Page 24 of The Minotaur's Milkmaid
He watches me for a moment longer, like he’s making sure I believe him. Then he takes the empty bowl from my hands and sets it aside.
“Now come here,” he says gently, tugging me into his lap.
I go without thinking, tucking myself into him. His strong arms wrap around me, his voice a deep rumble against the top of my head.
“You did so well today,” he murmurs. “I know it was hard, finding out the truth.”
I swallow hard, my chest tight. “They shot you.”
He’s the monster they warned me about, the one they said would hurt me, and yet, in his arms, I feel safer than I ever have before. I should be terrified.
My life, the people I trusted, all of it is a lie. The humans I thought were protecting me, protecting us, have been using us all along.
He kisses my temple, and I tilt my head up, searching his face. His golden eyes, the sharp angles of his jaw, and the way his lips part just slightly as his gaze drops to my mouth.
I think I love him, or maybe I could.
I press my lips to his, and the moment we touch, something ignites. His grip tightens around me, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss. His demanding tongue sweeps against mine, and a soft moan escapes me.
Without breaking the kiss, I shift in his lap, swinging one leg over until I’m straddling him. The thick ridge of his cock presses against my core, and I roll my hips instinctively, grinding down with a gasp.
A growl vibrates in his chest, his hands sliding down to grip my waist. “Maeve.”
His gaze is hot, raking over me with possessive hunger. His hands rise to my breasts, cupping them, thumbs brushing over my already peaked nipples.
Then he does something that makes me whimper, he pushes them together, leaning down to drag his tongue over both ofmy nipples at once before sealing his lips around them, sucking hard.
“Dakar—” My back arches, pleasure jolting through me as his mouth works, drawing out the sweet, aching pressure of milk. I fist my hands in his hair, holding him to me as my hips rock against him, desperate for friction.
He groans, the sound sending a fresh wave of wetness between my thighs. His fingers tighten just enough to make me gasp, pinching my swollen nipples, coaxing twin streams of milk to spill over his knuckles.
“You’re so perfect, little milkmaid.”
I’m shamelessly moaning as I grind down on the thick length of his cock, he quickly discards his kilt, leaving nothing between us. His one hand leaves my breast to grip my hip, forcing me into a slower, torturous rhythm.
“Not yet,” he warns, though his voice is thick with want. “I’m not done with these.”
His mouth descends again, sucking deep, milking me. Each swallow he takes sends a pulse of pleasure straight to my core, my thighs clenching around him.
“Please!” I finally choke out, my nails digging into the back of his neck.
He nips at my nipple, just shy of sharp, before soothing it with his tongue. “Please,what?” His thumb circles my other peak, catching another bead of milk. “Use your words, little cow.”
But I can’t. Not when his free hand slips between us, fingers sliding through my slickness.
“Fuck. You love being milked like this, don't you?” His fingers press deeper, teasing my entrance, and my hips jerk against his hand, a cry tearing from my throat.
“Tell me,” he demands, his fingers curling just right, stealing my breath. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I gasp.
He slows his touch, just enough to make me sob. “Not good enough.” His lips brush my ear, “Tell me. Say you want me to be your mate.”
“Yes,” I moan, my fingers tangling in his hair, forcing myself to look into his eyes. “I want you to be my mate. Only you. Claim me, Dakar.”
His fingers withdraw, leaving me empty and aching. His hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with unbearable tenderness.
“Mine.”
