Page 26 of Bred By the Minotaur (DreamTogether Breeding Program #3)

Twenty-Three

Hank

The one upside to my injury, though, is I get to spend plenty of time with Phoebe while she grows my calf. And that is the greatest gift I could have asked for.

We’re still hiding that we’re in a relationship from DreamTogether.

It’ll be more complicated to explain when I’m there in the room with her when she gives birth, but by then, it’ll be too late.

Maybe they’ll withhold her final payment, but I think once I explain the situation, I can get us through it.

Phoebe goes in alone for her routine checkups, and though I wish I could be there, this is easier until our time with DreamTogether is up. The new calf is moving more, and Milo loves to hop on the couch and feel when it kicks.

“Did I kick like that?” Milo asks, astounded.

“You sure did. With your teeny little hooves.” Phoebe plays with his feet, and he giggles and rolls around on the couch.

Phoebe plans to sell her house as soon as it’s finished being rebuilt, and that should produce a decent nest egg for the future.

But I’m still stuck in my damned cast as her belly swells and her breasts get bigger.

I want to do things for her, pick things up for her, lie on top of her while I make love to her, but I can’t.

It’s a humbling experience, and I learn a lot about the different weights the women in my life have to lift to keep the household going.

Phoebe is doing more art these days, usually sitting on the couch beside me with her tablet in her lap. She makes pictures for Milo that are fun and playful, and even considers putting together a children’s book. But then at night, she does... other kinds of art.

There are lots of ways to build intimacy, and I’ve learned so many of them outside of sex since I’ve been off my feet.

Phoebe has me sit naked on the couch so she can draw me, and my cock gets thicker and harder the longer she stares and draws.

Once she just drew a close-up of my dick, and then I held her in my lap and asked her to masturbate while looking at it.

One thing I can do is get some pussy on my face, so she frequently rides my mouth while I lie on the cot. She loves when I push my tongue inside her and fuck her with it, before returning to assailing her clit.

We watch movies together late at night, and play Monster Masher with Milo. I watch them cook meals together, weighing in when I can. Sandra, who also can’t always stand up to help, plays cards with me at the table.

Sometimes Phoebe and I simply lie together at night on my cot, spooning while we talk. I stroke her belly, imagining our calf coming into the world, waiting for the right moment to take the plunge.

Phoebe

As my belly gets bigger, Milo takes measurements of it, writing them down in scribble nonsense in a notebook. He gets a doctor’s set for his sixth birthday because he’s become so fascinated with the process of growing a baby, and he loves to listen to my belly while we’re watching television.

I can tell that Hank is growing more and more restless by the day, but he’s good at keeping it to himself.

We still haven’t talked about marriage again, not since the hospital. I think Hank can tell that I’m working my way toward it, finding my footing here with him and with Milo.

He’s not so subtle when he hands me the phone number for a therapist. He’s been seeing one since his accident to help him work through some of the feelings of helplessness he’s had.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said about your parents. I thought maybe you could go there and explore those feelings safely with some help.”

I raise my eyes to his big brown ones, and I just want to fall into them.

So I do what Hank suggests and call the number on the scrap of paper. It takes us a few sessions to get into my childhood baggage, but once we’re there and digging into it, I want to curl up and hide.

I’m glad that I have Hank after those sessions, when I’m tired and empty of tears and don’t want to talk about anything anymore. He simply holds me around the shoulders and turns on a mindless TV show, his cast up on the coffee table.

One of these nights, after Milo’s gone to bed, Hank brings me up onto his good thigh and simply rubs me between my legs, over my jeans. After a time, he pushes down his gym shorts enough that his cock pops out.

“Warm me a little, won’t you?” he purrs, unbuttoning my pants.

I shuck them off, then, with my shirt still on, I sink down onto him, taking that thick cock as deep as I can.

After a few moments, my body opens to accept all of him, and Hank settles his hands on my waist to watch the show over my shoulder.

Every so often he reaches around and thumbs over my clit, and groans as I pulse around him.

“Look at you, such a good place for my cock to rest,” Hank says, slightly canting his hips back and then pushing in deeper. He stops again, exhaling a long breath as he rests his chin on my shoulder.

We watch the show that way, his finger moving languidly on my clit, building me up to an orgasm and then letting me fall back down. He nips my neck, fingers my nipples through my shirt, and sometimes just watches with his arms around me.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I lift myself up onto my thighs.

It’s a lot of weight with my big belly, but I’m desperate.

Hank chuckles as I drop down on him, taking everything I can inside me, before doing it again.

He thrums my clit faster, whipping me up into a storm until I’m biting into my hand to muffle my cries.

When he takes me there, to our special home together in the stars, I know what I need to do. I’ve talked it over at length with my new therapist, about how much I want to be the person Hank and Milo need.

But I think that maybe Hank was right, and I might be okay the way I am.

We sit there, panting, until Hank’s leg suddenly starts itching. He groans in annoyance. I separate us, then reach for the side table to get his scratcher.

