“Come.”
That was all I needed.
I exploded with a tortured yet transcendent wail, drenching my stomach in my own spend, as my inner walls clenched and spasmed. Daddy followed with a roar, flooding me with his hot cum, and marking me inside as thoroughly as his words did.
If you’d asked me last night what I’d be doing tonight, it definitely wouldn’t have been this.
I couldn’t believe I was free.
Free and claimed.
8
Jace
“…the FBI is still withholding most information about last month’s operation at a secluded compound in rural Nebraska, but during a press conference earlier this morning, it was confirmed that charges have been pressed against the group’s leader, Malachi Ransom. Ransom has been in custody since—”
I pressed the remote, changing the channel.Dammit.All I’d done was go to the bathroom, but it’d been enough time for Elior to flip through the stations on his own, accidentally stumbling onto a news story about his father, of all people.
I shut off the TV completely and turned to face the couch. Elior sat cross-legged, clutching a throw pillow to his chest so tightly that the cheap foam stuffing was poking out at the seams. He wasn’t crying; he looked worse, somehow—locked up, his whole body one tense muscle, his gaze fixed and glassy on the blank television.
I came around and knelt in front of him. “Hey,” I said softly. “Come back to me, cherub.”
He blinked a few times, slowly coming out of a shockedstupor, then focused on my face. For a second, I thought he’d look away, but he didn’t. His eyes held mine, and in the blue, I could see the panic swirling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thin. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t think…”
I shushed him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. Just a bad coincidence.”
I was honestly pissed. Not at him. It just sucked that the first time in the four days he’d been home, he’d finally gotten the courage to use the damn remote, and this is what happened.
I reached for the pillow, prying it gently from his arms so I could wrap him up in mine. For a second, Elior didn’t move. Then, with a shudder that nearly undid me, he pressed his face to my shoulder and clung.
I hauled him into my lap, letting him curl against my chest, and rocked him in the rhythm that always worked to calm him down. He didn’t sob, not even when I pressed soothing kisses to his temple and hair; he just held on, silent and shaking.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He nodded, more a tremor than an affirmation.
I let the quiet fill in around us. The clock on the microwave ticked. The fridge made a distant click. Outside, a car rolled by—normal sounds for a normal place, all so unlike the world Elior had come from.
Elior broke the silence. “I’m scared of how people think of us. What if the whole world hates me, Daddy?”
“Oh, cherub,” I sighed, holding him tight. “If anything, they hate your father. He’s the one in trouble, remember?”
“Do you think I could visit him? Just—just to check on him…”
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t my call, and I needed him to understand. “That’s not something I can decide, Elior. That’s up to the judge and the people running his case. And honestly… even if they say you can… I couldn’t let you do that.”
He stayed silent, mulling it over, his cheek pressed to my shirt. I could feel how hard he was thinking—trying to reconcile his memories with the new world I’d thrust him into. Maybe he thought visiting Malachi would bring closure or prove something. Maybe he thought it’d give him a way back to being the good son.
I stroked his back, then brought my hand under his chin, tipping it up so he was looking at me. “Daddy knows best, remember? Trust me, cherub.”
He looked up, a flicker of doubt in his gaze. “But if he’s hurting, I should be able to… I should…”
“No,” I interrupted, maybe more sharply than intended. But fuck, I hated the way Malachi still leeched into Elior’s head.
His jaw worked, mouth forming silent arguments he was too polite—or too conditioned—to say out loud.
