Page 22 of The Minotaur's Milkmaid
“That good, huh?”
I cover my face with my hands, mortified.
His grin goes wide and wicked. “That’s a yes, then.”
He tugs the furs over my legs, then curls an arm around my waist, pulling me into his warmth like he’s trying to soothe me. It doesn’t help. Or maybe it does, I don’t know. I still feel like I’m floating and melting at the same time.
“That was…” I manage, breathless. “You…”
“Go on.” His voice is cocky, and his fingers are tracing slow circles into my hip. “Use your words, little cow. I earned them.”
I give his chest a weak smack, and it probably felt more like a butterfly landing to Dakar.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you were screaming my name to the Gods,” he says, dipping his head to kiss my temple. “I’m pretty sure they heard you.”
I bury my face against his shoulder with a groan, but he catches my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumb traces my swollen lower lip, and I shiver.
“None of that,” he murmurs. “I want to see those pretty eyes when you tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“That you want to be my mate.”
My thighs clench traitorously. “Dakar,” I whimper.
“Say. It.” He grits out the order.
“I want to be your mate,” I admit in a rush, my face burning.
He hums, satisfied, and gently kisses my forehead. Then, because he’s a menace, he nips my earlobe and whispers, “Good girl. Now rest. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Again?” I squeak.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me as his hand slides between my thighs. I jerk, gasping, but he just tsks, circling with his fingertip.
“Still so wet for me,” he muses. “Insufferable, hm?”
I swat at him again, but he catches my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm.
“Food first,” he suddenly declares, removing his hand. “You’ll need your strength.”
“Eat?” I say, dazed.
“Mhm.” He stretches as he sits up, all corded muscle and arrogance. “The least I can do is feed you before I rut you properly.”
My entire body flushes. “I hate you,” I grumble into his shoulder.
He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “You’re adorable when you lie.”
While Dakar is cooking, I curl up into the furs like they're armor. I feel like crying, and not because I’m sad, but because I don’t know what to do with all of this. My body is still tingling from what he did to me. I’d never imagined it could feel like that.
I peek over at him.
He’s crouched near the fire, turning something over in a pan. His muscles move beneath golden-brown skin, scarred and powerful, but his touch earlier was gentle. I don’t know how he does that, how he can be so dangerous and so…good.
He glances at me like he feels me staring. “Stop looking at me like you’re about to cry, little cow. You’re gonna make me break my terrifying reputation.”
