Page 19 of The Minotaur's Milkmaid
“Again.”
A curse rips from his throat. His free hand fists in my hair, wrenching me closer until my breath ghosts over the leaking tip of his cock. Every muscle in his body is taut, trembling like a bowstring pulled too tight.
And Gods, the power of it.
Sweet, vicious satisfaction curls through me. This man is all strength and fury, yet here he is, unraveling beneath my lips. His hips jerk, desperate, but I hold still. A ragged groan spills from him, and I could drown in this power. I want him to ache and beg. I’ve only heard the married women in Havenmoor speak of men taking their own pleasure, but no one told me how much sweeter it is to steal it back.
“Maeve.” My name is a plea, a warning, a threadbare growl. It’s the sound of a man who’s lost control, and I love that I’m the one who took it from him.
I hide my smile as I press a soft, innocent kiss to his thigh. “Yes?” I blink up at him, all feigned sweetness. “Did you need something?” I ask, before tracing the velvet heat of him with my tongue. Just a teasing, slow lick from base to tip, savoring the salt and taste of his skin. His groan shakes through me, fingers tightening in my hair as I swirl my tongue over the swollen head, drinking him in.
“Fuck.” His voice cracks, thighs flexing.
I don’t relent. A wicked smile curls my lips as I take him deeper, sucking lightly, reveling in the way each thrust of hiships, every growl, becomes my victory, claimed with a flick of my tongue.
A low, rumbling moan escapes his throat as my mouth envelops him. “Gods, milkmaid…”
His fingers tangle deeper in my hair, guiding me with surprising tenderness despite the hunger in his touch. His hips buck involuntarily, but he reins himself in, a shudder running through him as I work my tongue along his length. “Ahh, yes. Just like that. Perfect girl.”
His praise coils heat low in my belly. I moan around him.
He shudders. “You’ll be the death of me, my sweet little mate. So good…so fucking good.”
His head falls back as my mouth works over him, a growl tearing from his chest. “Fuck, Maeve…”
Heat floods my veins, wrong and wonderful all at once. Should I feel this dizzy? This desperate to hear him say my name again?
Large hands cradle my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks with an aching tenderness that contradicts the way he guides me deeper. “That’s it. Take me all the way.” His grip tightens. “Let me feel that pretty throat…”
I obey, hollowing my cheeks, and his breath hitches. When I glance up, his eyes are black with lust, drinking in the sight of me on my knees. “Such an obedient mate,” he murmurs, dragging a calloused thumb over my lower lip. “So eager to please your Bull.” Another possessive growl rumbles through him. The words should frighten me. Instead, my pulse leaps. Is it shameful how much I love this? How right it feels to be his?
Then his hands move from my hand, and his fingers curl around my horns. He tilts my face up, and I let him, meeting his gaze as he rocks into my mouth with small thrusts.
A breathy moan escapes me as I take him deeper, my throat fluttering around him in helpless waves. Drool glistens on my chin, lips stretched wide, but I push past the burn, deeper, untilmy nose nestles against the fur of his pelvis. His grip on my horns gentles for a heartbeat, a silent check-in, before he guides me into a slow, rolling rhythm. Each thrust rocks through me, his thighs tense, the thick pulse of his cock against my tongue drawing another broken sound from us both. And the way he groans when I choke sends liquid fire straight to my core.
“Yesss, just like that, Maeve,” he praises, purring with approval. The words send a rush of warmth through my body. He throws his head back with a grunt. I whimper around him, hollowing my cheeks instinctively, craving more.
“Fuck, you’re undoing me, little cow…” His hips jerk, his control slipping.
Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes from the stretch, but I don’t retreat. Instead, I press closer. My own need throbbing between my thighs.
“By the Gods,” he rasps, fingers flexing against my horns. “You were made for this.”
My hands clutch at his thighs as his movements turn urgent. I want his release, his claim, the raw, shuddering moment when he loses himself completely.
“I want to fill this sweet mouth,” he snarls, and I whimper in surrender.
I feel him tense. Oh gods. The ache in my throat is burning, my jaw stretched wide around the thick, hard length of him, but I don’t pull away. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.
Then, with one last thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his roar of release vibrating through me. Tears fill my eyes as I take him, my throat working around his pulsing cock, the heat of his pleasure flooding my mouth. It’s so much. It’s overwhelming.
I swallow greedily, lips sealed tight against the spill, but there’s too much. My throat hitches, a choked gasp escaping before I force it down. The burn floods me, sweet and searing, asacrifice I’d make a thousand times over just to hear him curse my name like that again.
When he finally softens, I let him slip free with a shaky gasp, my lips swollen, my chin sticky. I catch what I missed with a slow swipe of my tongue. The cave floor bites into my knees, but it’s nothing compared to the molten pulse between my thighs, insistent and aching.
Dakar’s hands cradle my face before I can even steady myself. His calloused thumbs brush away the tears on my cheeks, then trace my damp lips, smearing salt and him into my skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs in awe. “So perfect. Mine.”
