, and I step forward, slipping back into his lap, this time bare from the waist down.
His hand cups the back of my neck. “Good girl,” he says again. “Daddy’s got you.”
And I melt.
His mouth moves along my jaw, trailing down to the sensitive spot beneath my ear. Every kiss, every touch, draws me deeper into the space we’ve created between us—a space where I get to surrender, and still be strong.
A space where I am entirely his. I feel his breath warm against my skin, the subtle pressure of his lips grazing my neck, a quiet invitation that stirs something deep inside me. Every kiss is patient, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the curve of me, learning every inch with reverence.
His hands move from my neck down my back, steady and sure, sliding beneath my shirt to feel my bare skin. Goosebumps rise where his fingers trace, slow and worshipful. I close my eyes, letting his touch wash away the last of the tension from earlier—the sharp edges George left behind.
“You’re mine baby,” Elijah whispers, voice low, a rumble vibrating through my chest. “All of you.”
The words settle like a balm, and I nod, trusting him completely. The world outside ceases to exist.
His hands explore further, sliding to my hips, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the weight of his desire through the fabric of his shirt, the heat pooling between us like a secret promise.
“Elijah…” My voice is soft, trembling with need.
He cups my face, thumb brushing my lips. “Shhh. No need to say anything. Just feel.”
I lean in, parting my lips, and he kisses me—slow and deep, coaxing the breath from my lungs. The heat of his mouth against mine makes my knees weak, but I stay grounded in the moment, letting myself be completely undone.
His hands slide under my shirt again, fingers threading through the hem as he lifts it over my head, revealing my skin tothe cool air of the room—and to him. I shiver, not from cold but from the electric awareness of being seen.
He’s careful, patient, but there’s a hunger there too—a controlled fire that promises so much more.
His palms press warm and firm along my ribs, down to my waist, giving me time to savor every moment. He pulls me closer, fingers tracing the curve of my hips, the soft skin of my thighs.
“Elijah…” I whisper again, breathless.
He silences me with another kiss—this one deeper, more urgent—his hands steady but commanding as they roam, grounding me, holding me.
I’m burning, aching for more, but also safe. So safe.
“Tonight,” he says softly against my lips, “you’re not just my girl. You’re my princess. And I’m going to show you exactly how much you’re loved.”
I nod, heart pounding, ready to follow wherever he leads.
His hands guide me down onto the couch, and the rest of the world falls away as we begin to explore each other—slow, deliberate, a dance of trust and desire, where every touch says,I see you. I want you. I cherish you.
Elijah kneels in front of me, the soft glow of the lamp casting golden light over his features. His eyes meet mine—steady, unwavering—and something in my chest loosens.
He touches me like I’m something rare, something fragile and powerful all at once. His fingers trail from my knee up the inside of my thigh, his palm warm and wide. My breath stutters, but he’s not rushing. Never rushing.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I do. And the way he’s looking at me—it’s not just hunger. It’s reverence. Like I’m the only thing in the world worth holding onto.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” he whispers, brushing a kiss against my inner thigh. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you how safe you are.”
