Page 13 of Bred By the Minotaur (DreamTogether Breeding Program #3)

Twelve

Phoebe

When I step inside Sandra’s house, I find her sitting on the couch with all my pillows and blankets neatly folded and arranged on the chair. The TV is on and her knitting is in her lap, but she looks half asleep.

“Where have you been?” she says, sitting up abruptly. “You were gone for a long time.”

“Sorry.” I sit down beside her, collapsing into the sinking cushions. “I didn’t mean to. I just... got sucked in.”

“By what? Did you go down to the park and end up playing on the merry-go-round?”

I drop my head in my hands. “No. Hank.”

“Hank?” Sandra puts an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me. “Tell me everything.”

So I do, from seeing the spare bedroom to the awkward conversation we had at the end of the night. Her brows draw further and further together as I talk.

“He has an extra room? And he offered it to you?” She cocks her head. “That’s not a bad idea, Feebs. I mean, you’re literally pregnant with his kid. Maybe it would be a good thing. You’d have your own space until your house is built, and the dad would be right there if anything comes up.”

I gape at her. “What? It would be idiotic of me to move in with him. We’re not dating, for starters. We barely know each other.”

Sandra waggles her eyebrows. “Really, though? You’ve been fucked senseless by him a few times, if I remember right.”

“That’s the problem!” I could just scream.

“I want it to happen again! He’s hot, Sandra.

He’s really, really hot. And sweet. And soft-spoken.

And he loves Milo so, so much.” I try to steel my voice against cracking, but I can’t help it as I remember Hank carrying a sleeping Milo up the stairs. “But we can’t have a relationship.”

“Why not?” Sandra asks, genuinely perplexed.

“For starters, I’d be violating the contract. DreamTogether could not find out. I would lose this job.” Just the thought of it sends a tremor through me. “Besides, who would I be in that situation if I started dating Hank? I’m not some random lady off the street. I’m Milo’s mom , for fuck’s sake.”

“Are you, though?” she asks. “You’re an egg donor, really. You never met him, not since he was born.”

I guess she’s right. I’m only Milo’s biological mother. I didn’t partake at all in raising him.

“Maybe it’s not as complicated as you think,” Sandra says. “You guys don’t have to tell him the truth, not immediately. You’ll have a place to stay, and then when the house is done, you can just move out. It’s only temporary.”

“It could take ages,” I argue. “A lot could happen in that time if I’m living with him. The second I start to show, we’re going to have to explain everything. And then what? I can’t be a parental figure to that kid, Sandra. Or to this baby. I can’t have that kind of life.”

“I don’t understand why you think that.”

“I already have so much on my plate! I have my job, Sandra. I have DreamTogether. And I have?—”

I cut myself off.

I have you .

We both stare at each other as the invisible words still come out. I didn’t mean to say it.

“Oh.” With a sigh, Sandra picks herself up off the couch with some effort. “Well, next time, just send me a text message to tell me where you are.”

Then she hobbles off to bed, and I’m left on the couch feeling like the biggest asshole possible.

Hank

I understand so much more now that Phoebe’s told me everything. She is a complicated woman, and it only makes me like her more. She has so many layers to peel back, and high protective walls around a good, loving heart.

She was adorably awkward but natural with Milo, and I saw the look in her eyes when she played with him.

Sure, he’s not lacking in charm, but there was something even more tender there.

She can feel what I feel when I look at him: the pieces of myself and the pieces of her, bundled up together into a mysterious little package, one that promises endless new surprises.

Could she see all the threads of herself woven through him, into a new creature with his own mind, and emotions, and empathy, that now we can watch bloom?

After flicking off the lights, I lock up and head to my room.

Instantly I remember Phoebe standing in here, and the scent of her lingers in the air.

All I have to do is think that errant thought again about her on my bed, fully naked and looking up at me, and my cock slips from its sheath, growing steadily under my jeans.

No. I’m not going to gratify it. Fantasizing about Phoebe’s soft cries, her little moans as I fucked her on the bench, won’t help me get over her. And that might be what I have to do.

Instead, I turn on the shower, leaving the water cold, and step in.

It sends a shock down my back, straight to my balls.

I pant under the onslaught and still, I’m imagining her.

Now that I’ve seen her face, now that I’ve watched her laugh and almost cry, it’s easy to picture what Phoebe’s face would look like while I was inside of her.

But we wouldn’t be hurried along like we were at DreamTogether.

