Page 20 of Scr*wed By the Minotaur in Hallow's Cove
“Lea.” He groaned my name, ragged and raw, like a plea and a challenge rolled into one.
I tore at his shirt, buttons flying, fingers clumsy, frantic in their need. He grabbed my waist and slammed me against the wall, heat and desperation in every movement. I locked my legs around him, feeling the hard, urgent length of him press between my thighs. Everything about him was molten, insistent. His fingers dug into my hips, anchoring me to him as he ground into me, his breath hot and heavy on my neck.
He crushed my lips again. My nails scored fiery lines down his back, pulling a low, feral moan from deep in his chest. The sound resonated through me, echoed straight to my core, told me how much he needed this too. I writhed, gripping him with my thighs as he carried me to the sheet-draped bed, still warm from themorning sun. The gentleness with which he laid me down was a stark contrast to the storm in his eyes.
I whimpered at the lack of contact. But he was on me again, in an instant, hands and mouth frantic, unzipping my jeans, tugging both pants and underwear off in one quick motion, leaving me bare beneath him. He licked a clear, torturous path from my hipbone to my inner thigh. I bucked, arching as his teasing tongue circled my clit, sending jolts of electricity through me. Fingers tangled in his hair, I pulled him deeper. He growled into me, the vibration electric and more intense than I could stand.
He latched onto my clit, sucking hard, and I nearly screamed. I didn’t care if the whole building heard. No part of me wanted to play coy, not with him, not right now. His hands pinned my hips, huge and unyielding, holding me open while he licked into me, tongue flat and greedy, flicking up and down like he’d been starving for this, for me. I clenched around the emptiness, wanting more, and he must have read my mind because he slipped two thick fingers inside, curling them perfectly, hitting that sweet, pulsing spot.
“Shit, Rick,” I gasped, slamming my fist into the mattress, “don’t stop, don’t you fucking dare—”
He growled, low, and pulled back just long enough to say, “I love how you taste. How you fall apart for me. Let go. I want to feel you come.” His voice was thick and hungry, and I nearly snapped in half hearing him say it.
“Please,” I begged, so far gone I barely recognized my own voice.
He answered by pushing in a third finger, a stretch that burned so good I saw stars. His tongue kept circling my clit, relentless, coordinated with the curl of his hand. He murmured against me, “That’s it. Let yourself go. Give it to me, all of it. I want to taste you when you come.”
I cried out and he only doubled down, fucking me with his hand, sucking my clit until my body detonated. Release poured through me, hot and uncontrollable, my whole body shuddering and clamping down on his fingers. He groaned, delighted, and kept going, drawing every last spasm out of me until I was a limp, trembling wreck on the sheets. Then he climbed up and kissed me, hard, I tasted myself on his tongue and moaned into his mouth.
He was out of his jeans in seconds and I didn’t hesitate in wrapping my hand around him, marveling again at the sheer size and the impossible feel of him. He sucked in a breath, his body tensing, and I pulled him to me, greedy for the fullness, the pressure, the absolute ruin of it.
He knelt between my thighs, angling himself against my entrance, and just the blunt head of his cock had me arching off the bed, clutching at his arms. He gripped my knees, spreading me wide, and pushing in all the way in one stroke, a heat and stretch that bordered on pain but somehow edged into pleasure.
For a moment, he stayed still, buried fully, letting us both feel the tight, liquid heat of him inside. His eyes, dark and tender, searched mine for permission.
“You okay?” he whispered, voice rough and strained.
“God, yes.” The words spilled out in a moan as I slid my legs around his hips, tugging him deeper, urging him to move.
And move he did. Slow, deep strokes that sent stars exploding behind my eyelids. I gripped the sheets, heels digging into his back, urging him faster, harder. He obeyed, rocking into me with mounting speed, every thrust a crash of pleasure. My breath caught, chest heaving like a wild animal as he shifted angles, lifting one knee so his cock brushed my G-spot just right. Fire exploded inside me; I clamped down, my body convulsing around him.
His groan, raw and guttural, echoed off the bare walls. Wetness pooled between us, bodies slick with sweat and desperation. I was so close.
“Don’t stop,” I begged, voice trembling on the brink. “Please—”
Rick growled and obeyed, pounding into me with a ferocity that sent the bed crashing against the wall. Our gasps and moans mingled with the distant hum of morning traffic, a symphony of raw, primal need. Then I shattered—heat surging from belly to spine, nails digging into his shoulders as I rode the tremors.
Rick followed seconds later, his cum filling me up, heat dribbling down the inside of my legs. He collapsed, heavy and spent, chest rising and falling against mine. We lay tangled, sweat cooling on our skin, hearts hammering in unison, breaths ragged and syncopated.
We stayed that way until the blood stopped roaring in my ears and I remembered how to breathe again. Rick’s head was tucked into the curve of my neck, his horns scraping the drywall, his arms a band of iron around my waist.
Eventually, I found my voice. “If this is your version of talking things out,” I rasped, “it’s wildly effective, but I think I missed half the conversation.”
He laughed, the sound raw. “Gimme a sec. My brain isn’t... working right now.” He rolled off me, giving me just enough space to breathe, but still holding on like he thought I might float away.
I closed my eyes, head spinning, and let the silence fill up the cracks in me. For the first time since the night we met, neither of us had anything to hide behind.
Rick was the one who broke first. He drew a shaky breath, voice husky but clear as he said, “I’m sorry I left.”
I stared up at the ceiling, letting the words settle, my brain working slow and strange. He said it like it hurt, like the wordshad been pulled out of some deep, secret place. I waited for the rest of the sentence—but he just lay there, holding me, breathing like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, and found myself answering without thinking. “I’m sorry I lied,” I said. “I just… I thought if I kept it light, then I wouldn’t get disappointed. I wouldn’t get hurt.” I laughed, a small, bitter sound. “Guess that worked out well for both of us, huh?”
He grunted, then, with a gentleness that undid me, rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He stared at me, like he was memorizing the landscape of my face. “You want to try again?” he asked.
Not a joke, not a dare. Just that simple, terrifying question.
When he brushed a stray curl from my forehead, carefully, like he was afraid he’d frighten it back into hiding, I couldn’t say anything except, “Yeah. I do.”
