11 The Minotaur

11

The Minotaur

I should have known this shit would happen the moment I got my hands on Ariadne again. I'm so furious at her, I can barely think. Not because of the godsdamned blueprints but because she still seems to truly believe I'm going to hurt her. Kill her. I don't know what it says that even with that, she's pressing back against me, writhing as if she can't wait to fuck.

But if she thinks she's getting my cock again after the shit she pulled… Well, shit, she might just be right. I can't think clearly with her big ass pressed against me, with her melting against my body in a way that speaks of trust even if she'd never admit it.

I've played the waiting game, and all it did was ruin me in the end.

Maybe it's time we just flat out fuck.

This doesn't really count as her coming to me, but damn if I can remember that right now. I pull a condom out of my back pocket and hold it up in front of her face. "This what you want?"

"It's not about want ." She reaches back and palms my cock. "It's about need . It's like a fever I can't quench. You touch me and…"

"Yeah." It's like she pulls the words right out of my head. But better. Always better. There are a thousand reasons to stop, to remind her of all the shit she has to answer for. I don't. I tilt my hips forward, letting her feel how much I need her, too. The promise of more. "After this, we talk."

She huffs out a laugh. "About what? I failed to get what you wanted, and now you're going to kill me." She hardly sounds like herself, her voice low and ragged. "I should be running and screaming, calling for help. Or at the very least I should be telling you no."

"You aren't telling me no." I don't quite manage to remove the threat from my voice, but then, I never do.

"I never seem to, even when I should."

Because we're meant for each other. Because she recognizes me the same way I recognized her when I was thirteen years old. I had nobody. I slept where I could, and people ran me off regularly. The only food I had access to was what I stole or climbed into dumpsters to get. And when times got really rough, I crawled into whatever bed I had to, did whatever acts were required of me, just to live another day.

Until the morning I saw Ariadne.

I was begging in the square, tempting the wrath of the cops that liked to hang out there and pretend to work. And there she was, a vision in blue, fresh-faced and innocent in a way I long since stopped believing in.

Until that moment.

Until she slipped away from her dour-faced security guard and crouched in front of me, all innocence and goodness that I no long believed in, and pressed a hundred dollars into my hand. But she didn't stop there. She noticed I was shivering, noticed that my clothes had seen better days. Noticed that I didn't have any gloves to stop my fingers from turning into fucking ice blocks. So she slid off her gloves, as easy as can be, and pressed them into my hands, too. I don't think I've ever been so speechless in my life, not before that moment and not since. The feeling only grew after she left and I got a good look at the gloves. They were a thick wool, knitted and embroidered, imperfect in a way that speaks of handcrafting—of an item made with love.

These were gloves that meant something to her—and she'd given them to me without a second thought.

I decided right there and then that if the gods existed, they'd sent her to me. If they didn't, it didn't matter, because I was going to take matters into my own hands. I was going to marry that girl.

It took me two weeks of carefully asking around to find out her name—to figure out who her father was—and another three to catch wind of the whispers that he was looking for the kind of muscle he could train up into being his .

I'd sold my soul for less. It didn't take much to bring me to his attention. I already had a mean streak and a vicious temper. Now after seeing Ariadne, I also had something to fight for.

Three days after I joined up with Minos, I found out that those gloves she gave me were a gift from her late mother. They're priceless and she gave them to me without hesitation because she felt I needed them more than she did.

She claimed me that day without meaning to, and I've spent the rest of my life trying to claim her right back.

Not that she remembers the day we met. If she did, she'd never believe that I'd actually kill her. The fact that she keeps insisting on clinging to that bullshit only pisses me off.

It makes me want to punish her.

It feels like I'm punishing myself to step away, but I do it all the same. "Take off your clothes."

She jumps. "What?"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

She turns slowly to face me. She's worrying her bottom lip the way she does when she's doing something she thinks she shouldn't. She did the same thing in the maze. The memory feels like acid under my skin. It was the realization of everything I'd ever wanted, a physical promise of a future together…and then she left me.

Now she's engaged to another man.

"Has he touched you?"

She props her hands on her hips, anger overriding her caution. "Does that seriously matter? He's my fiancé. Even if he wasn't, would you really see me as less valuable if I had sex with someone else?"

She doesn't get it. She never fucking gets it. "No one else matters but us. No one has ever mattered but us." I drop onto the couch. "But you forget; I know you. You wouldn't have chosen it—not with him. If I need to kill the motherfucker…"

"Stop." She shakes her head sharply. "No one has touched me. Dionysus even wrote a clause into the marriage contract that takes sex out of the equation."

Relief threatens to bow my shoulders, but I force them straight. Thank fuck she hasn't been harmed like that. "Good."

That takes some of the steam out of her sails. "Yes. Well. I thought so. He's been very kind, actually."

"I'm done talking about him."

Ariadne rolls her eyes. "Great. Wonderful talk."

"Ariadne." I wait for her to look at me. "Take off your clothes."

She shrugs out of her jacket and lets it drop to the floor. Then she reaches for the bottom of her shirt with shaking hands and pulls it over her head.

The maze was a frenzy. This is something different. No matter what else has happened, I relish this moment of freedom between us. She might be engaged to someone else. I might be under orders to kill her. But right now, there is only us.

We have all night.

