23. Echo

23

Echo

I burst through the sliding glass doors after running all the way up from the rig, only to find Byrd pacing the living room with his phone to his ear. He shoots me a warning look that wipes the shit-eating grin from my face.

"Yes. No. I appreciate the concern, but…I understand." He drops his arm to his side, staring at nothing.

"Who was that?"

The look on his face is so resigned, it sends a jolt of panic through me.

"Your father."

"Oh." Oh shit. "What did he want?"

I've talked to my parents a few times over the last two-and-a-half months. Mostly short texts to tell them I'm alive and training is going great, among other vague assurances. It's hard to share my progress when I never divulged how bad things were to begin with.

"To tell me he knows about our ‘involvement.'"

"What? How?"

"I guess some business associate of his saw us together in town the other morning. "

The morning after my birthday. When Byrd and I were all over each other at the local bakery. I remember the guy in the charcoal slacks and cashmere who'd stared at us over his cappuccino. He wasn't familiar—I'd figured he was either some bigot or a closeted perv—but I know my dad likes to show me off to his colleagues, so I could have been recognized from one of his videos. I've never really been good at blending in.

"Is he…mad?" My parents have always taken a "don't ask, don't tell" approach to my sex life, but if my dad called Byrd—yeah. Not good. Byrd sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face and shoving his phone into his pocket.

"I wouldn't say ‘mad.' He wanted to make sure I know you don't have access to your trust fund until you're twenty-five." He shoots me a wry smile, and I snort.

"Did you tell him you're already worth seven figures?" I don't really know for sure, but owning houses in two of the most expensive areas of California provides a pretty good baseline.

"Well, slightly less since the divorce, but I'm sure he knows how much Cirque pays me. He seems like the kind of man who does his homework."

"So he was worried you were after my trust fund? That's not so bad."

Byrd raises his eyebrows, and I hurriedly add, "I mean, it's insulting, obviously, but also ridiculous and—" I tilt my head at him. "Do you care what my father thinks of you?" For some reason, the idea makes my stomach fill with warm butterflies.

"That wasn't all he wanted to tell me."

The butterflies die an abrupt, icy death.

"Is he—does he want me to come home?" He can't make me. I'm fucking twenty-one years old. But if he makes things ugly for Byrd, will Byrd want me to stay ?

"He's concerned about your place at NCC. He was very adamant that if our behavior— my behavior—jeopardizes your evaluation in any way, he would be taking legal action."

"It's not illegal for you to fuck me."

"No, but it is unprofessional. Remember what I said about Cirque not caring unless someone makes them care? A sexual-misconduct lawsuit might get their attention."

"I'll call him back right now. I'll explain it wasn't your fault. It was me who pressured you. I'll tell him that I've decided not to go to NCC anyway, and he can keep his stupid money." I'm babbling, and Byrd is shaking his head.

"Echo. Echo, stop. That's the last thing he wants to hear, and it won't help anything."

"Then what do we do? Are you gonna make me leave? I— please don't send me away."

How can he make me feel like a man and a terrified child at the same time?

"Hush. I'm not sending you away. We still have some time."

"Do you need to get a lawyer?"

"Maybe eventually, but I'm hoping it won't come to that."

"You have a plan?" Please have a plan.

"I think it's time to call Reggie."

"But you said she'll fire you. That she'll find someone else to finish my evaluation." I don't like this plan. This plan sucks.

"Yes. Someone unbiased who will confirm that you are fully capable of starting classes in the fall at the level they expect of you. Reggie can assure your father that you still have a place at Cici, and he'll have no reason to make trouble."

"But I'll still have to leave. Go train with someone else."

"I think I can convince Reggie to put that off for a little while, but eventually, yes." His face is still, unreadable. "It's the best thing for you, Echo. "

"Are you shitting me? No . The best thing for me is you ." I'm trembling all over, dust falling from the mortar in the cracks in my soul. "I can't do this without you. I don't even want to." How can he just stand there like it's already over?

"Echo, I'm not Dumbo's magic feather."

"Fuck you, Byrd. Dumbo's feather was bullshit. You're real . I love you." The words fall out, and the room crystallizes, confession and indrawn breath coated in sunshine amber. Every gold fleck in the dark forest of his eyes shines, and the weight there is enough to bury me.

"You don't know what you're saying." A whisper neither of us believe.

"Don't do that." I start to move toward him, but he steps back, and I'm suddenly furious. "Goddammit, Byrd. You don't get to fuck me and then treat me like a child who doesn't know what it means."

"Do you?"

Another step. This time, he doesn't retreat.

"Lie and tell me you don't love me back."

Silence.

"Fine. Not brave enough to admit it? Then show me." I throw my phone at his chest, and he catches it in startled hands. "I got my results back," I tell him, then take the final step. "All clear."

I watch the words sink in, the heat pool in his eyes, and the struggle across his features as his infernal conscience tries to hold on.

Fuck this.

I'm done begging. I want him on his fucking knees.

Let him try to pretend once he's had me with nothing between us.

His hands fist white-knuckled at his sides .

"Don't break my phone." I back away, peeling my shirt off over my head and tossing it aside. His gaze tracks down my torso and over my abs, catching where my thumbs hook in the waistband of my sweats. My dick is already half-hard, outlined against my thigh by the gray cotton, and when he licks his tongue over his bottom lip, I know I have him.

I shove my pants and briefs down together and step free, retrieving the packet of lube from the pocket—I carry that shit everywhere now—before tossing them on top of my tee. He still hasn't moved, but his gaze is hungry on my naked body, and he palms himself unconsciously through his jeans.

