Page 30 of The Minotaur's Valentine

Well, chocolate is supposed to be one, and I did ask for the Valentine’s special at the fudge place the last time I went. I just polished off my final piece today.

I lick the salty-sweet off of my fingers and nod. I’m yummy. I think Ricky will like it. I’m hoping when he said he wanted to eat out, he meant more than burgers.

Okay, clean up (again). Makeup. Dress up.

I look in the mirror and wish I had a friend to text a selfie to. I look hot.

No, really, bad girl, kinda gothic hot. My blonde hair is up and held back with black clips. My eyeliner is dark and dramatic. My lips are a shade somewhere between red wine and blood. “Who’s a sexy little succubus?” I wink at my reflection, pulling my tight black dress down so that it skims my knees and shows off my cleavage. I hope Ricky likes it.

RICKY LOVES IT. RICKY goes nonverbal when we meet at the bar, eyes wide and hungry. He comes to me and as I say, “Happy Valen—” my words are cut off with a smothering kiss that leaves me woozy and breathless.

“You look amazing. You smell divine. Come on, baby, I’ll get us a table. What can I get you to drink, gorgeous?” Ricky threads his hands through my hair, then settles them on my hips, speaking in a seductive, worshipful whisper. I feel like I’ve died and gone to a romance novel.

And I like it.

Why was I ever afraid of dating?

JAX ALLEY IS MORE HARD rock-punk than heavy metal, but I feel like I fit in. When Ricky holds my hand or strokes his fingertips sinuously up my bare arms until he teases my throat with one adoring finger, I feel like I belong anywhere he is. Am I in love? I don’t trust people. I don’t believe in love at first sight, or first date, so no, probably not.

But I feel like I’m in love.

“I’m under your spell, I murmur in a dreamy voice as we sway next to a dozen other couples in shades of red and black, some of them with dead white skin and blood red contacts, necking in dark corners.

Ricky looks surprised. “My spell? Is that what you like to call it?”

I blush and shrug. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s never been like this with anyone. I think I know what the word “heady” means now, why it’s a cross between “heavy” and “head.” All my senses swirl, but they’re only noticing Ricky and how much I want him near me, how I long to experience more of him.

“Well... do you like it?” he asks, his voice a husky purr against my bare shoulder as he slides behind me, his nose buried behind my ear. I feel his teeth nibble the lobe, and my pussy gives an answering spasm of enjoyment.

“Yes...”

“Do you want to give yourself to me? Can I feast on you, my lovely one?”

I freaking melt, my hips climbing backward against his hardness as he grips my chin and kisses me hard and deep, there on the dance floor. I nod, and before I know it, I’m walking backward, finding myself in a dark corner by the grungy stage, his tongue roving and wrestling with mine as his hand gently strokes the bare skin on my inner thigh. I lift my leg higher, knee up against his waist, head swimming. I want him to touch me, here, now. I don’t care if it’s wrong.

His fingers skim the fabric of my soaking thong, and when he pushes his fingers in, I gasp, startled by the intrusion I knew was coming, despite how good it feels.

“I need more of you, beautiful,” he begs, and I know I want more, too. “Yes. All of it. Have all of me, but not here. We need to be home. My place,” I pant, gaining back some air and a modicum of modesty. I push my leg down and his hand obediently leaves with a single hard stroke across my lips.

“When I get you home, I’m going to take you to the very edge, until you’re floating right on that precipice of losing yourself forever,” Ricky whispers. “I want all of you, Libby.”

I keep myself carefully locked away. Always have. My mind feels cloudy and confused when I kiss him back and tell him, “I want all of you, too. Follow me.” I sashay my way unsteadily out of the club, realizing we never had more than a shared appetizer and a couple of drinks.

I’m not hungry for anything but Ricky, and his looks tell me our appetites are aligned.

I can’t wait to get home.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Libby

“Um. I baked some cupcakes. They’re just out of a box mix, but they’re yummy.”

The car ride slows me down, but it doesn't cool me off. I guess that’s why I don’t care that we’re already home from our “date” at 9:40. I know the real fun is about to begin.

“I don’t want your desserts. I want you.” Ricky’s face is a mask of raw hunger. His skin almost seems to glow, he’s so pale and the light in my apartment is dim.

Before I can speak, Ricky cups my face in strong hands, pulling me to him and kissing me like he wants to drink me, to consume me. We fall to the couch, and his hands return to my hips, kneading me and massaging me, working my thighs open.

I’ve never known anyone so attentive. So in to me.

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