Page 24 of Bred By the Minotaur (DreamTogether Breeding Program #3)

Twenty-One

Phoebe

The short trip back to the house feels like walking to the gallows. Can I really end things with Hank? The idea of it, of saying those words to his face and watching him fall apart... that might break me.

I rack my brains for the right answer as I step in the door to the kitchen lights off. Imelda is in the living room, reading a book in a chair. She must have put Milo to sleep while I was gone.

We make a good team.

I sigh as I walk into the living room, ready to be interrogated again now that she knows what’s going on between Hank and me. But Imelda just looks up over the top of her glasses at me and arches an eyebrow.

“Sandra liked the mac,” I tell her.

“Oh, good.”

When I don’t say anything else, neither does she, and she goes back to her reading.

I guess I’m surprised, but also not that surprised Imelda doesn’t want to talk about it.

She seems to be a firm believer that her son’s business is her son’s business, so I head to the guest room to get ready for bed.

But I lie awake for an hour, and then two, puzzling over the right thing to do.

My hand absently rubs over my belly, where I imagine Hank’s baby growing.

Wouldn’t it be good, though, to be here when I need help later on in the pregnancy?

And then... if I stayed, I wouldn’t have to hand it away to someone, never to see it again.

It would ruin everything I have with DreamTogether. Would there be repercussions for us? I need that money to pay my mortgage and Sandra’s.

It’s too tangled, too complicated. Finally, after counting a thousand sheep, I manage to drift off.

I wake up to a muzzle in my face, lips pressing against my cheek.

“It’s me,” Hank says in a low voice, kissing down my neck. He scoots me over on the bed easily, then climbs in beside me.

I wonder what time it is. It must be early in the morning.

“You should be in your bed,” I say, interrupting myself with a gasp when he nips my throat with his blunt teeth.

“I should be where you are.” His hand slides down my arm, over my hip, where he grips me harder. “I should always be where you are. Especially when you’re big and round with my calf.” He cups my belly, which is now just starting to change shape.

“Hank...” Just his name sticks in my throat. “Milo noticed today. So did your mom.”

He pulls back. “Noticed what?”

“Imelda knows now. About us. I think our moment of keeping this a secret is over.”

Hank’s ears flatten, and his brown eyes turn worried. “Did she say something to you?”

“No. But Sandra did.”

He sighs. “I guess it was bound to happen.”

“I think it was. And it made me realize... I shouldn’t be doing this with you if I’m not serious about it.”

There. I said it. It feels like a stone falling into my gut, but I did it.

Hank is silent for a long moment, his hand still curled under my belly. Then he pulls me closer and nuzzles my hair.

“Then marry me.”

My brain comes to a stop. What?

“Say that again?” I ask in a whisper.

“Marry me, Phoebe.” Hank sits forward, taking my hands in his. “Let’s be serious, then. Let’s tell Milo. Let’s get married, and?—”

“I can’t, Hank.” I sigh and pull my hands away. He lets them go, his hopeful expression falling. “You don’t understand. I can’t be a good mom to Milo. I don’t know how to be. I don’t think I can be what you want.”

He furrows his brow. “You are what I want. Right now. You don’t have to try or be anything different.”

I don’t say anything. He thinks I’m what he wants because of his hormones, because we’re living together, because of the baby.

“Phoebe,” Hank says in a serious voice. “I love you. I don’t even need to think twice about it to say it. I love you so much, and I think we could be wonderful together if you gave me a chance.”

My heart swells hearing it just as much as it breaks. I want to crumple into his soft arms. I want to accept everything he’s offering me, but can I really step up and be the person I’d have to be?

“You’ll be an amazing mom.” His smile lights up his whole face as he cups my cheek. “There isn’t anyone better. Milo adores you, almost as much as Darla.”

We both snicker at this.

“And he’s a sweet kid, Hank,” I say, rubbing his arm. “But... you don’t understand. I didn’t have good parents. Not like you. I had a terrible example, and I don’t know if I can be what Milo and this kid”—my hand glances over my belly—“need.”

Hank is quiet for a long time before he finally answers.

“You haven’t told me about your parents. I actually know very little about you, Phoebe.”

