Chapter 7
The house had never felt so alive.
For the first time in what felt like forever, every single person seemed to loosen their grip on the constant tension that had been suffocating them.
Music pulsed faintly from Barnaby’s speakers, a rhythm that lifted the atmosphere.
He was in his element, darting around the room with a plate of snacks in one hand and a drink in the other, laughing louder than anyone else.
Nick tried to outdo him by dragging Sam into an awkward twirl, nearly spilling her wine, while Sam muttered half-hearted curses through the smirk tugging her lips.
Even Mary looked lighter, watching the younger ones with something soft in her eyes.
Mandy and Erin sat close together, the little girl giggling as she taught Damien how to plait her hair, his large fingers fumbling hopelessly with the strands until Erin snatched the ribbon back and fixed it herself with a triumphant huff.
The room buzzed with warmth and life. The smell of food lingered, plates piled high with cheeses, breads, cured meats, and fruit, an easy spread that encouraged hands to reach, share, pass things around without thought. For once, the heavy cloud of war or danger seemed far away.
Lucy let herself soak it in, her glass cool between her fingers as she leaned back, watching her strange, wonderful family laugh and bicker like it was any other night. ‘So, this is normal’ she muttered to herself.
Byron came up behind her, sliding a hand around her waist, drawing her effortlessly into the centre of the room.
Without asking, he turned her gently until they were face to face, his movements were slow and deliberate.
The music was not exactly meant for dancing, but he did not seem to care.
He pulled her closer, swaying lazily with her in his arms.
“Things will get better,” he bent to whisper in her ear, his breath making her tingle.
Lucy smirked faintly, tilting her head back to look at him. You don’t need to whisper to me, Byron… we can talk like this. She let the thought drift into his mind.
His lips curved in the faintest grin, amused by how natural their telepathic bond had become.
He spun her lightly before steering her toward the edge of the room, away from the laughter, the warmth, the clinking of glasses. She was a little dizzy, whether from the alcohol or the way he held her, she wasn’t sure.
Byron released her hand and moved toward the long table where the food still lay untouched. He didn’t look back, but his voice threaded firmly into her head, sharper this time. Say goodnight to your family and new friends.
She blinked, thrown by the sudden shift in tone. Why?
His voice pressed harder, commanding now. It’s time I put you to sleep. In fact, go shower first.
Her pulse quickened at the weight of his authority; at the way, his words rumbled through her mind like chains wrapping tight. She bit her bottom lip, torn between protest and surrender.
Now, Lucy. His tone left no room for argument.
Her cheeks flushed, but she obeyed, turning back toward the group with a small, almost sheepish smile. She murmured her goodnights, offering a final lingering glance toward Byron. His back was still turned, his shoulders stiff and unmoving as though daring her not to listen.
Lucy entered her room and closed the door behind her, the muffled laughter and music from downstairs fading into silence.
She leaned against the wood for a moment, heart still thudding from the way Byron’s voice had filled her head.
The command still lingered, pulsing through her like an echo she could not shake.
She walked towards the bathroom and started to run the water; steam started to fog the mirror as the shower hissed.
She slipped out of her clothes, skin prickling under the cool air, and stepped beneath the heat of the water.
It cascaded over her, sliding down her shoulders, her chest, etching its ways down to her feet.
Her breath caught when his voice slithered back into her mind. Are you wet?
Her knees trembled under the weight of his words. She braced her palms against the tiled wall, her body arching forward instinctively.
Higher, Byron growled. Arms up. Higher. And spread your legs. Don’t you dare fucking move.
Her fingers pressed harder against the tiles, her arms stretching above her head as her thighs shifted apart. The water beat down on her, but it was not what made her shiver. It was him. The way he owned her without even being in the room.
The faint click of the bathroom door barely registered over the rush of the shower.
She was too caught in the command, too lost in the fire burning under her skin.
Then, warm hands. Strong. Sliding along her thighs, prying them wider.
