Page 4 of Minding the Minotaur
Our sheriff may be a big burly orc, but he hates to break the rules.
Guess that’s why I feel the need to; why I take these illicit trips to the human world. To case out the joint, maybe even work out ways to get back at the bastards.
My body has finally stopped juddering from the impact of landing, so I sneak my snout out from under the cloak and look around. I’m in what looks like an underground parking lot, judging by the rows of stationary vehicles between big concrete pillars. I’ve seen something like this in the human movies we pirate—these are often the places where a human gets shot or whatever. You’d think they’d have had enough violence after the apocalypse that nearly extinguished the lot of them, but it seems the idiots have forgotten about thatminorevent that took place four hundred years ago.
And since then, they’ve relied on us monsters to keep them alive.
My nostrils flare with outrage. We just put up with their crap and keep complying, supplying. Enabling.
My thoughts are interrupted by a sudden sound. Footsteps. I pull the cloak around myself and shrink back into the shadows, making sure my hooves don’t scrape on the concrete. After a moment I dare to sneak a look. If someone were to glance my way, they might see a minotaur snout and two dark eyes floating in mid-air, but hopefully the shadows will conceal me.
A figure is approaching. Shit. They’re headed for the car next to where I’m huddled. It’s a battered looking little hatchback with scrapes on the side and a smashed-up bumper bar. I squat down lower as they approach the driver’s door and fumble with their keys.
It’s a female human, young, probably early twenties.
My snout twitches at her delectable scent. Being minotaur means I have a defined olfactory sense, and there’s no denyingit, this human smells divine. Sweet and musky and… and…distressed.
I scent her again. Yep, she’s definitely unhappy. I poke my head out a smidge more to get a better look. A curtain of straight golden hair frames a pretty face with round cheeks and puffy eyes. She’s been crying. I’ve seen that in human movies too, water squeezing out of their eyes and running down their cheeks. It’s not something we minotaurs do… We express sadness by lowing deep in our throats, and bowing our horns toward the ground.
My gaze pans down her body. Two beautiful big tits strain at the thin material of her t-shirt. I feel an unmistakable stirring in my cock.
For fuck’s sake, cut it out, Arlo.
I beg the damn thing to shrink, but it bucks defiantly against the zipper of my pants.
I have no idea why, but something about this human is sending my hormones into overdrive.
Sympathy and lust vie for my attention. I want to take her in my arms and kiss away the tears… but I also want to plunge my mouth between those beautiful tits, slide off those ugly tracksuit pants…
Before I can stop myself, I’ve let out a grunt. Her head kicks in my direction, her hand suspended with the car keys in her grip.
Her brows pleat as she peers into the shadows.
Quickly, I yank the cloak over my head. At the same time, I somehow lose my footing and fall onto my ass with a thud.
The problem for us minotaurs is we’re just not that nimble. Sure, when I’m galloping along the Labyrinth’s tunnels, I can get up a good pace, but crouched on my haunches in a confined space? Nah, not good.
Clumsy as fuck, to be honest.
I fling out an arm and grab onto the bumper of her car to right myself. But now the cape has fallen off completely,exposing me in all my fucking glory: a massive bull of a guy, with horns and fur and a tail. All I can do is raise myself up to my full seven feet and try for a cheesy smile.
Clearly it doesn’t impress her, because her mouth stretches wide in what I know for sure is going to be a very loud scream.
I can’t let that happen.
In a panic, I grab her and place a hand over her mouth.
As she struggles, I see the whites of her eyes, her pupils blotting out the cornflower blue of her irises. I shove my snout close to her ear, taking in the scent of her glorious hair. She smells like I’ve always imagined fields of flowers would: sweet, intoxicating.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I rumble. “Just don’t scream. Okay?”
She jerks a nod, and I loosen my big hand from around her lips.
A tiny mewling sound escapes her, and now that the risk of screaming has dissipated, I’m suddenly aware of her soft breasts crushed against my torso, her thighs straining against mine, and I realize that somehow, my arm is wrapped around her and one of my hands is splayed on her butt. I’m not sure how that happened, but the feel of her warm ass cheek under my palm is fucking amazing.
Her face is so close, I’d just have to lower my head and—involuntarily, my tongue rims my lips, wanting to flick across the lush fullness of hers.
Finally, she squeaks, “W-what are you?”
