Page 29 of The Minotaur’s Little Peach
SOREYA
T he words hang between us like a bridge I've finally decided to cross. I love you too. Three simple words that feel like stepping off a cliff and learning to fly at the same time.
Daegan's sea-glass eyes search my face, probably looking for any hint that I might bolt again. The memory of our last kiss—how I panicked and ran—sits heavy between us. I can see the caution in his expression, the way he's holding himself back despite everything we've just shared.
He starts to lean in, his massive frame moving with that careful grace he always shows around me, like I'm something precious that might break.
But then he stops, just inches away, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin and catch the scent of sea salt that always clings to him.
"If you're planning to run away again," he says quietly, his voice rough with want and wariness, "tell me now. Because I won't be able to handle kissing you and then watching you disappear."
The teasing note in his voice doesn't quite hide the vulnerability underneath.
He's giving me an out, protecting both of us from the possibility of me retreating into myself again.
But I don't want an out anymore. I don't want the careful distance I've been maintaining or the walls I've built to keep myself safe.
Instead of answering with words, I reach up and grab the front of his shirt, my fingers curling into the rough fabric as I pull him down to me. His eyes widen slightly at my boldness, but then I'm pressing my lips to his and nothing else matters.
This kiss is different from our first one by the fire. That one was tentative, questioning, full of uncertainty about what we were doing and whether it was right. This one is an answer, a declaration, a promise that I'm done running from what's growing between us.
Daegan makes a low sound against my mouth, something between surprise and relief, before his arms come around me and lift me clean off the bed. I should probably be startled by how effortlessly he moves me, but instead I feel safe, cherished, like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
"My room," he murmurs against my lips, his voice a rumble I feel more than hear. "We can still hear Taran, but..."
"Privacy," I finish, understanding immediately. We need to be close enough to respond if our baby needs us, but far enough away to have this moment for ourselves.
He carries me down the short hallway with sure steps, never breaking our kiss except to navigate around the doorframe. His room is smaller than mine, simpler, with just his sea chest and the narrow bed he's been sleeping in for months now. But it feels intimate in a way that makes my heart race.
When he lays me down on his bed, the mattress dips under our combined weight.
He braces himself above me, those powerful arms caging me in without making me feel trapped.
His chipped horn catches the lamplight filtering in from the hallway, and I reach up to trace the broken edge with gentle fingers.
"Does it hurt?" I ask softly.
"Not anymore," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. "Not when you touch it like that."
He kisses me deeper then, his mouth moving against mine with a hunger that sends heat racing through my veins. I can taste the want on his lips, feel it in the careful way his hands frame my face like I'm something sacred.
But I don't want careful anymore. I've spent months being fragile, letting grief make me brittle and afraid. Tonight I want to remember what it feels like to be alive, to be desired, to desire in return.
"Closer," I whisper against his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt. "I want you closer."
He pulls back just enough to search my eyes, probably making sure I mean what I'm saying. Whatever he sees there must convince him, because his expression shifts from careful restraint to something far more intense.
"I've been keeping walls up," I tell him, needing him to understand this isn't just physical want driving me. "Between us, around my heart. I thought it would protect me from getting hurt again."
My fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, clumsy with urgency but determined.
The fabric parts under my touch, revealing the broad expanse of his chest covered in that warm brown fur.
Scars from his years at sea mark his skin—rope burns along his forearms, a thin line across his ribs from some long-ago accident.
"But I'm tired of protecting myself," I continue, my palms splaying against his chest to feel the rapid beating of his heart. "I'm going to lose out on everything good if I keep hiding behind fear."
His hands cover mine, stilling my movements for a moment as he looks down at me with something approaching awe.
"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice rougher than usual. "Because once we cross this line, there's no going back. I won't be able to pretend I don't love you, don't want you, don't need you in my life."
"I don't want to go back," I tell him honestly. "I care about you, Dae. So much it scares me sometimes. But I'm ready to let you all the way in."
Something shifts in his expression then, the last of his careful restraint melting away. When he kisses me again, it's with a passion that steals my breath and sets my blood on fire. His hands move to the hem of my nightgown, pausing just long enough for me to nod before he lifts it over my head.
The cool air hits my skin, but before I can feel self-conscious, Daegan's mouth is at my throat, pressing soft kisses along my pulse point. His hands map my body with reverent touches, like he's memorizing every curve and hollow.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against my collarbone, his voice full of wonder. "So damn beautiful."
I help him out of his shirt, running my hands over the broad planes of his back, feeling the play of muscle under fur-covered skin. He's magnificent—all power and strength tempered by the gentleness he shows when he touches me.
When his mouth finds mine again, I arch up against him, wanting to eliminate every inch of space between us. This is what I've been denying myself—this connection, this intimacy, this feeling of being completely alive and present in my own skin.
"I never thought I could have this again," I whisper against his lips, my hands threading through his hair. "
"You can have whatever you want," he tells me, his forehead resting against mine. "Everything you want. I'll give you whatever I can."
