Page 14 of Screwed by the Minotaur in Hallow’s Cove (Hallow’s Cove #6)

I cried out and he only doubled down, fucking me with his hand, sucking my clit until my body detonated.

Release poured through me, hot and uncontrollable, my whole body shuddering and clamping down on his fingers.

He groaned, delighted, and kept going, drawing every last spasm out of me until I was a limp, trembling wreck on the sheets.

Then he climbed up and kissed me, hard, I tasted myself on his tongue and moaned into his mouth.

He was out of his jeans in seconds and I didn’t hesitate in wrapping my hand around him, marveling again at the sheer size and the impossible feel of him. He sucked in a breath, his body tensing, and I pulled him to me, greedy for the fullness, the pressure, the absolute ruin of it.

He knelt between my thighs, angling himself against my entrance, and just the blunt head of his cock had me arching off the bed, clutching at his arms. He gripped my knees, spreading me wide, and pushing in all the way in one stroke, a heat and stretch that bordered on pain but somehow edged into pleasure.

For a moment, he stayed still, buried fully, letting us both feel the tight, liquid heat of him inside. His eyes, dark and tender, searched mine for permission.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice rough and strained.

“God, yes.” The words spilled out in a moan as I slid my legs around his hips, tugging him deeper, urging him to move.

And move he did. Slow, deep strokes that sent stars exploding behind my eyelids.

I gripped the sheets, heels digging into his back, urging him faster, harder.

He obeyed, rocking into me with mounting speed, every thrust a crash of pleasure.

My breath caught, chest heaving like a wild animal as he shifted angles, lifting one knee so his cock brushed my G-spot just right.

Fire exploded inside me; I clamped down, my body convulsing around him.

His groan, raw and guttural, echoed off the bare walls. Wetness pooled between us, bodies slick with sweat and desperation. I was so close.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, voice trembling on the brink. “Please—”

Rick growled and obeyed, pounding into me with a ferocity that sent the bed crashing against the wall.

Our gasps and moans mingled with the distant hum of morning traffic, a symphony of raw, primal need.

Then I shattered—heat surging from belly to spine, nails digging into his shoulders as I rode the tremors.

Rick followed seconds later, his cum filling me up, heat dribbling down the inside of my legs. He collapsed, heavy and spent, chest rising and falling against mine. We lay tangled, sweat cooling on our skin, hearts hammering in unison, breaths ragged and syncopated.

We stayed that way until the blood stopped roaring in my ears and I remembered how to breathe again. Rick’s head was tucked into the curve of my neck, his horns scraping the drywall, his arms a band of iron around my waist.

Eventually, I found my voice. “If this is your version of talking things out,” I rasped, “it’s wildly effective, but I think I missed half the conversation.”

He laughed, the sound raw. “Gimme a sec. My brain isn’t... working right now.” He rolled off me, giving me just enough space to breathe, but still holding on like he thought I might float away.

I closed my eyes, head spinning, and let the silence fill up the cracks in me. For the first time since the night we met, neither of us had anything to hide behind.

Rick was the one who broke first. He drew a shaky breath, voice husky but clear as he said, “I’m sorry I left.”

I stared up at the ceiling, letting the words settle, my brain working slow and strange.

He said it like it hurt, like the words had been pulled out of some deep, secret place.

I waited for the rest of the sentence—but he just lay there, holding me, breathing like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, and found myself answering without thinking. “I’m sorry I lied,” I said. “I just… I thought if I kept it light, then I wouldn’t get disappointed. I wouldn’t get hurt.” I laughed, a small, bitter sound. “Guess that worked out well for both of us, huh?”

He grunted, then, with a gentleness that undid me, rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He stared at me, like he was memorizing the landscape of my face. “You want to try again?” he asked.

Not a joke, not a dare. Just that simple, terrifying question.

When he brushed a stray curl from my forehead, carefully, like he was afraid he’d frighten it back into hiding, I couldn’t say anything except, “Yeah. I do.”

His smile was crooked, almost shy. “We could start over. For real. Do it right this time.” He tucked the sheet around our waists, as if the thin cotton could shield us from the mess of the last few days. “We could go on a date. Like normal people.”

I snorted. “I’m not sure there’s a universe where we’re normal people.”

He grinned, showing his brilliant flat white teeth. “I think we can manage a normal date.”

We lay there, the absurdity of it sinking in—two idiots who couldn’t go a single day without detonating each other’s emotional landmines.

But somehow, the idea of starting over felt less terrifying in the aftermath of mutual destruction.

Like maybe, once all the bullshit was burned away, we could build something honest on the ashes.

“Okay,” I said finally, the word fragile but true. “We start over.” I reached for his hand, weaving my fingers through his. “But I’m warning you now: I’m horrible at first dates. I get nervous and say dumb things and usually spill something on myself.”

Rick squeezed my hand, the pressure nearly cracking my knuckles, but in a nice way.

“Spilling things is fine. I stain everything I wear within five minutes. Occupational hazard.” He paused, looking suddenly nervous.

“Uh, so, I know we said we’re starting over—like, emotionally—but…

” He trailed off, biting his lower lip, which frankly only made him look less intimidating and more like an overgrown teen at his first school dance.

“Does that mean we have to wait for, um, physical stuff?”

I burst out laughing. “Are you asking if we can have sex while we’re dating like normal people?”

He bit his lip and looked anywhere but my face, obviously embarrassed. This was an odd convo, especially considering we were still lying naked together.

“I mean, not every day. Unless you want to,” he blurted. “Or you don’t want to. You set the pace, I just—” He stopped, then added miserably, “I’m real bad at waiting.”

I kept laughing, the endorphins and oxytocin and whatever else made a person feel safe and stupid and good turning me into a human giggle-loop.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” I said, touching the side of his face, watching him go pink at the compliment.

“I’m not,” he protested, which made it even better, because he was. “I’m, like, objectively not.”

“Objectively, you’re a minotaur with a heart and a very, very magnificent—” I cut myself off, blushing for the first time in years. “Never mind.”

He cocked a brow and gave a wolfish smile that I was pretty sure he practiced in the mirror when no one was watching.

“If you’re referring to my equipment, you could just say it.

I know I’m not human, after all. Biological advantages and all that.

” He said it with a mix of pride and bashfulness that made my insides go warm and loose.

“I prefer the phrase ‘superior craftsmanship,’” I deadpanned, and his laugh was a deep, full-body thing that shook the mattress and made me giggle in spite of how ridiculous we both were.

We spent the next hour sprawled out and aimless, playing a game of gentle one-upmanship: who could tell the dirtiest joke, who could do the worst celebrity impression, who could come up with the best fake name for the new shop.

He suggested From Seed to Sorrow with such earnestness that I almost believed him, and then collapsed into helpless laughter when I threatened to commission a neon sign.

Eventually we both drifted off, exhausted from the events of the past few days.