Page 32 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
“God, Raphael,” I breathe, my palms settling over his pectorals. “You’re enormous.”
The rumble in his chest deepens, and I feel it vibrate through my hands. His breathing is getting heavier, more pronounced, and I know he must be able to smell my arousal.
I start tentatively, exploring the broad expanse of his torso with reverent hands. His fur is incredibly soft, darker across his chest and shoulders before lightening to a rich brown down his sides. Beneath it, his skin is warm and surprisingly sensitive. Every touch makes him draw in a sharp breath, his muscles twitching under my palms.
When I trace the path of fur down his stomach, following the line toward his waistband, his hips jerk involuntarily and a sound escapes him that’s purely bovine: a low, rumbling snort that makes it clear he’s just as much a monster as he is a man.
“Careful, little bee,” he warns, his voice strained and rougher than before.
“What if I don’t want to be careful?” I ask, working his belt buckle open with fingers that are definitely trembling.
His laugh is breathless, edged with something dangerous. “Then you might get more than you bargained for.”
His threat only feeds the reckless hunger building inside me. “Good,” I murmur, finally getting his pants unfastened. “Now lift your hips.”
He does, but I can see the tension coiling in his massive frame, the way his hands are fisted in the sheets like he’s fighting the urge to take control. When I work his pants and underwear down his legs, struggling with the sheer size of him, his breathing becomes even more labored.
Once I finally get them off and turn back to look at him, my mouth goes completely dry.
He’s both magnificent and terrifying. Fully aroused and absolutely massive, the sheer size of his cock makes me wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. The head is flushed dark and already glistening, and beneath his impressive length, his heavy balls rest against his thighs, full and swollen with need. The sight of him makes something clench deep in my stomach, part nervousness and part pure, desperate want.
“Jesus,” I whisper, unable to look away. For a moment I can’t help but wonder how much he comes, how it would feel to have all that power and size filling me. The thought almost makes me dizzy.
“Starting to reconsider?” His voice is carefully controlled, but I can hear the vulnerability underneath, the old insecurities about his monstrous nature.
“No,” I say quickly, reaching out with one tentative hand. “Just… trying to figure out the logistics.”
The moment I touch him, his whole body goes rigid, a harsh exhale escaping his lips that sounds more like a bull’s snort than anything human. His hips jerk involuntarily, and I can barely wrap my fingers around his girth.
“Both hands,” he says, and there’s a new edge to his voice—rougher, more commanding. “You’ll need both hands.”
I follow his direction, using both hands to stroke him from base to tip, marveling at the weight and heat of him. His breathing becomes labored, punctuated by low growls and snorts. His head falls back, exposing the thick column of his throat.
“Tighter,” he rumbles, his hips starting to move in small thrusts. “Don’t be gentle with me.”
The command in his voice makes my pulse quicken and my thighs clench involuntarily. I tighten my grip, working him faster, and his response is immediate and overwhelming. His back arches, every muscle in his torso going taut, and the sound he makes is pure animal: a deep bellow that seems to come from his very core.
I love this—love watching this powerful creature lose control under my hands. But more than that, I love the way he’s starting to take charge even while I’m the one touching him, the way his voice has dropped to that commanding tone that makes me want to obey without question.
“Faster,” he pants, his hands moving to grip my thighs where I’m straddling him. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
His touch burns through me, possessive and claiming, and I realize that even though I initiated this, he’s the one truly in control. The knowledge sends heat spiraling through me, making me work him with more determination.
When his climax hits, it’s with the force of everything else about him, overwhelming and intense. He roars my name, his hips jerking as he spills over my hands in thick, heavy pulses. There’s so much, more than I thought possible, coating my fingers and his stomach in hot streams that seem to go on forever. The sheer volume makes me wonder what it would feel like to have him come inside me, filling me completely with all that heat and need.
I continue stroking him through the aftershocks, fascinated by the way his massive body trembles under my touch. When he finally stills, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon, I can’t resist exploring him gently, running my thumb over the sensitive head and watching him jerk at the contact.
He catches my wrist, his grip firm but restrained. “Careful,” he says breathlessly. “Unless you want to see what happens when you push a bull too far.”
The threat in his voice is playful but edged with real promise, and it makes my pussy clench. “Maybe I do,” I say, feeling drunk on my own boldness.
Something shifts in his expression… Something darker and more dangerous. And before I can react, he’s moving, flipping our positions with fluid grace that reminds me exactly what kind of predator he is. Suddenly I’m beneath him, surrounded by his massive presence, and the shift from being in control to being completely at his mercy makes me gasp.
“Careful what you wish for, little bee,” he says, his voice dropping to a growl. “You might not be ready for what this bull wants to do to you.”
The words make my nipples tighten and my core pulse with want, and I can smell my own arousal sharp in the air between us. His nostrils flare as he scents it too, and the rumble that builds in his chest is purely predatory.
“I’ve never done this before,” I blurt out, suddenly needing him to know. “Any of this. Yesterday morning when you… that was my first time with anything.”
