Eva came to me, her brow furrowed.
“I’d like you to make me a macchiato,” I said.
Her eyes widened, and then her breath caught.
“Alek?”
“Sir,” I corrected, gently cupping her cheek. “Would you do that for me, please?”
Her tongue poked out between her lips, and she licked them. Some of the frantic energy bled out of her as she processed what I was asking for—the ritual, the structure, a concrete task that would give her mind something to focus on besides her fear.
“Yeah,” she breathed. “I can do that.”
I leaned against the counter and watched her work.
She found the espresso beans in the cupboard then measured them into the grinder. The sound of grinding beans filled the kitchen, familiar and domestic and achingly intimate, given our history. She pulled milk from the fridge and heated it with the frother, each step of the process bleeding the tension out of her.
“Such a good girl for me,” I murmured as she tamped the grounds with exactly the right pressure.
She glanced at me over her shoulder, and the vulnerability in her expression made my chest ache. She wanted my approval and my praise during this simple ritual while everything else in her life was chaos and danger.
I could give her what she needed, what she’d always needed from me—a safe place to willingly surrender control so that she could be a force of nature in the rest of her life.
With steady hands, she pulled the shot and poured the milk, creating the perfect ratio of espresso to steamed milk that made a proper macchiato. When she turned to bring it to me, I saw the question in her eyes.
I nodded toward the floor.
She knelt without hesitation, and my chest cracked open.
I had to close my eyes for a second and breathe through the weight of her trust, offered up again after I'd broken it so thoroughly. She shouldn't trust me with this, not after I'd weaponized her submission to take revenge against her father then derided her for protecting him. Yet, here she was, kneeling at my feet, the cup held steady in her hands, even though I could see the slight tremor in her wrists.
This beautiful woman was exhausted and terrified, still fighting, still investigating, still putting herself at risk to protect her father. Here, now, kneeling at my feet with a cup of coffee held up as an offering, she could let all that go for just a moment.
I wanted her. My body responded to the sight of her kneeling, to the submission in every line of her body, to the trust in her eyes. I could take her to bed right now. She’d let me. She needed the release.
That wasn’t what this was about. It couldn’t be.
She needed steadiness, not my desire. She needed me tohold space where she could break, not take something for myself.
I took the cup from her hands and sipped it before setting it on the counter behind me, sliding my fingers into her curls.
“You did well today, baby girl,” I said quietly, and I wasn’t talking about the coffee.
Her eyes closed, and she leaned into my touch like a woman starved.
“You’re so fucking brave,” I continued, my voice low and steady, combing my fingers through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. “So strong. So capable.”
She made a small sound, not quite a sob, and I felt the trembling start in her shoulders. Her fingers curled into my thighs, gripping tight. She’d been holding herself together for days, for weeks, and now, finally, she was allowing herself to fall apart, just a little.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, my hand gentle in her hair. “You’re safe here. I promise.”
The trembling intensified, her whole body shaking with the release of adrenaline and fear and exhaustion. I knelt in front of her, gathered her into my arms, and let her collapse against my chest.
She needed an anchor, solid and steady, someone who would be here when she came home from the battle, who would hold her while she processed what she’d learned and what it might cost her, who believed in her strength even when she was too exhausted to believe in it herself.
The understanding settled into my bones with grief and relief in equal measure. This was what dominance actually meant with Eva, the certainty that I would be here, steady and solid, no matter what path she walked.
She took one shuddering breath, and another, thenanother, as I held her tightly. My own hands shook, trembling with the fear of losing her, the possibility that I could fuck this up again. I pressed my face into her hair and tightened my arms against her waist.
