Page 5 of The Minotaur's Milkmaid
The little hucow is trembling in my grasp. Her delicate wrist is dwarfed by my hand, and I try to be careful not to pull her too hard as I drag her away from my soldiers and through the smoke and embers of her burning village. Her bare feet keep tripping as she struggles to keep pace with my more powerful strides. The scent of her fear is intoxicating, sweet milk and summer hay undercut with the salt of her sweat.Mine.
It stirs something within my chest; a hunger that has nothing to do with the victory of our raid. The others step aside as we pass, dipping their horns in deference. They know better than to question what belongs to me. This soft, round-hipped creature is no different than the fine weapons or fertile lands I’ve claimed before, only she’s far more pleasing to hold.
“Leave the humans,” I command my men. “Tie them up. Alive.” My warriors obey my orders without dispute. I may despise them, but I won’t spill innocent blood for the crimes of the guilty.
The main road will take my horde through the Wildlands and back to our stronghold, but I've decided we’re not traveling back with them. I need privacy. I want space to claim her without prying eyes. The moment when she becomes mine is for my ears only. No other Bull gets to hear it.
The thought of any other males near her makes my fingers tighten around the little cow’s wrist in a jealous grip. She lets out a soft whimper, and I ease my hold, tugging her behind me as I lead her into the whispering sea of tall grass. She stumbles but keeps up, too afraid to fight against me. Good. Let her fear me. The chase will come later when I want it. For now, I lead her deeper into the Grasslands, where only the stars and the wind will bear witness to what I decide to do with her.
When we reach the bottom of the first hill and the village has disappeared from sight, I release her. She staggers back. Moonlight spills over her heaving chest, the thin fabric of her nightdress doing nothing to hide the rapid rise and fall of her large breasts.
“W-what do you want with me?” Her voice is barely a whisper, her small pink tongue darting out to wet her lips.
I reach forward, ignoring how she flinches when I lift her chin, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet my gaze. I tracethe delicate column of her throat. I can feel her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers like a caged little bird.
“You'll serve me,” I tell her, letting my hands trail lower, over the swell of her breast. The fabric parts easily beneath my touch. “Fill my pails with milk. Warm my bed.” My breath is hot against her ear as I add, “And learn to take your pleasure from my cock.”
I pinch her nipple and she gasps in shock. Her body arches involuntarily as my other hand grips her hip. I can smell her arousal now, cutting through her fear. Her nipples pebble beneath my touch, betraying her.
Her voice sounds dazed when she speaks, the words laced with confusion. “Serve you?”
I smirk, my eyes never leaving hers. “Yes, little one. You’re a Hucow, bred for this very purpose. You’re a precious commodity, a treasure in my eyes, Little milkmaid.”
I take a step closer, my massive frame towering over her. She instinctively shrinks back, but I’m not trying to threaten her, at least, not yet. I simply want to see her response.
“You will learn to obey me, to submit to my desires, and in return, I will protect you and provide for you. You will be safe with me. That is the way of things between a Bull and his Cow.”
I reach out and gently brush a strand of her copper hair from her face, savoring the softness of it. She flinches again, but doesn’t pull away. I can feel the tension in her body, the fight in her heart, but it won’t last long.
“I'm not an animal!” she insists. “I’m a person, with thoughts and feelings. You can’t justownme.”
I chuckle, the sound deep and rumbling in my chest. Females always think they have the power to choose, to fight their fate. But that’s just not how things work.
“You may think you’re a person,” I reply, “but you are what I say you are. And right now, Hucow. You belong to me.”
She scowls at me, and I take in her delicate features; her heart-shaped face, her porcelain skin, the freckles sprinkled across her scrunched-up nose and cheekbones like cinnamon on cream. Her large green eyes dart around, seeking escape, and fuck, it only makes me want to corner her more to see her reactions.
Hucows look human enough, but better. Their ears are longer and floppy. Their hips are wider, their breasts larger, heavier, perfect for filling my palms. And those tiny, adorable horns? Just begging to be gripped while she’s bent over—
I shake the thought away.
“I won’t harm you,” I tell her, even though she hasn’t asked for my assurance. “You’re far too valuable for that, but you will learn to submit to me. You’ll be trained in your place, in yourrole, and in return, I will keep you safe, protected from all threats.”
Her lips quiver, and I see the fear in her eyes. She’s scared, yes, but she also has that spark of resistance. I can see it clearly. She has fire in her heart. She’s not ready to bend to me, but she will. This female will make a good mate for me.
“You said you’ll protect me,” she says, almost hissing at me. “But you’re a monster. You’re a raider. What kind of protection could you possibly offer?”
Her words sting, though I’d never admit it. I’ve been called worse by men with sharper tonguesandblades, but none of them lived long enough to keep talking. And here is this little wide-eyed slip of a Cow, daring to challenge me in a way even my fiercest warriors wouldn’t dream of. It’s quite arousing.
I find myself wanting to reassure her. To speak to her gently…which is absurd. I’m the chief of Blackhorn tribe. I don’t explain myself to anyone. I command. I take. I conquer.
I stare down at her. She’s small, but she stands tall, sort of. Chin up, eyes glaring at me like a feral kitten pretending to be a lion. Adorable, infuriating, andmine.
I don’t mean that in a poetic way. I mean it quite literally. She’s mine now, and I will make sure she understands that. Thoroughly and repeatedly.
Not now, obviously, but in time. I’m being respectful. Noble, even. A lesser Bull wouldn’t show such restraint. Bards will sing of it, probably.
“If I were the monster you think I am, you wouldn’t still be standing.” She recoils, and I curse inwardly.Too much. Reins in, Dakar.