I’m surprised to hear him say this. He’s never outright asked me, so I never thought to tell him. Maybe I’m a little protective of it, of Sandra’s and my past.

I still feel like somehow I’m at fault. Sandra says our parents were just bad people, but I’ve always wondered what I did to deserve it. What I did that made them decide they didn’t love me anymore.

“My parents left us at home alone a lot. One of the neighbors saw us playing in the apartment hallway by ourselves and called it in. So we got moved into foster care.”

Hank is watching me, just listening with his ears perked forward.

“They never tried to get us back. We wrote to them, hoping to hear from them, but they returned our letters. They didn’t want us.”

I don’t cry as I tell him this story. I think I’ve already shed all the tears I can, years and years ago. But still, I feel the stab that first time a letter came back, and I thought it must be a mistake until our foster dad explained what the stamp meant.

“I’m sorry,” is all Hank says. He tugs me into a hug, tucking my head under his chin. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe. No child deserves that.”

I shrug, saying nothing more. I don’t know how to put together all the words I feel about how inadequate I am, how woefully unprepared I am for the type of life Hank envisions.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says, rubbing his hand down to my shoulder. “You don’t have to say yes or no right now. But just... think about it.”

After a breath, I nod. “I can do that.”

I’m not ready yet to end this, but neither can I accept his offer. I need to sort myself out first.

I’m grateful when Hank doesn’t leave. He lowers his nose to my ear, nuzzling the shell of it with his lips.

“Can I persuade you?” he asks in a rough voice.

“Yes.”

He gently tugs me down to the bed in his arms, my back to his front so I can feel him getting hard under his jeans against my ass. He unbuttons my pants and pushes them down, his hand finding its way right to where it belongs.

Hank knows just how to touch me to rile me up and uses his powers with abandon. While he fingers me, he shoves down his jeans so they’re stuck on his hooves. He spreads the lips of my pussy, splaying them wide to make his way inside me easier.

I moan as he glides home, now that my body is well-trained to take his. His hand slides up my body, over my bra to my mouth, which he covers with his palm as he sinks in deep.

My cry is muffled, and the sensation of his palm clamped down on my face is so acutely erotic that I spasm around his cock. Hank grunts, panting as he remains seated inside me. He likes to hold me this way, completely speared on his cock, soaking in me before he starts to move again.

His hand mutes another cry as he pulls out and thrusts in again, all while he keeps my thigh held up. Now he’s fucking me relentlessly, sinking all the way in before yanking back out. I’m so close that I’m shuddering all over, but he maintains his rhythm, even and practiced.

“Yes, Phoebe,” he murmurs to me, lowering his head to rest his cheek against mine. “Let go for me. Drench me.”

I sob into his palm as I finally let it sweep through me. I’m a bird in a whirlwind, swirling around as Hank grunts behind me, and his cock fills me even more. One more firm thrust and he’s releasing everything he has to give.

We’re both reluctant to say goodbye after we’ve cleaned up. Hank kisses me on the nose, then trails his fingers through my hair.

“Rapunzel,” he says after a beat, tilting his head. “That’s what I called you the first time around. When you had Milo.”

I blink. “Huh? Why?”

“Your hair.” He pats my head, stroking it. “It was so long back then. But I like it short, too. You have the most beautiful hair.”

I don’t know what to make of that compliment as Hank releases me and gets up to leave.

“We have to tell him soon,” he says as he reaches the door. “I don’t want to rush you, Phoebe, but I think for Milo, we should make up our minds.”

I nod in understanding as he leaves, shutting it quietly behind him.

Hank

I was ravenous for Phoebe when I got home from work. I needed to have her, just like I have every moment of every day. Now, I’m hooked on her. Her smell is a drug, her pussy a salve on my soul, her moans and whimpers all the music I need.

But she’s struggling, I know. She feels like she’s responsible for everything, like the weight of the world rests on her shoulders. I wish I could show her that she doesn’t have to carry it alone, and we could conquer life easily if we were together.

