I nod, too breathless to speak.
His hand grazes between my legs, cupping me over the thin lace of my panties. The heat there is unbearable now, and I arch toward him instinctively. He presses just enough to make me gasp, but not enough to satisfy me. He’s teasing. Testing. Building.
“Elijah…”
“I’ve got you.” His voice is a promise.
He eases my panties down slowly, dragging them over my thighs. I tremble as cool air hits my skin, but it’s the intensity of his gaze that makes me feel completely bare.
“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the slick heat between my legs. I moan—quiet, desperate—and he smiles, low and soft. “That’s my good girl.”
When his tongue replaces his fingers, I cry out, my hand flying to his shoulder for balance. He doesn’t stop. He works me open slowly, methodically, like he’s studying every reaction, every sound. My legs start to shake as he laps at me, slow and deep, and he hums with satisfaction when I gasp his name again.
“I love the way you taste,” he murmurs against me, voice rough. “Love making you fall apart like this.”
“Elijah—please…Daddy…”
He rises then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with heat. “I know, baby. You need more.”
I reach for him, needing the weight of his body, needing the grounding only he can give. He kisses me hard now, tasting me on his tongue, and I melt into him completely.
“Lie back,” he says, voice firm but gentle. “I want to see all of you.”
I do, trembling under his gaze as he stands to undress. He’s slow with himself too, as if every layer he removes is another step closer to something sacred.
And when he finally presses over me, skin to skin, I feel everything. The weight of him, the warmth, the connection that starts deep in my belly and stretches outward like light.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he breathes, sliding inside me inch by inch. “So wet. So tight. So fucking mine.”
I gasp, the stretch delicious, filling. He stays still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, letting me adjust. Our breaths sync, hearts racing in rhythm.
Then he begins to move, slow at first, rolling his hips against mine with unrelenting tenderness. Each thrust is deliberate, coaxing pleasure from the deepest parts of me.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers again. “You’re safe. You’re perfect. Let go for me, baby.”
And I do.
My climax builds like a tide, unstoppable, sweeping me under. I cry out, clinging to him, every nerve ending alive, trembling as I fall apart around him. He follows moments later, groaning my name as he presses deep, holding me through it.
When it’s over, he doesn’t pull away. He wraps me in his arms, lips pressed to my hair, his body a shield around mine.
“You’re everything,” he whispers. “You don’t even know.”
And in the quiet after, tangled together on the couch in the soft light of our little world, I believe him.
My limbs feel like water—boneless, weightless—but it’s not exhaustion in a bad way. It’s release. Like something heavy I’ve been carrying has finally slipped free.
Elijah doesn’t move away, not really. He shifts just enough to keep from crushing me, but he’s still there, surrounding me with warmth. His arms curl around me, and he kisses my forehead,my cheeks, the corner of my mouth, like he’s gathering me back together one soft press at a time.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, still catching my breath, my fingers clutching at his back. “Yeah. I’m… good. Really good.”
He smiles against my skin, and his hand strokes slowly down my spine. “Color?”
“Green.” I nuzzle into him. “Still green.”
He pulls the blanket up around us and tucks me into his chest like I’m something precious. I feel the soft brush of his fingers combing through my hair, and the low rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek.
