bookbashuk Chapter 262- Thalia Meeting her Step-Family
Chapter 262- Thalia Meeting her Step-Family
The amber closed.
And the world rearranged itself.
Water.
Everywhere. Hot, steaming, the specific displaced surge of a large body of water receiving two additional bodies at velocity — and Thalia hit the surface with a splash that sent a wave over both sides of the tub simultaneously, soaking the tile floor in one clean sheet.
She surfaced, gasping.
"What the—"
She pushed the wet green hair from her face with both hands and looked around.
Large bathroom. Not the car. Not the office. A bathroom she recognised in the specific way you recognise rooms from childhood — every tile, every fitting, the overhead light with its slightly yellow cast that had never been replaced.
Home.
He had brought her home.
She was sitting in the bathtub, in his lap, water sloshing around both of them, her soaked blouse now entirely transparent against her skin, both breasts fully outlined through the wet fabric, nipples pressing through the cotton.
She turned.
Her stepmother was standing at the far end of the bathroom.
Under the jet shower mounted at head height, the pressurised stream of it hitting her body directly, and both her hands were between her own thighs — not in pleasure, just the practical, methodical motion of a woman cleaning herself out with running water after a thorough night.
Red eyes.
The specific dark red that Thalia had seen in the office for the first time three hours ago and had not had the space to fully process.
Bite marks across the upper chest. Both breasts. The shoulder.
The rings catching the shower light.
Her cunt visibly marked from everything the night had left there, swollen at the entrance, the water running between her thighs carrying a faint, clear wash of what hadn’t fully settled yet.
Thalia’s stepmother looked at her.
Neither of them spoke.
The bathroom door swung open.
Jenny stood in the frame.
Still dressed — barely. The same clothes from the car, which had done nothing to recover from the highway. Her thick thighs visible below the hemline, both inner surfaces faintly damp where she hadn’t dried fully.
Her red eyes found the bathtub.
Found Thalia.
Found him.
Thalia in his lap.
In the bathtub.
Her stepmother behind them.
The silence that arrived had the specific density of a room where four people all know something and none of them want to be the first one to acknowledge it.
Jenny opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"Master." Her voice defaulted to the register it had apparently been reprogrammed to. "I sensed you arrive—"
She looked at Thalia again.
"...Thalia?"
Thalia turned toward him.
Slow. Deliberate. The turn of a woman assembling a very large, very specific anger before deploying it.
"Why," she said.
Her voice was controlled. Barely.
"Did you bring me here?"
He breathed.
The unhurried exhale of a man who has considered the most direct answer available and is choosing it.
"I needed caretakers," he said, "for my child."
The water lapped at the tub edges.
The shower jet continued behind them.
Thalia sat perfectly still in his lap for exactly three seconds.
Then:
"’How dare you’." The control snapped cleanly. "How dare you tell them that." She was trembling now — fine, rapid tremors moving through her shoulders, her jaw tight, her eyes bright. "’I’ decide who touches my child. Not you. I would never let these—these—’monsters’—"
"What?" Jenny’s voice came from the doorway.
Thin. Surprised. The specific note of someone who has received information they weren’t prepared for.
"Thalia is pregnant?"
Her mother’s hands had stilled under the shower.
The jet ran over her in silence.
Her red eyes moved between her daughter’s face and Thalia’s and settled on him.
He looked at Thalia.
Not at the other two.
"I want you to forgive them."
The water.
The shower.
Thalia’s breath.
"What," she said.
Not a question. The shape of one with nothing inside it.
"What are you talking about." Her voice went thin and then thinner and then broke somewhere in the middle of the sentence where the word ’about’ was supposed to be. "They destroyed my life. They—do you know—do you understand what they—"
Her jaw worked.
The hot tears came without her permission.
They always did, with him. She had never managed to keep them in his presence once they decided to come.
"They ruined it." The words came out stripped of everything she normally layered over them — the composure, the corporate posture, the carefully maintained distance she had built the Blac Corporation around. "How could you."
He turned.
Both of them — Jenny in the doorway, Vivienne under the shower — avoided their eyes simultaneously.
The specific, downward gaze of people who know what they did and have run out of the direction that isn’t shame.
He looked at them for a moment.
"Both of you," he said flatly.
They looked up.
"Act like bitches."
Thalia blinked.
She watched.
Something shifted in both of them — Jenny first, then Vivienne stepping out from under the shower — and they moved forward on all fours.
Both women.
Crossing the bathroom tile on their hands and knees, hips raised, faces lowering as they came closer, until both of them were beside the tub with their foreheads near the floor and their asses in the air.
Both sets of hands reaching back.
Spreading.
Showing everything that the night had done to both of them — Jenny’s pussy swollen and visibly gaping, her anal dark and stretched, the residue of his seed still present at both entrances in thin, clear runs. Vivienne’s heavier flesh the same, more so, the rings hanging, her cunt dripping down her inner thigh in a slow, continuous line.
Both holes. Both women. Displayed side by side like a completed assignment.
Thalia covered her face with both hands.
"What." Her voice came out muffled through her palms. "What kind of—’vulgarity’—what ’is’ this—"
"I trained them well."
She lowered her hands.
"You ’what’."
"Same way I trained you."
"’Nonsense’." She sat up straighter in his lap, the water sloshing forward. "You did not ’train’ me. I am not—I am nothing like—" She gestured at both women without looking at them directly. "They are ’monsters’. You cannot—"
"I cannot be satisfied," he said simply, "with one pussy."
He said it the way he said everything.
Flat. True. Without apology.
"You know that, Thalia."
The sentence landed in her chest like a stone dropped in still water.
She felt the ripples moving outward.
’He is telling me plainly.’ ’He has always been telling me plainly.’ ’This is the man I fell for and this is who he is and I have always known and I am sitting in a bathtub pregnant with his child knowing and it still—’
Her lower lip caught between her teeth.
The tears ran.
She said nothing for a moment.
He reached up.
His hand closed over her breast through the wet, transparent blouse — the full, pregnancy-swollen weight of it filling his palm — and kneaded slowly.
His thumb found the nipple.
"AAHHH~!! Hngh~!!"
His mouth came up and pressed against her neck, not biting, just lips against skin.
"You bastard," she breathed. "Stop—I’m crying—you—"
He kissed her instead.
On the floor beside the tub, both women had raised their heads.
Jenny watching over her shoulder.
Vivienne’s red eyes tracking the kiss from a low angle, both her palms still spread against her own ass, her cunt dripping audibly onto the tile beneath her.