Page 19 of Bred By the Minotaur (DreamTogether Breeding Program #3)

Sixteen

Hank

I keep extra quiet that night when I take my cock in hand, knowing that Phoebe’s in the room down the hall.

I close my eyes and my head drifts back, my horns resting against the wall as I think about everything that happened tonight, every smile she gave me, every time her breasts strained at her shirt or her jeans gave me a great view of her ass.

How she sat on Milo’s bed with him, her arm curled around him, and read him a book in such a quiet, tender voice.

She’s so painfully perfect, I just have to think about her on the breeding bench in front of me, that incredible, glistening pussy on display, to get off. I cover my groan with one hand, biting into my palm with the force of my orgasm.

Then I wipe myself up with a tissue and toss it in the trash. My cock is still hard as I’m thinking about her, wanting desperately to be inside her.

I don’t know how long I’m going to last.

Now, when I’m away at work and Milo’s home from school, Mom and Phoebe trade off looking after him.

My mother watches him during business hours so Phoebe can get her work done, and then Phoebe takes over.

Phoebe asked for a list of all of Milo’s favorite foods, then went shopping to come up with new recipes he might like.

But now she has to prepare two dinners, one for us and one for her sister. So sometimes she makes extra and carries it over to Sandra’s house in the evenings.

“Sandra is scary,” Milo tells me. “I like her... but she’s scary.”

Phoebe bites back a laugh. “It’s because Milo has hooves,” she confesses. “Sandra hates nothing more than shoes in the house because she’s terrified of tracking in dirt. But Milo doesn’t have shoes, so Sandra’s knitting him some slippers.”

Milo wrinkles his snout. “Slippers?!” He clutches his little hooves tight against him. “I’m not gonna wear slippers.”

But all Phoebe has to do is look sad for a moment, and Milo changes his tune pretty quick.

“I guess I will,” he mumbles.

When he comes back a few hours later, he’s wearing tiny knitted slippers on his small hooves.

“I sorta like them,” he says, flicking his tail.

The first week that Phoebe lives with us is when her morning sickness starts. It surprises her one day at dinnertime, and she suddenly rushes from the room, hand covering her mouth. When I hear her puking in the bathroom, Milo leaps off his chair.

“Is Phoebe okay?” he says, eyes huge. “She’s sick!”

“I don’t know. Stay here.” I rub his head before racing off after her down the hall. She’s in the half bath, crouched over the toilet, heaving her guts out.

“Damn,” she mutters as she sits up, breathing heavily. “Must have food poisoning.”

I raise a brow at her. “How far along are you?”

She thinks for a moment, and then it dawns on her. “Oh, that’s what it is. But I didn’t get sick with Milo. Or?—”

Before she can finish, she bends over the toilet again and pukes some more. I rub her back, keeping her hair out of her face as she gasps and moans. Milo peeks into the room, but I wave him away.

Phoebe barely has the energy to make it up the stairs to her bed, and Milo frets as I take away her half-eaten plate of food and wash it.

“Does Phoebe need to go to the hospital?” he asks morosely.

I curse to myself. We’re going to need to tell him the truth soon.

“No, Phoebe will be fine. She’s just not feeling well.”

Uncertainly, Milo nods and finishes his dinner, but he’s quiet for the rest of the night.

Before I head to bed, I check in on Phoebe, and stand in the doorway for a long moment watching her sleep, wishing I had the words to tell her what she means to me, that I had the courage to ask her to be mine.

Every day that passes, my hunger for Phoebe grows. Her sister is doing better lately and able to get around, so Phoebe decides we should all have a meal together—me and my mother and Sandra—so they can meet.

I’m nervous about everyone getting along, but as soon as we’re all at the table, charismatic little Milo takes center stage and no one can resist him.

“Darla told me she likes Phoebe,” he tells everyone, then shoves some pasta in his mouth. “And Darla only likes me and Dad, so that’s a big deal!”

Phoebe mock-gasps. “She likes me?”

“Yes. But she said you should give her more treats.”

Sandra laughs. “That sounds just like what a cat would say.”

“She also says I should get two desserts instead of one,” Milo goes on.

This time, it’s my mother who chuckles. “Darla sure has a lot of demands.”

Milo lists off everything Darla says he should have.

“Dang, he really got your eyes,” Sandra says off-handedly to Phoebe.

I sit up straight. Oh, no.

“Whose eyes?” Milo asks, perplexed. “They’re my eyes.”

Sandra covers her mouth. “That’s right. They’re all yours, of course!”

Phoebe shoots her sister a disapproving glare, but Milo is curious now.

“What did you mean?” he presses.

I don’t like the direction this is going, but there’s nothing I can do to stop the train now.

Sandra looks helpless. “It’s just... you have really pretty blue eyes, Milo! Just like Phoebe. Right? Cool coincidence.”

Milo blinks. “Co-insa-what?” Then he runs off down the hallway to the bathroom. I follow him just as he calls out, “Dad, I can’t see my eyes!”

Phoebe is shaking her head at Sandra as I leave the living room, and help Milo up onto the counter so he can look in the mirror. He stares at himself, then up at me.

“Wow,” he says. “I do have blue eyes like Phoebe. But Dad, you have brown eyes.”

Shit. This isn’t how I wanted to tell him.

“I know,” I say cautiously. “Your mother has blue eyes, though.”

“My mother ?” He simply laughs at me. “I don’t have a mother.”

I cringe. I’ve always told him that his only parent is me. He knows that some of the other kids at his school have two parents, but it’s never come up how his life looks different.