She doesn't stop, removing one piece of clothing after another until she stands before me in only her underwear. I was right. She's lost weight. I don't comment on it, but I file the fact away, along with a determination to feed her soon. I knew the stress of the situation in Olympus was getting to her, knew it was taking a physical toll, but I thought there was still time to deal with it…at least until she left.

Even so, her body is still lush, her soft belly making me want to sink my teeth into her all over again. Her thighs have dimples, and there are stripes of paler stretch marks over her hips.

In short, she's fucking perfect.

"Show me."

She sinks slowly onto the chair across from me and tentatively spreads her thighs. She's wearing cotton panties, and I can actually see how wet she is from here, but I'm just as interested in the scar marking her thigh.

I have a matching one on the fleshy spot between my thumb and forefinger.

I want to ask her if she thinks about the maze just as often as I do. I want to sink to my knees and taste her again. I fucking want .

Not yet.

" You left ."

To her credit, she doesn't look away. "I didn't think I had any other choice. I'm not sorry I did it, but I'm sorry it hurt you."

We stare at each other for several beats. I hadn't planned on having this conversation now, but maybe it's best to get it all out in the open before we move forward. Or at least part of it. "You could have told me you were pregnant."

"I thought you might stop me."

Again, she underestimates me. I lean forward. "One of these days, you'll see the truth of me." I hesitate. "Are you okay? Did it—"

"I'm fine." She clears her throat. "Mostly fine. I've recovered physically, but it rocked me a little more than I expected." She lifts her chin. "I don't regret it."

"Good." I'm not sure if I believe her about the recovery, though. It's only been a couple weeks. Surely it takes longer than that.

So. No penetration tonight. There are other options. Guess I'll get on my knees for her again after all.

I hook my foot under her chair and drag it to me. Her little yip of surprise feeds my soul. The way her dark eyes light up when I move to kneel between her legs adds ten years to my life.

I press a light kiss to the scar on her thigh. "No biting tonight."

"Are you promising not to bite or telling me not to bite you ?"

I nudge her thighs wider. "I'm never going to tell you not to bite me. Wearing your scars is sexy as fuck."

" Oh ." Her lips part and her legs shake against my palms. She's quivering like a fucking leaf, but she meets my gaze steadily. "I like you wearing my scars, too."

Gods, but I love this woman.

I lean down and press an open-mouthed kiss to her pussy through her panties. She's so soaked, I groan against the thin fabric.

How can you miss something you barely had to begin with? It doesn't matter.

She sinks her hands into my hair without hesitation, lifting her hips to meet my tongue. I lick her until the fabric is drenched, until she's moaning and thrashing. Only then do I nuzzle her panties aside and allow myself unrestricted access to her pussy. She's slick and soft and all mine.

Her first orgasm catches both of us by surprise. She makes a surprised little sound, and then she's trying to take my head off at the neck with her thighs. An honorable way to go if there ever was one.

I give her clit a long lick. "That's a good start."

Her hands in my hair get more insistent. "Come here."

"I'm not done."

"Asterion."

Does she know what hearing my name on her lips does to me?

She's the only one who calls me by that name. I went by the Minotaur in the ring, and that's who Minos brought into his household. The brutal killer. That's all anyone sees when they look at me, and I've never mourned that truth.

But not Ariadne.

"Asterion."

I finally lift my head. Only then does she continue. Her eyes are heavy-lidded with the pleasure I gave her.

"You aren't, by chance, denying me your cock because you're worried about hurting me, are you?"

My skin heats even though I have no reason to be embarrassed. But in a world where every soft part of me has been systematically carved out, it feels almost like a flaw. Ariadne, on the other hand, always puts others first. She wouldn't think twice about hurting herself if it made others happy… If it meant a little pleasure for her.

She needs someone to look out for her.

Instead of answering with words, I stand and scoop her up, moving us over to the couch. That will be more comfortable for her. She sinks back, opening her legs for me once again. Her mouth might say she doesn't trust me, but she gives me her body readily. I settle back into place and drag my tongue over her center. She melts a little bit for me in response, and I reward her by slipping inside. Just a taste. Soft. Gentle. Fucking sweet.

After that, Ariadne doesn't have the breath to argue with me. Not for a long, long time. At one point, I allow her a small break and she promptly dozes off, snoring lightly. It gives me the opportunity to wake her up with my tongue, to tease her into an orgasm when she's still got sleep clinging to her. We were supposed to talk, but fuck if I want to stop long enough to start fighting again. Making my woman come is an addiction I have no plans on denying. Not tonight.

The sky is lightening with the first hint of dawn when I finally tug her clothes back on her languid body. She's practically drunk from all the orgasms, and she's sweetly trusting as I urge her to her feet and guide her down to the street where the car I called is idling.

I tuck her into the back seat and grab her jaw. "Ariadne."

She blinks those big eyes at me. "Yes?"

"You have three days. Get me those blueprints."

She licks her lips. "Uh…okay."

"Good girl." I kiss her lightly and then straighten and slam the door.

I head upstairs and strip the second I get inside. My cock is so hard, I'm surprised I haven't passed out from the lack of blood to my brain. I stalk to the primary bedroom and into the shower. Only then do I allow myself to wrap a fist around my cock. With the scent of her orgasms all over my face, it only takes three rough strokes before I blow, my orgasm so intense, my knees buckle.

Three days before I see her again is too fucking long.