No, I’d take my time with her, weighing her down to the bed under me, thrusting into her over and over until she’s open enough to take my entire cock.

I would wring the pleasure out of her, one orgasm after another, in every possible position.

And I could look into her limitless blue eyes while I did it.

Finally, I have no choice but to pump one out.

And damn, it feels great, too, despite the freezing water.

In my mind, my hand becomes Phoebe’s absolutely flawless pussy, squeezing and pulsing as she writhes under me.

Now she’s saying my name, calling it out into the sky while I show her what kind of life she could have with me.

It only takes me seconds to finish, and my cum sprays out, shooting across the shower to land on the tile in a massive splooge.

Damn. I’ve jerked off a lot of times thinking about Phoebe, but not quite like that.

Something about tonight, about seeing her so unguarded with Milo, makes me crave her in an even deeper, more fearsome way. A hidden, darker part of me emerges, demanding that she be here , where we both know she belongs.

“Hank!”

I didn’t sleep much last night, consumed with the thought of how I’m going to convince Phoebe to move in with Milo and me, so I’ve been sitting at the dining room table with a mug of coffee in my hand. I jolt upright at the sound of my mother’s voice.

“Hank! Hank! I won!” She comes bounding into the kitchen with more energy than I think I’ve ever seen her have.

“You won what?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. I think I was falling asleep at the table.

Milo comes in soon after. “Grandma is going to Bahama-mamas!” he says. “Right, Grandma? That’s what they said!”

I squint at my mother. “The Bahamas? How?”

“I won!” she repeats, as if this explains it. “On the radio! I called in during trivia hour and answered the question correctly. I was caller number one hundred, so I won!”

“So... you’re going?” I ask cautiously. “When?”

“Whenever I want!” She hoots. “I don’t think I’ve had a vacation since Milo was born.”

Ah, shit. I know it’s not been the easiest for her, helping me take care of him. But she’s always been happy to do it, so I never even considered what an inconvenience it might be to her personal life.

“Sorry,” she mutters when she realizes what she’s said.

“No, no. It’s true.” I grunt with exhaustion.

Milo has long since moved on, walking around Darla in circles in the living room chanting, “Bahama-mamas.” I gaze up at my mother, whose hair and fur have been graying for some time, and who has new lines around her eyes and muzzle that she’s only developed in the last few years.

We go to the beach from time to time, and have even stayed the night before, but vacations with Milo are still a lot of work.

“You should go, Mom,” I tell her earnestly. “I can find a nanny to help in the meantime, and I have a few days of vacation saved up.” This isn’t completely true, but I can get some of my coworkers to swap shifts with me.

She eyes me with suspicion. “Are you sure? Milo’s never had someone else for an extended period of time.”

As we speak, I’m going through my mental rolodex. I’ll need someone who can drive Milo to school and pick him up some days. Someone older, who either doesn’t have a job or has a flexible one. Perhaps one of Mom’s friends?

“I can figure it out,” I say, turning on my phone. “Don’t worry about us. Go take care of yourself for once.”

“If you say so...” She trails off, then glances out of the side of her eye toward the living room, where Milo is playing with Darla. “What about Phoebe?”

I gape at her. That’s an ask I couldn’t possibly make, not of Phoebe, and certainly not with everything she already has on her plate. She would turn me down without question.

“She works from home,” Mom says, ticking off one finger. “She has a car. She knows Milo already after last night.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. So, Milo told her everything. “And she’s his mother.”

I hold a finger to my mouth and shush her.

“He doesn’t know anything,” I say in a low voice. “We’re keeping it that way until Phoebe wants him to know. If she ever wants him to know.”

Mom arches an eyebrow. “If?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Of course it is,” she says with sympathy. “But you should still tell him. The longer you wait...”

“I need Phoebe to be comfortable first.” My tone is firm. Nothing happens without her say-so.

“Fine.” Mom doesn’t look all that dissuaded, though. “I’m going next week.”

My jaw falls open. “So soon?”

“They said I could use it whenever I want, and next week is my birthday, so...”

I might be the world’s worst son right now. I completely forgot. “Oh, of course. Then go.”

“Are you sure? You can figure it out before then?”

I bat a hand at her. “I’m not incapable. Go.”

Mom allows herself a small smile. “I’ll make the reservations,” she says, then trots out of the room.

What am I going to do?

Phoebe

I think I might actually implode.