“You do have a mother,” I tell him. “All little calves have mothers.”

I pick him up off the counter and carry him back to the kitchen, where Sandra is rubbing her face and apologizing. Milo is quiet when I would expect him to be bursting with questions. Phoebe glances at me with a concerned arch of her brow, but I just shrug.

Maybe we got away safely tonight. But how long until he finds out? We can’t hide it from him. It feels wrong to lie to my own son. Phoebe and I need to have a conversation.

After Mom and Sandra leave for the night, I lead Milo up the stairs for bed. I sit down next to him and pick up the chapter book we were reading.

He sets his hand on the page when I start with the chapter number. “Dad, who is my mother?”

I should have known. I frantically look around for Phoebe, not sure what I should say, but she’s nowhere to be found.

“It’s complicated, Milo,” I tell him. “Maybe when you’re a little older...”

“Does it have to do with the baby factory?” he asks, bouncing. “Am I from the baby factory?”

“Yes!” The answer just bursts out of me. “Yes, you’re from the baby factory, too.”

Understanding dawns on him. “So I have a mom, but she’s at the factory? Making other babies?”

I nod quickly. “That’s right. She’s making baby number two right now. The one that will move in to Phoebe’s room.”

Milo frowns. “But where will Phoebe go?”

“Back to her house.” This is getting out of hand, and fast. I put my hand over his. “This is temporary, Milo. Phoebe’s house burned down, like we talked about.”

His eyes drift to the floor. “I know.”

“So when it’s done being built, she’ll go home, and the baby will move in.”

Though I doubt we’ll be able to hide for long where the baby-making is happening when Phoebe starts showing.

Milo nods in understanding, then picks up the book again and asks me to read it. Soon, he’s asleep, and I tuck him into bed and turn off the light before stepping out with the book clasped in my hand.

Phoebe’s at the table working when I come back downstairs. I let out a huge breath as I sink into the chair across from her.

“Milo now believes he’s from the baby factory,” I tell her.

“Thanks to Sandra’s comment?”

I can’t even feel angry. “It was bound to happen.”

“We’re going to have to tell him,” she says with a frown. At least we’re thinking the same thing, even though I know the idea makes her deeply uncomfortable.

“Are you ready for that?”

Her shoulders crumple. “No, not really. I’m not... I’m not someone’s mom , you know? I don’t know that I ever can be.”

I think I understand. She didn’t sign up for DreamTogether to be a mother herself, and she clearly hasn’t realized how much she is one without even trying.

“Then we won’t tell him right now.” I nod down at her belly. “But... we’ll have to.”

Phoebe sighs wearily. “I know. Live to fight another day, though, right?”

I nod, then to change the subject to something more comfortable, I point at her tablet. “What are you working on?”

Phoebe looks vulnerable at this question.

“It’s all right,” I say, backing off. “You don’t have to show me.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I just..

. I lost all my art in the fire. This is the first piece I’ve tried to do for myself since then, and I already feel rusty.

” After hesitating, she turns the tablet to face me.

It’s a canvas covered in foliage, each edge neat and crisp.

I’m amazed at how many individual plants there are in the rainforest she’s created. It has depth and dimension.

“Oh, there’s a monkey,” I say, pointing to a little brown head hiding behind a leaf. “And is that part of a tiger?”

“Yeah.” She turns the tablet back toward herself and continues drawing even while she’s speaking. “I’m making it for Milo, so he can pick out all the animals.”

I bite my lip. She’s making it hard to stay in my own chair. I’m overwhelmed by how much there is to Phoebe, how many layers she has waiting to be peeled apart and discovered. My heart wants to know all of her, just like my body does.

Fuck. I flare my nostrils and set my teeth. I can’t keep holding this all in. I have to try.

“Phoebe,” I start, and her head jerks up. I realize I’ve been silent for the last five minutes, and she’s gone back to drawing. “Sorry. I just... I mean, I want to say...” I’ve never been great at words, but this is especially bad.

“What is it, Hank?” she says, her blue eyes gazing up at me. Instantly, my cock starts to slide out of its sheath under my jeans.

“I, um...” I take a few deep breaths. “Phoebe, I really like you. I like you a lot. And I think you like me, too.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Hank...” she begins, her face falling, but I don’t want her to finish—not with that tone of voice.

“Please, just give it a chance between us,” I barrel on. “We don’t have to tell anyone. Milo doesn’t have to know. My mom doesn’t have to know. We can keep it quiet, and then if it doesn’t work out, it’s?—”

“Okay.”

I’m not sure I heard her right, so I flick my ears forward and cock my head. “Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s try it.” Phoebe puts down her stylus.

That’s not what I expected her to say, so I sit there like an idiot for a good five seconds before I finally catch up.

“Really?” I don’t know why I’m asking, because I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Phoebe snickers, then gets out of her chair. “How many times do I need to say it? But you have to promise me something.”

I hold out my hand to her. This is my opportunity and I’m not going to fuck it up. “Anything.”

“Promise me it won’t get weird. That if something happens between us... I don’t want this to change. I can’t afford a place of my own, not until the house is done.”

I think my mouth falls fully open. “I would never make you move out, Phoebe.”

But she doesn’t relent. “Please, promise me.”

I take two steps toward her, then sweep up her hand in mine. “I promise. No matter what happens between us, you can stay here as long as you want. You’ll always have a place in this home.”

Her face relaxes, and a shy smile takes over. She squeezes my fingers in return and closes the gap between us.

“Then show me this something more ,” she says.