Page 84 of The Minotaur's Valentine

“Nothing, sweetie. I just wanted to have a nice dinner for you. I got really chewy, crusty baguettes today. Georgie, the chef at The Pine Loft? He let me have them fresh out of the oven.”

“Oh my God. Buying bread is now a type of foreplay, okay?” Libby flings herself into my arms, shopping bags falling.

“Deal. I’ll get you fourteen inches of hot, crusty baguette every day if you kiss me like that.”

“Just give me my standard number of big, sexy minotaur inches, please.” She giggles, holding onto me with her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.

“Hmm, okay, but not until after dinner. I want—” My mouth stops moving as I catch sight of Libby’s purchase spilling onto the floor.

It’s a net. Well, if a net had straps and was made into a dress. A tiny, short dress. “What’s that?” I ask, my tail swinging.

“Oh.” Libby drops from me like a peach from a branch, hurrying to scoop the scrap of material back into the shopping bag. “That’s for later.”

“Dinner isn’t ready yet,” I fib. It could be ready in five minutes if I speed up a little, but now I don’t want to. My libido takes over, imagining Libby wrapped in her netting nightie, pale skin trapped by little black lines, just waiting for me to free her. Or I could pull it taut—I imagine licking little squares of her plump pussy as it bubbles up through the fabric, her tight nipples straining against it.

I need to go aim the ice cube maker down my pants.

“You breathe funny when you’re horny.” Libby wiggles her hips at me as she packs the lingerie away.

“I’m always horny.” I tap my head.

“My God. That is such a dad joke. A minotaur dad joke.”

Minotaur dad.

How does she still not realize that talking about babies with me is one of the hottest things she could do? “Something to drink? I have wine, seltzer... something cold.” I need something cold. I hurry to the kitchen.

Libby follows. “What are we having and why the special occasion?”

“Moussaka, bread, a salad, spanakopita, vanilla ice cream, baklava, and peach cobbler—I know that’s a little overkill, but I started on the cobbler before my mother got involved.” Shit. Shit! I sound like a mommy’s boy now.

“Your mom?”

“I asked her for advice on what to make for a special dinner. There’s no occasion. Well, every weekend when I have you to myself is an occasion,” I clarify, pouring two glasses of ice water. I drink out of a huge tankard that looks like it belongs in a Viking drinking hall. Libby has a slender “human-sized” glass. “Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

“The spanakopita is ready. Let me get the butter for the bread.”

MILO BENDS OVER AND digs in the bottom of his fridge. He’s wearing jeans today. They must be a size 5XL, but they still hug his rear. Sexy, muscular rear. His tail swishes as he scavenges, and my mind goes to incredibly naughty places. It’s all I can do not to reach out and start rubbing the base of his tail like I’m giving him a handjob.

Libby. Focus on something else. Look at anything else.

Nope. Can’t. Sexy minotaur ass and—what is that in his back pocket?

I swallow ice water too fast and it splashes up my nose. I cough and gasp, which means Milo comes to my rescue, crossing five feet of space in one bound and patting me until I beg him to stop.

“Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, I will be in a minute.”

No. I will not be okay in a minute. There’s a fucking black velvet ring box in Milo’s pocket!

He’s going to propose!

I’m so happy!

I’m so freaked out!

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