Her gasp tangled when he started to kiss her lower back gently before turning her sharply, and suddenly she was staring down at him, his eyes locked on hers, fierce and unyielding.
His mouth started to kiss her clit, causing her to shake and bend “Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against her as his lips dragged fire from her body.
She cried out, begging, pleading, but his grip tightened, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
“Close that fucking mouth,” he warned darkly, lifting his gaze back to hers, “before I find another way to fill it.”
Not giving her a chance to think about what was going to happen next.
he quickly turned her and shoved his thick hard cock straight inside her.
Are you my good girl Lucy? She could only say Yes, yes what Lucy!
! he continued to thrust hard, pushing himself in deeper, squeezing her breast “Yes Daddy” She yelled.
“This is what you wanted right? You wanted it from the back, yes?” “Yes, Byron this is what I wanted” He held her by the throat, his voice turned dark “say thank you” Lucy giggled, “thank you?” almost sounding like a question, her rude attitude forced Byron to correct her by thrusting harder, don't make me mad, Lucy!
Say thank you. He forced the thought loudly into her mind, as he gripped her breast pounding her harder say thank you lucy, she tried her hardest to resist but as soon as she said thank you, he exploded inside of her causing her to crumble into his huge arms. “Take me to bed” she whispered as he whisked her out of the shower
The world tilted, the steam, the water, the ache—all of it fading into what he unleashed in her. And when he finally laid her on the bed, she barely had time to breathe before he claimed her fully, without hesitation and without mercy.
Chapter 7
Morning found them wrapped in each other's arms in a bubble of silence. Pale light slipped through the curtains and pooled over the bed in slow, golden strokes. Lucy lay on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other caught beneath Byron’s palm where he’d trapped it in his sleep and refused to let go.
His breath warmed the back of her neck. Every now and then, his thumb made a lazy circle against her skin, as if even in dreaming he was reminding her she was here, and his, and safe.
She stirred and turned towards him, a few minutes passed, you’re staring at me, he sent, the thought drifting across the thin space between them.
I was counting your eyelashes, she sent back, smiling against the pillow.
How many do I have? His eyes still closed.
Too many. I'm jealous that I have so little, she giggled.
A knock at the door broke the chain of thought, two light taps and then silence. “Breakfast in twenty,” came Mary’s voice. “And Lucy, don’t dawdle.”
Lucy rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “She knows me too well.”
Then, with the lazy arrogance of someone who would like nothing more than to keep her in bed all day, he added, “Skip breakfast.”
“Tempting,” she said, “but you know Mary, if she says twenty minutes, she means twenty minutes.”
He tilted his head. I can be very persuasive.
She shook hers whilst saying, I noticed.
Then she slid under the sheet, grabbed his dick, and gave it a gentle kiss, he shivered and tried to grab her as she slid out from underneath and padded to the bathroom.
He Grumbled, “Why did you do that” as he started to gently stroke his now hard dick.
“You’ve started something you need to finish.
” As she closed the bathroom door, she shouted “Sure, lets tell Mary we are late for breakfast because you wanted to play hide the snake in the grass” He was quick with his response, “be careful Lucy, my snake bites, and I don't think you can handle how deep my venom goes” She burst out laughing, he was so quick witted at times, that she never could provide a comeback quick enough.
Downstairs, Mary towered over the stove like a queen at her altar, long fingers working with effortless grace: eggs, tomatoes blistered in a pan, toast lined like soldiers. Mandy hovered nearby, shoulders more relaxed than last night, though the relief made her look suddenly, profoundly tired.
They all ate together, properly together, the table crowded with hands reaching and passing, Erin sat tucked between Lucy and Mandy; every few minutes the girl’s fingers brushed Lucy’s wrist, and tiny violet blooms snuck out of the herb pot on the windowsill in response.
Mandy pretended not to notice the way Lucy’s presence amplified the room: plants perking, light sharpening at the edges, everyone’s breaths syncing without anyone agreeing to do so. It was quite extraordinary.