Phoebe is willful, stubborn, and so full of heart when it comes to those she loves—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I hope I haven’t pushed her too much, but I do wonder what would happen if Phoebe left. As much as I’ve been certain I can convince her, I’m afraid of her hesitation and what it would mean for me and for Milo. He’s gotten attached to her, too, and it might break his heart if she left.

No. I won’t give up. Not when a perfect life with Phoebe as my wife is so close, so within reach.

I sleep like the dead that morning and afternoon, and wake up to the smell of dinner. Sandra is at the kitchen table when I come down.

“Feebs wanted me to spend more time with her,” Sandra says by way of explanation, giving a little eye roll.

“Love you,” Phoebe calls back.

I quirk a brow at her as I sidle in wearing my gym shorts and no shirt, not thinking we’d have company.

That’s when Milo zooms into the kitchen behind me, carrying Darla. “Dad! You’re up!” She wriggles in his arms, and he lets her go free. “We’re having tem-poo-poo-ra!”

Phoebe slaps her forehead. “Not tem-poo-poo-ra again.” She scoops some battered veggies out of the frying pan and strains them before dumping them onto a tray. “Sorry, Milo wanted breakfast for dinner, but Sandra and I outvoted him.”

“No, it’s perfect,” I say. “I love tem-poo-poo-ra.”

Milo screeches in delight, and we exchange a high-five. Phoebe groans even louder.

I’m reluctant to leave for work that night after I’ve put Milo to bed. But duty calls, et cetera.

When Sandra is gone, I pull in Phoebe for a kiss. She stiffens at first, but easily falls into me as I hold her the way I do when I’m about to haul her off to bed. I ravage her mouth, then release her, wishing I could stay another half hour.

“Go,” she says, swatting me on the butt. My tail flicks as I grab my shirt and head out the door.

That night, though, I’m glad I showed up to work.

It’s one thing after another. We’re called to the scene when an old man has a heart attack, but he’s dead before EMTs even arrive.

Then an alarm goes off at a college dormitory, and we arrive to a parking lot full of sleepy students in pajamas while their common room leaks smoke out the window because someone left food in the oven.

We scuttle all over town that night, and by two in the morning, I’m run ragged. I’m glad I have my coworkers, who are all troopers.

Then, toward the end of our shift, we get another call. There’s been a fire in a restaurant that has an apartment above it. We all race to the truck and get in, heading off down the road with our siren howling. You can already see the smoke billowing into the sky.

When we get there five minutes later, the whole building is in flames, radiating heat. We’re not sure where the entrance to the apartment is, but the restaurant owner points us to stairs that are certainly not to code.

Ron goes up first, and I’m close behind him. When we smash open the front door, the apartment is filled with smoke, and I grab my mask and slap it on my muzzle. It doesn’t help, though, with this much particulate in the air.

This is a bad one, and it’s taken over most of the apartment already.

“There’s rooms in the back and upstairs,” Ron says after surveying the layout.

I beat him to the punch. “I’ll take upstairs.”

I’m halfway up the steps, blinded by the smoke, when I hear a crash and a scream. Uh oh. I hope whoever it is isn’t hurt or trapped. I’ve been in situations like that before, and they still haunt me.

I race down the hall to where a door has fallen in. Inside is a little orc girl, trembling all over on her bed. She’s the same age as Milo.

I barge in through the door and snatch her up, and though she flails, I hold her close to me.

“It’s all right,” I say through the mask. “Hold on to me as tight as you can.”

She obeys, clinging like a monkey. I turn around to leave the way I came, flames licking at us, smoke filling my lungs. Everything around us is blazing, searing my exposed fur.

Then the beam over the doorway cracks and falls, showering us with sparks. I cover the girl with my arms, but the sparks burn holes through my heavy-duty clothes, anyway.

With the door blocked, the only way out now is through the window—from the third story. I turn around, breathing in even more smoke as I consider my options.

No. I know what I have to do, so I hold the girl close.

“I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I’m getting you out of here. Hang on.”

Then I run toward the window and jump through the glass, which explodes around me. The shattered edges tear into my body as I go through. But I need to keep my charge safe, so I intentionally fall wrong, bracing myself underneath her to keep her from getting injured.

I hit the ground and hear bones snap.