Page 15 of Bound to the Minotaur (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #2)

Gregory

She fit against me like she was made for it.

Curled into my chest, her breath warm against my skin, Kess slept like someone who hadn’t known peace in a long, long time.

One leg draped over mine, her fingers—still faintly twitching in her dreams—rested over my heart.

I’d never had a woman in this bed—not once.

And now I never wanted anyone else in it but her.

The cabin was silent but for the crackle of embers in the woodstove, which I’d gone to feed several times during the night to make sure my guest didn’t get cold.

Outside, morning light filtered in pale and soft through the slats in the blinds.

Everything smelled like her: salt and skin and the lingering sweetness of last night.

And all I could think was, How the fuck did I get so empty without even noticing?

For years, I’d kept to my patterns—the shop, the house, the occasional town meeting. I didn't even feel lonely, because I hadn’t known what I was missing. Not until this woman crash-landed into my world, like fate had finally taken pity on me.

She stirred, sighing into my chest, and I froze. Not out of fear, but reverence. Then she blinked up at me, those ocean-blue eyes hazy with sleep and wonder. Her lashes were still tangled from the night. That soft smile—unfiltered, unguarded—stole my breath right out of my lungs.

Gods. How was I supposed to keep lying to her?

How was I going to tell her what I was, what she was to me—and not scare her into running?

More than that, how could I convince her to let me hunt her?

To step willingly into my maze so I could claim her properly, as tradition and instinct demanded?

The dream maze was just a shadow. A memory bleeding over.

But my real one… that would change everything. If she let me.

She reached up and ran her fingers through the stubble at my jaw, her thumb tracing the line of my cheek. That sleepy smile deepened just a little, and I lost the battle not to lean in.

I kissed her—slow, intentional. No hurry this time. Just the press of lips and heat, her mouth soft and pliant beneath mine. Her hand tightened on my shoulder, and her thigh hitched higher against my hip. My blood stirred; my cock twitched with interest.

Maybe food could wait.

Then her stomach growled—loud and almost affronted.

A beat later, a sharp, judgmental meow sounded from the foot of the bed.

I pulled back, lips curved, forehead pressed to hers.

“Traitor,” I muttered toward Avis. Kess laughed.

That sound—light, human, and alive—was better than any music I’d ever heard.

“You hungry, sweetheart?” I asked, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Because I was gonna skip food in favor of something a little more… carnal. But if you’re starving…” Another meow—this one longer, more desperate. I turned my head. “I hear you, furball.”

Kess laughed again, wriggling out from under the blanket—gloriously nude—and reached for one of my shirts on the floor. My chest swelled at the sight of her in it, swimming in fabric but radiant. “I think breakfast wins,” she said, stretching. It might have. But not by much.

I forced myself up too, bones cracking, desire simmering low and hot in my gut as I padded barefoot after her to feed the woman and the cat who now ruled my entire world.

First, I fed the fire because I had the part but not the time to fix the heater.

Then I went into the kitchen, dressed in my underwear and nothing else.

Kess had already snatched up an apple, biting into the crisp skin with a crunch.

She’d keep until after Avis was satisfied, because the furball wasn’t going to stop meowing until his bowl was full.

I poured the kibble into Avis’s custom bowl—one I’d made years ago from scrap metal polished till it shone silver, with custom-made letters for His Highness, and frowned when the box felt lighter than I remembered.

I’d have to make a supply run soon. Couldn’t have the furred tyrant going without.

Avis gave me a short mrrp of approval and dove in, tail flicking with smug satisfaction like he ran this whole goddamn cabin, which, I was starting to suspect, might not be entirely wrong.

I turned toward the kitchen island, where Kess sat, bare-legged and sleepy-eyed, in nothing but my shirt. The hem brushed her thighs, the old fabric hanging crooked off one shoulder, like it belonged that way—like she belonged that way. Here. In my home. Wearing my clothes.

I cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a flick of the wrist, the scent of sautéing onions and herbs already thickening the air. I snuck glances at her every few seconds—couldn’t help it. Every time I looked, she had shifted a little: crossed her legs, tugged the shirt down, bit her lip.

It was a miracle I didn’t burn the kitchen down. I pressed a kiss to her bare knee as I passed with the skillet, then another to her hip through the cotton. She giggled and swatted at my shoulder, but she leaned into me all the same.

