Page 31 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
“I want to stop being afraid of what people think,” she says finally. “I want to make choices that are mine, not what everyone expects of me.”
The weight of what she’s saying settles between us—not some grand romantic gesture, but a choice made with clear eyes. She’s choosing uncertainty over safety, and that takes courage I’m not sure I deserve.
We finally leave the SUV and walk the short distance to my front door. “Thank you,” I say simply as I fish my keys from my pocket. “For today. For believing this was worth doing.”
She nods. “Thursday’s going to be interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.” I pause with my key in the lock, looking down at her. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“No,” she says with a small laugh. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
Inside my house,the emotional intensity of the day catches up with me all at once. The interview has left me raw, vulnerable from sharing my darkest moment and having it accepted without judgment. I move to the kitchen, trying to find something to do with my hands before the restless energy overwhelms me.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, opening the refrigerator and staring blindly at its contents. “I could make something…”
“Raphael.” Her voice is closer than I expected, and I turn to find her right behind me, her hand settling on my arm. “You don’t have to take care of me right now.”
I go completely still under her touch, my breathing becoming shallow as her scent wraps around me. “I need to do something with my hands,” I admit. “Otherwise I’m going to…”
“What?” She steps closer. “What are you going to do?”
My control slips for just a moment—my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides as the beast in me responds to her proximity.
“I’m going to touch you,” I say, the words coming out like gravel.
Her eyes darken. “Actually,” she says, her voice taking on a husky quality, “I think it’s my turn.”
“Your turn?”
“You touched me yesterday morning,” she says, stepping even closer, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. “Now I want to touch you.”
The effect of her words is immediate and overwhelming. I draw in a sharp breath, catching the scent of her determination, her desire. A low rumble builds in my chest, not quite a growl but something deeper, more primal.
“Frankie…” Her name comes out rough, strained with the effort of maintaining what’s left of my control.
“Let me,” she whispers, her hands sliding up to frame my face, thumbs stroking along my jaw. “Let me take care of you for once.”
And as her fingers begin to explore the sensitive base of my horns with such tender care, I know I’m completely, utterly hers tonight.
Chapter 10
Two Hands Required
Frankie
The moment my hands framehis face, I feel something shift between us. Raphael’s dark eyes go molten, his nostrils flaring as that deep rumble builds in his chest again. The sound sends a thrill through me, making me bold in ways I’ve never been before.
“Bed,” I whisper against his jaw, and the single word comes out husky with want.
He doesn’t argue. Those massive hands span my waist, lifting me effortlessly as he carries me toward the bedroom. I wrap my legs around him as best I can. His torso is so broad I can barely manage it, but I press kisses along the strong column of his throat anyway. His fur is softer there, and I can taste the salt of his skin beneath it.
When we reach the bed, I push against his chest with both hands. For a moment, I think he might resist; he’s so muchstronger than me that my touch should barely register. But he allows it, settling on the edge of the massive mattress with an amused huff through his nostrils. Even sitting, he’s nearly at eye level with me, his presence overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Lean back,” I say, my voice gaining confidence as I watch his pupils dilate with need.
Again, he complies, but there’s something in his expression that tells me he’s indulging me. Like a massive bull allowing a butterfly to land on his horn—patient, but still fundamentally in control.
I straddle his thick thighs, and immediately feel dwarfed by his size. My hands look tiny against his chest as I begin working the buttons of his shirt, revealing inch after inch of fur-covered muscle. When I finally push the fabric aside, I have to pause just to take him in.
