Page 39 of Nanny for the Minotaur

"Yes," she hisses, her body moving in sync with mine. We're a tangle of limbs and need, a dance of give and take. I can feel her heart pounding, can see the flush spreading across her chest. She's close, so close.

I slow down, wanting to draw this out, to make it last. But she won't have it. She pulls me closer, her gaze locked onto mine. "Don't stop," she pants. "Don't you dare stop."

I can't deny her. Can't deny myself. I thrust deeper, harder, faster. Our bodies collide with a force that should hurt, but it only sends waves of pleasure crashing through me. I can feel her tightening, can see the tension coiling in her body.

"Come for me, Lyra," I growl, my voice barely recognizable. "Let go."

And she does. With a cry that echoes through the room, she arches against me, her body convulsing around mine. It's enough to send me over the edge. I bury my face in her neck, muffling my roar as I find my release.

We stay like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her heartbeat echoes mine, a wild, frantic rhythm that slowly starts to steady. I lift my head, finding her gaze. Her eyes are soft, sated, but there's a spark there, a warmth that I want to wrap myself in.

Not wanting to let her go, I gather Lyra in my arms, her small form light against my chest, and carry her to the leather couch by the fire. Her copper hair spills across my fur as I settle us both down, careful not to jostle her. The flames have died to embers, casting a soft glow that catches the gold flecks in her half-lidded eyes.

"Stay," she murmurs, fingers curling into my fur as I try to reach for a blanket. We usually go to our separate rooms after, but it's like she said, today is a good day for breaking routine.

"I'm not going anywhere." I pull her closer instead, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. Her head tucks under my chin, her breath warm against my chest.

The storm rages on outside, but in here, wrapped in each other's warmth, it feels distant. Like thunder from anotherworld. Lyra's fingers trace idle patterns through my fur, each touch both soothing and electric.

"Your heart's still racing," she whispers, pressing her palm flat against my chest.

I rumble a laugh. "You tend to have that effect."

She shifts, looking up at me with those striking green eyes. No fear, no hesitation - just that quiet strength that drew me to her from the start. "Good." Her smile holds a hint of mischief before she settles back against me.

My arm drapes over her waist, engulfing her smaller frame. But she doesn't seem to mind being surrounded by me. If anything, she presses closer, tangling her legs with mine. The contrast of her soft skin against my coarse fur should feel strange, but instead it feels right. Like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

Rain drums against the windows, a steady rhythm that matches our slowing breaths. Lyra's hand finds mine, her fingers threading through mine despite the size difference. There's no going back from this moment, this line we've crossed. But watching her drift to sleep in my arms, feeling her complete trust in how she surrenders to slumber, I know I don't want to.

20

LYRA

I'm setting down a platter of freshly baked sweetbread when the front door bursts open, four pairs of clicking hooves announcing our unexpected visitors. My heart sinks at the sight of the imposing minotaur women filling the doorway, their elaborate silk dresses and glinting horn jewelry marking them as nobility.

"Theron!" a sleek-furred female with piercing blue eyes sweeps into the dining room. "We thought we'd pay you a visit."

Theron stiffens beside me, his massive frame tensing. "Emkia. Aunts. What brings you here?"

Three older minotaur women follow in who I can only assume is Emkia, their horns adorned with so many golden rings they must weigh heavy on their heads. Their gazes cut through me like knives as they take in my simple dress and the herbs braided in my hair.

"Can't we check on our nephew?" The tallest aunt sniffs, her nose wrinkling at Mrs. Bramble who's serving tea. "Though I see some things haven't changed. Still keeping... human help."

Mrs. Bramble's shoulders square as she continues her work, every movement precise and dignified. I admire her composure– decades of service have given her an armor I'm still developing.

"Theron," another aunt says, her voice dripping honey-coated venom. "Why is this... healer seated at the family table?"

Mira chooses that moment to reach for me. "Lyra, can I have more bread?"

The silence that follows could freeze flame. Four pairs of eyes lock onto my hand as I pass Mira the basket, my casual familiarity with the child clearly shocking them.

"She's having breakfast with us," Theron rumbles, his tone daring them to comment further.

Emkia just studies me, not saying a word. I don't see any malice in her eyes, either. The same can't be said for his aunts.

Another aunt's tail lashes. "Really? What would Cassandra say?"

I feel the tension radiate through Theron's body, though his face remains impassive. The children shrink in their seats, and even Mrs. Bramble's steady hands falter for a moment as she pours the tea.

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