Page 38 of Nanny for the Minotaur

Thunder crashes overhead. Without thinking, I steady her with a hand at her waist. She's so small compared to me, yet she fits perfectly against my side. Her quiet inhale tells me she feels this too - this growing thing between us.

Mrs. Bramble catches my eye over her teacup, one eyebrow raised knowingly. I clear my throat and accept the cup Lyra offers, but don't remove my hand from her waist.

The storm rages on, but in here, time seems to slow. Mira sprawls on the carpet with her drawing supplies while Kai reads quietly nearby. Every so often, Lyra shifts slightly, leaning into my touch. Each small movement sends sparks through my palm.

Mrs. Bramble launches into tales of storms past, her stern demeanor melting as she describes the time lightning struck the old oak tree. But I'm only half-listening, too aware of Lyra's warmth against me, the way her fingers occasionally brush mine as she gestures during conversation.

We take dinner in here, too, making it like a picnic. Lyra makes the children laugh as they pretend to hide out in the forest, playing like they are hunting and vanquishing a beast afterward. Once it is finally defeated, she takes the two little warriors to bed, and I retreat to my study, unable to shake the lingering warmth from Lyra's touch. The storm continues its assault, but the sound feels distant now, muted by thick stone walls and racing thoughts.

I stand at the window, watching raindrops trace patterns down the glass. The door creaks open behind me. Her scent reaches me first - healing herbs and honey.

"They're finally asleep," Lyra says. "Even Mira went down without a fight."

I turn. She's silhouetted in the doorway, copper hair falling loose from her braid. My study suddenly feels too small, too intimate. Every step she takes toward me shortens my breath.

"You're good with them." The words come out rougher than intended.

"They make it easy." She stops before me, head tilted back to meet my gaze. Even in the dim light, those green eyes spark with gold. "Though I suspect they get their gentleness from you."

My laugh rumbles deep. "Gentleness isn't a word most would associate with me."

"Most don't look past the surface." Her small hand finds my chest, fingers splaying over my heart. "I do."

That tugs at my heart, tells me that when we've come together each night, it's not just physical for her, either. I am taking every stolen moment I can get, greedy for her to see that she is meant to be right here.

I cup her face in my hands, marveling at how delicate she feels, how her cheeks flush at my touch. When our lips meet, it's different from before - no hesitation, no uncertainty. She rises on her toes as I bend down, our bodies finding that perfect middle ground.

Her fingers tangle in my fur, tugging me closer. I growl against her mouth, backing her against my desk. Papers scatter. She tastes like spiced tea, her small frame pressing against mine with surprising strength.

"Too tall," she murmurs between kisses, nipping at my lower lip.

I lift her onto the desk, bringing us level. "Better?"

She answers by pulling me back to her, legs wrapping around my waist. Her hands trace the silver rings in my horns, sendingshivers down my spine. Each touch speaks volumes - trust, want, understanding.

Rain lashes against the windows, echoing Lyra's soft gasps as I explore her body with a tenderness that surprises even me. Her hands, those small, capable hands that heal and comfort, trace the lines of my muscles, guiding me closer.

I'm a massive beast compared to her, yet she shows no fear. Instead, she pulls me down, her lips finding mine in the dark. Her copper hair spills across my desk, a stark contrast to the faded parchment and worn wood. She tastes like summer rain and herbs, a refreshing change from the stale air of my study.

Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me in. I'm gentle despite my strength, mindful of her size, but she's having none of it. She nips at my lip, her nails digging into my back, urging me on. "Don't hold back," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the thunder. "I won't break."

A growl rumbles deep in my chest as I grasp her hips, pulling her closer. Her dress slides up, revealing smooth, pale skin. I can't help but run my hands over her thighs, marveling at the softness. She's so different from me, from anyone I've ever known. Delicate but strong, like the finest blade.

She arches beneath me, her breath hitching as I trail kisses down her neck. Her fingers tangle in my fur, tugging at the silver rings in my horns. Each touch sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire within me that I've long thought extinguished.

Her dress falls to the floor, a puddle of earth tones against the dark wood. She's beautiful, her slender form a stark contrast to my bulk. Yet, she fits perfectly against me, her curves molding to my hard lines. I can't take my eyes off her, can't stop touching her. Especially when she shoves my tunic off my body and I rip her underwear away.

She reaches up, undoing my lacings so she can shove my pants out of the way. Kissing me, she pulls me down to her.Our bodies align, and I sink into her, slowly, carefully. Her eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping her lips. I still, waiting for her to adjust. But she opens her eyes, meeting my gaze with a fierce intensity. "More," she demands, her voice steady despite the tremble in her body.

I capture her mouth again, swallowing her moans as I grip her hips, pulling her against me with each thrust. She's so responsive, her body arching to meet mine, her breath hitching in a way that drives me wild.

"Theron," she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. The slight pain only spurs me on. I growl, leaning down to nip at her neck, her collarbone, any part of her I can reach. She tastes like salt and sweetness, like desire and desperation.

Her legs tighten around my waist, urging me deeper. I comply, a low groan rumbling in my chest as I feel her tighten around me. Her eyes meet mine, those gold flecks sparkling in the dim light. There's trust there, and want, and something more - something that makes my heart pound in a rhythm that matches my thrusts.

"More," she demands, her voice steadier than her trembling body. I can't help but admire her strength, her resilience. She's not some fragile thing, to be handled with care. She's a force, a power in her own right. And she wants me.

I give her what she wants, driving into her with an intensity that makes her cry out. Her head falls back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. I trace it with my tongue, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin. Her hands find my horns, gripping the silver rings, using them to pull me closer.

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