I sink back into the couch, hooking one leg over the armrest so I'm spread out for him, and give my cock a slow stroke while I tear open the lube packet with my teeth.

A rough sound escapes him, his eyes flitting from my mouth to my hand on my cock, and when I pinch my tip and squeeze the lube over my fingers, it deepens to a growl.

"I know what you're doing," he grits out.

"Does it look like I'm trying to be subtle?" I arch a brow and let my other hand drag down over my erection to tease my hole.

He's straining against his zipper now, hands locked behind his neck to keep from touching himself. To keep from touching me . I slump lower in the cushions to give him a better view and sink two fingers inside myself at once. "Fuck, that's tight."

"Echo." His eyes close, head falling back on his clasped hands.

Good luck with that.

I pump my fingers a few times, hard enough that the wet sound is audible even over my moans, and his eyes crack open. My other hand goes back to lazily stroking my cock while I fuck myself on my fingers, spreading myself open with every twisting pass. My ass is hanging half off the couch and my abs are clenched, but I don't take my eyes off his, daring him to deny me.

Fuck. I'm supposed to be taunting him , but the look on his face, the tense flex of his biceps, and the strip of exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up—I start to jack myself faster, chasing the orgasm building between my hands.

Precum leaks from my slit, and my breath gets jerky as I smear it roughly down my shaft. When I add a third finger to my ass, he snaps.

He's on me in two strides, dragging me up with a fist in my hair that would be painful if I wasn't so delirious with victory and lust.

"Turn around."

Instead of scrambling to obey, I give him an insolent smirk, sucking my fingers into my mouth.

He flips me around with a curse, tossing me against the back of the couch and crowding between my thighs with a rough shove of his jean-clad knee. His zipper rasps as he drags my head back with the hand still in my hair.

I'm flush against his chest, thrilling at the pornographic feel of his cotton shirt and the rough denim of his jeans chafing over my naked back and thighs—our only skin-to-skin contact the hot silk of his bare cock pressing into my crease.

It's filthy as fuck, and so is the kiss he claims, deep and possessive, with a vicious scrape of teeth as he withdraws.

"Tell me you love me," I say, licking the blood from my lip.

"Will it make it hurt less when you leave?"

"Yes."

He gives my head a jerk, my neck arched painfully back against his chest.

"Now who's lying? "

I can feel his helpless fury, and my cock throbs to the beat of the cut on my lip, but he's lining himself up at my entrance.

"I don't care."

He searches my face.

"You keep making me hurt you."

Yes .

" I. Don't. Care. "

He takes me all at once, merciless, the way we both need.

I arch into him with a strangled gasp, hands scrabbling at his hips to pull him closer, even as I struggle to adjust to his size.

A harsh groan escapes him, a drowning, surrendered sound, and I clench around his cock, drawing another string of curses.

"You like being hurt." It's not quite a question, and it's not quite the truth, but I give him the whole answer anyway.

"Only by you."

" Fuck ." He pushes my head away, so I fall forward, catching myself on the back of the couch.

And then he turns himself loose, hauling my hips back against his thighs and slamming into me, fingers tight enough to leave bruises on my hips.

This is punishment for daring to speak the forbidden words, and I bury my face in my arms and rock back into every thrust.

He leans over me, and my skin is so sensitive that even the brush of his worn cotton T-shirt is torture.

"What do you want?" he growls in my ear.

"Tell me you love me."

His rhythm slows and becomes a sadistic roll of his hips digging at my core.

"You think I'll give you what you want because you're letting me ride this tight ass of yours raw? That the wet heat of your pretty hole clamped around my bare cock is gonna make me come so hard that I'll forget all the reasons I can't keep you?"

I keep my mouth shut, swallowing my pleas. I'm done begging.

"I remember everything, " he whispers. "Every single moment of you." And fuck if I can keep my hand from dropping to my cock—aching and so hard my abs are smeared with precum—at the devastation in his voice.

He fights me for it, tugging my hand away from my dick and capturing the one still locked on the back of the couch. When both my wrists are secured at the base of my spine, he leans back, pulling and pressing at once so my chest arches off the cushions, and ohholyfuck, at this angle, his thick head drives over my prostate with each brutal thrust, and I can't stay silent.

"Do you like this?" he asks over my wordless cries. "Being used by me? Knowing I'm about to fill you up and you can't touch yourself? That you're going to feel it, and take it all, and maybe I'll let you come, maybe I won't?" He hauls on my wrists, turning my wail to a gasp. "Is this what you think love feels like?"

" Yes, " I breathe. Yes .

Because this Byrd is new , and I know—from the burn in my ass to the ache in my shoulders to the hot, tight pressure in my balls—that this Byrd is also mine , and that no one else has ever had him this undone.

"Fucking hell," he grunts, and then makes good on his threat-promise. For the first time in my life, I feel the hot spill of cum deep inside me— Byrd's cum—and it seems to last forever. I'm flayed so fucking bare, so completely owned , that I'm amazed I don't blow with him.

He pulls out slowly, and his fingers brush my inner thigh, trailing up through the evidence of what he's done. Desperate to catch his expression, I crane my neck as he pushes two cum-coated fingers inside me like he can keep himself there.

" Byrd ." I swore I was done begging, but I'm about to break .

His eyes lift to my face, taking in the flush and the tears tracking down my cheeks with his hooded gaze. He tugs on my wrists, gently this time, and wraps his arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his chest.

"Ask me again," he says, husky in my ear, and brings his hand around to grip my cock. His fingers are slick with his cum and slide easily over my shaft.

"Do you love me?"

His hand tightens and strokes up and over my crown.

"Yes," he whispers, and I shudder in his arms and come all over his couch.