Page 75 of The Minotaur's Valentine

“What?” Milo is on his feet (hooves), panting in too-short black sweatpants with a Megadeath logo on the side of one leg. One horn spears my bedside lamp by the shade as he leaps to defend us from the attacker.

Too bad it’s just my head. “Milo, shh. It’s okay. I just remembered that we have dinner with your parents tomorrow.”

Milo tugs the lampshade off his horn and winces at the damage. “They’re going to love you! You don’t have to go.”

“I want to go. I want them to love me.” It sounds strange to say that out loud. Almost dirty. I’ve been proud of being a loner, a survivor, a girl who doesn’t need people. Or minotaurs, I guess.

I flop back down. Milo stands above me, concern on his face. “They will. I will. I don’t care if it’s bumpy. I love you, so they’ll love you. But I don’t think it’ll be bumpy—you’re everything they could want for me. Beautiful, intelligent, sweet, kind...”

“What about kids?”

Milo eases carefully onto the bed. We need more space.

He has more space. He has a house. Milo has a house with mini-houses surrounding it, with those sheds, outbuildings, and the garage.

“Do you not want kids? Or you just... don’t want them with me? Because—” Milo’s voice is tight and pained, “I would understand why that would be a no for you.”

“You want kids! I know that.”

The pain on his face settles into his eyes. Longing. “They don’t have to be physically mine. We could adopt. If you don’t want—”

“Any babies I have, I’d like to be yours.” The words fly out in a rush, and my discomfort-meter rockets up to eleven. “Uh. I need a shower. And we’re way, way far from babies.”

Milo follows me as I scramble to the bathroom. “Libby, wait.”

“Milo, I just woke up. Nature calls, okay?” I sidestep him into the bathroom, heart hammering. I do want his babies. I also shouldn’t have told him that. Not yet! And all of this is someday, someway, far away in the future!

“I wasn’t expecting you to start that journey to parenthood any time soon!” Milo calls through the door.

“Good!” Except that it feels so good when he comes inside me and I get these flashes of family life that turn me into a soppy ball of mush out of nowhere.

I stand under the warm shower and remember showering at his place. I want to spend the weekend there again. It’s... It’s homey, but it’s spacious. I know it’s no mansion, but to a girl who has always lived in a tiny apartment or a dorm room, Milo’s house is a dream.

Milo is a dream.

Raising kittens and babies with Milo would be a dream.

“Libby?”

I jump and squirt way too much shampoo into my hand. “Yeah?” I didn’t realize he was still outside the door, but he is, his patient, low voice that makes my pussy clench and my belly flutter speaking soothingly to me.

“Do you want to spend the weekend at my place? Or spend it here? If you need space—”

I don’t need space. I want him to be here. With me. In this shower.

But it would be even better to be in his house, in his shower, getting absolutely railed by that monster cock he hides in baggy sweats.

I call out, “I love the shower and the bedroom at your place. I love all the things at your place. Your place is Milo-sized.”

“I’m sorry about the lamp.”

“I’m not worried about the lamp,” I laugh, lathering. “You can come in if you want.”

The door clicks open. “I took a shower when I got back from work, but I’ll come in just to be near you.”

My heart melts—again. At this rate, my heart has melted more often than cheap popsicles in August, and I don’t think it’s going to stop happening.

“You’re sweet.” That’s all I can say.

---