“I’m never going to get another job,” she muttered after a minute, her voice softer now, uncertainty creeping back in.

“Not with my father wanting to either kill me or drag me back to play pretty puppet. If I can’t leave…

are there even options here? In this town, I mean.

” She wasn’t just musing. She was testing. Fishing. Not for a job, but for me.

I scraped the spatula along the pan a little harder than necessary and forced myself not to react like the possessive beast clawing behind my ribs.

She’s looking for a reason to stay, I realized, pulse hammering.

My mouth opened—but I fumbled the moment.

“You don’t worry about that now,” I said, too gruffly, sliding eggs onto a plate. “Eat first.”

Her expression dimmed. It wasn’t obvious. Just a flicker, a downturn of her mouth, her gaze lowering to the counter between her legs. But I saw it, felt it like a knife between my ribs. That wasn’t what she needed to hear—not really.

Avis looked up from his bowl then, his eyes narrowing into slits of disdain as he gave me the kind of look I usually reserved for people who forgot to pay their repair bills. He licked his paw with exaggerated judgment and flicked his tail toward Kess.

Move your ass, bull.

I didn’t need another nudge.

I abandoned the second omelet, still sizzling in the pan, and stepped between her thighs. My hands found her waist, warm under the hem of my shirt, and I pulled her forward to the edge of the counter so we were flush—close. Her breath hitched; her thighs opened wider.

“You stay here,” I said, my voice low, the words vibrating against her skin as I leaned in. “As long as you desire.” Her eyes went wide at the word desire, and her cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful pink. I could smell the change in her. Feel it in the spike of her pulse beneath my palms.

And, gods help me, my cock swelled at the sound of her gasp.

So I kissed her. Hard. I crushed my mouth to hers and devoured the soft sound she made in surprise.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, and I stepped in fully, pressing every inch of my body against hers.

She didn’t need to ask anymore. She didn’t need to test the waters.

I wanted her here. I needed her here. Come hell or high water, I was going to make damn sure she stayed.

I barely managed to reach back and twist the stove knob before the second omelet went from golden to scorched.

The air was thick with the scent of breakfast, but all I could smell was her—Kess—ripe with need and perched on my counter in nothing but my shirt, the hem riding dangerously high over her thighs.

I stepped between her legs again, my hands already under the soft fabric, fingers skimming the curve of her hips before slipping lower. I found her wet—aching for me—and her breath hitched in a way that sent a tremor through my entire frame.

“I need you,” I warned, my voice all gravel and heat. She didn’t answer with words—just a soft, helpless sound in the back of her throat that had me shoving my boxers down, one hand braced on the counter beside her, the other guiding myself to her slick entrance.

I surged in, her body taking me deep, and she gasped my name like it burned her lungs. We didn’t speak, didn’t need to. This wasn’t slow or tender—this was fire and urgency, both of us greedy for closeness, desperate to quiet the world outside with the thunder of our bodies colliding.

She clung to me, thighs tight around my waist, nails scoring my shoulders through the fabric of my shirt. Her climax rippled through her with a soft cry, her walls gripping me like a vise, and I gave in with a growl, my own release crashing over me in hot, pulsing waves.

I buried my face in the curve of her neck and held her there, still joined, until the urgency faded and all that remained was the soft press of her against me. “You stay right here,” I murmured, not knowing if I meant for the day or for forever—just knowing that I needed her here.

Eventually, she slipped off to shower, and I cleaned up at the sink, splashing cool water over my face to ground myself. I was still toweling my hands dry when she returned, hair damp, eyes clearer but no less intense.

We finally ate—the omelets holding up better than I expected—and I watched her watch me as I devoured mine, added a salad, and then cleaned up the fruit bowl like I hadn’t eaten in a week. “What?” I asked, mouth full of apple.

She shook her head, smiling faintly. “You eat like a bear.” Amusement danced in the blue behind her glasses, a sparkle I was happy to see, and wanted to see more of, in fact.

I grunted. “Better a bear than a bull, huh?” Her smile faltered for a heartbeat, as if the joke had hit too close to something unspoken. I shouldn’t have said that, but now I was the one testing, seeing how far I could take her, testing how to convince her.

Yeah. We were going to have to talk soon. Just… not yet.