“My fur under the cast will never grow back the same again,” he grouses as he puts the scratcher in his cast.

“Hank.”

He pauses and glances up at me, clearly surprised by the seriousness of my tone. “Phoebe?”

“Your cast comes off next week, right?”

He nods uncertainly. “Yep. Should be right as rain.”

“Then...” I clear my throat. I’ve been thinking for so long about this, and now that it’s here and I’m about to say it, I suddenly fumble the pass. “Then, um... do you want to, uh... get married?”

I can’t look at him as I ask this question, because it’s been so long now since we discussed it. But then a hand takes me by the chin, and Hank turns me back to look at him.

“Yes. Yes, I definitely want that.” He leans sideways to kiss me, quick but tender pecks, half a dozen of them. “When? I’m game for anytime after this cast comes off.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Right after you’re free.”

His eyes widen. “A shotgun wedding?”

I take his hand and run it over my bump, which is nearly close to bursting now. “Seems appropriate.”

He snorts a bit like a horse, and I love when he does that.

“Let’s do it. We don’t need anyone but Mom and Sandra, anyway.”

I sit up on my knees, starting to feel excited. “Exactly. Let’s just have a ceremony in the yard, and then a nice dinner out.”

Hank gawks at me. “In the yard?”

“Good luck getting a venue on a few weeks’ notice.”

“Fair point.” He leans forward and brushes his pink nose over my cheek. “Whatever you want. It’s yours.”

Hank

I’m absolutely over the fucking moon.

First, I get this horrendous cast off. I know my muscles are atrophied, and it’s going to take time and physical therapy to get everything working right again, but freedom is so close that I can taste it.

And then... finally. I get to marry her. I get to have the love of my life forever, to raise our calves together, and all the joys that brings with it.

We break the news to the family the next day, and Sandra and Mom both understand the rush. Milo doesn’t quite get the significance of “getting married,” but he’s enthusiastic about it because I am.

He’s a little grumpier when he finds out he needs to get fitted for a tux.

We hurry the preparations, renting a trellis and buying fake flowers, and then it’s finally time for my damned cast to come off. They can’t get the saw through it fast enough, and I’m gritting my teeth by the time they get the bottom off my ankle.

At last. I’m free.

I put a slight amount of weight on it, and it holds, but everything aches. Oh, do I have a lot of work to do.

Immediately I’m hooked up with a few months of PT. I still can’t return to work, not until the doctor gives the say-so, but I’m not upset about it. It means I get to be home when my calf is born, and I can’t think of a better time.

Phoebe looks full and big in her wedding dress, and my love for her swells even greater as she walks out the front door, into the yard. Sandra went and got herself some kind of officiant certification, so she sits on a chair with me under the trellis as Phoebe approaches us.

I’ve never seen a woman so beautiful. Her bright eyes sparkle in the sun, and I could just fall into them. I sweep her into my arms, bracing all my weight on my good leg, and kiss her before Sandra can even read her piece.

My sister-in-law-to-be huffs. “Hank!”

Finally, I release Phoebe, and Sandra starts reading. She put together a wonderful story of how we met that’s far less lascivious for Milo’s little ears. He claps when he hears his part of it, how Phoebe couldn’t resist him, and Phoebe blushes.

“And I’m so glad to welcome you in as my brother-in-law,” Sandra finishes, tears in her eyes. “Thank you for taking such good care of her. I’ve never seen two people better suited for each other. I know you’ll be happy for a long time.” She sniffles. “Please kiss the bride.”

So I do. I kiss Phoebe with everything I have, for all the years ahead of us.

And then, there’s the wedding night.

Oh, fuck, have I been waiting a long time for this.

I’m straining at my pants all throughout dinner just thinking about what I’ll do to Phoebe later.

She helps Milo cut up his food and chides him when he throws something on the floor.

She’s a little stricter than I am, but I think that’s a good thing. He’ll get balance in his life.

At last, we’re off to the hotel room Mom got us as a wedding gift. It’s fancier than any place I’ve ever been, but I barely have time to register our surroundings before I have Phoebe down on the bed on her back, bracketing her head with my arms.

“Oh yeah?” she asks, wiggling with her excitement. I love how horny Phoebe is for me now that she’s comfortable with me—happy with me.

I grunt at the feel of her belly underneath me, full of our calf. We still have not had the sex revealed, because we find it doesn’t matter to us. We’re excited no matter what we get, and we’ll come up with a name on the fly.

I relish her, kissing her until she’s gasping and her lips are red. The whole time I rub her between her legs, over her underwear, getting her good and riled up.

It’s our wedding night, though. I’m not going to move too fast. I’m going to savor my wife.

I shiver all over as the word ripples through me.

“Wife,” I say aloud, touching my big nostrils to her tiny human nose. “My wife.”

“That’s me,” she murmurs back, rubbing my ears. My tail sticks out straight and my balls contract, and I am quite ready to consummate this marriage.