
He told me to be professional. He never told me not to beg.
I thought I was signing up for an agricultural internship. I didn’t realize I was surrendering my sanity to a seven-foot-tall, muscle-bound, ruthlessly controlled minotaur who fills my every waking thought—and ruins my nights with fantasies that leave me aching.
Sterling Johnson runs the most discreet, high-end minotaur collection facility in the country. Hes professional. Impeccable. Off-limits. And after one reckless glimpse of what he does behind closed doors, I can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to take his knot. To be locked against him, filled so...
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