His hands worship my body with touches that are both reverent and possessive, like he can't quite believe I'm real and here and choosing him.
When his mouth follows the path his hands have traced, I lose myself in sensation, in the feeling of being cherished and desired and completely, thoroughly loved.
I'm tired of grief defining my life, tired of loss casting shadows over every moment of potential joy. Tonight I want to remember what it feels like to be happy, to be whole, to be exactly where I belong.
And with Daegan's arms around me and his whispered endearments in my ear, I finally feel ready to let myself be exactly that.
My hands move to the waistband of his trousers, fingers trembling slightly as I work at the fastenings. Daegan's breath catches as I push the fabric down over his hips, and when he springs free, I can't help the soft gasp that escapes me.
He's magnificent. Thick and long and perfectly proportioned to match the rest of his massive frame. I've never seen anything quite like him—the ruddy tip already glistening, the impressive girth that makes my core clench with anticipation and just a hint of nervousness.
"Soreya," he says softly, noticing how I've gone still, my eyes fixed on him. "We don't have to?—"
"I want to," I interrupt, my voice breathier than I intended. My fingers wrap around him, marveling at the velvet-soft skin over steel hardness, the way he throbs under my touch. "I want this. I want you."
His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a low groan rumbling from his chest as I explore him with gentle strokes. When he opens them again, the sea-glass green has gone dark with desire.
"You're sure?" he asks, his voice strained. "Because once I'm inside you, I won't want to stop. I've been thinking about this, about you, for weeks now."
The raw honesty in his confession sends heat spiraling through me. I guide him toward me, positioning him at my entrance where I'm already slick and ready for him. The blunt head of his cock presses against me, and I have to bite back a moan at just that small contact.
"No more walls," I whisper, echoing my earlier words. "I don't want anything between us anymore."
He braces himself above me, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other cups my face with infinite tenderness. When he starts to push forward, the stretch is immediate and intense. He's so much bigger than I expected, bigger than anyone I've ever been with, and my body needs time to adjust.
"Breathe," he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough with restraint. "Just breathe for me, sweetheart. Let your body get used to me."
I focus on the steady rhythm of my breathing, on the way his thumb strokes across my cheekbone, on the careful control he's maintaining even though I can feel how much he wants to claim me completely. He pushes in another inch, and I gasp at the delicious pressure.
"That's it," he encourages, pressing soft kisses to my temple. "You're doing so good. Taking me so perfectly."
The praise makes me clench around him, and he swears softly under his breath. I love that I can affect him like this, that this powerful man is barely holding himself together because of me.
"More," I whisper, my nails digging into his shoulders. "I can take more."
He obliges, sliding deeper until I'm fuller than I've ever been. The sensation borders on overwhelming, but it's the best kind of overwhelming—the kind that makes me feel completely alive and present in my own skin.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his forehead pressed against mine. "So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me."
When he's fully seated inside me, we both go still for a moment, adjusting to the intimate connection. I can feel every thick inch of him, the way he fills me completely, the steady pulse of his heartbeat through our joined bodies.
"You okay?" he asks, searching my face for any sign of discomfort.
Instead of answering with words, I roll my hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from both of us. The friction is exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure racing along my nerve endings.
"More than okay," I manage to say, my voice already starting to fracture. "Move. Please."
He starts slow, pulling back until just the tip remains before sliding home again. Each thrust is measured, controlled, designed to build the pleasure gradually. But I can see the strain in his face, the way his jaw clenches as he holds himself back.
"You don't have to be careful with me," I tell him, my hands sliding down to grip his ass, encouraging him to go deeper, harder. "I won't break."
Something shifts in his expression then, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. His next thrust is deeper, more forceful, and I cry out at the sudden spike of pleasure.
"Like that?" he asks, his voice dropping to a rough growl. "Is that what you want?"
"Yes," I gasp, arching up to meet his movements. "Just like that."
He finds a rhythm that has me gasping and clinging to him, each powerful thrust driving me higher. The careful gentleman is gone, replaced by someone more primal, more possessive. He takes me like he's claiming me, marking me as his with every deep stroke.
"I've thought about this," he confesses between thrusts, his voice ragged with exertion and desire. "Thought about having you under me, thought about making you mine. Dreamed about the sounds you'd make."
His words are as intoxicating as his touch, sending heat racing through my veins. I love hearing how much he's wanted this, wanted me. It makes me feel powerful and desired in a way I haven't experienced in far too long.
The angle of his thrusts shifts slightly, and suddenly he's hitting a spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, tasting salt and the unique flavor that's entirely him.
"There," I manage to gasp against his skin. "Right there."
He adjusts his position to hit that spot with every thrust, and I can feel my orgasm building like a storm on the horizon. My body starts to tighten around him, drawing groans of appreciation from deep in his chest.
"That's it, sweetheart," he encourages, his pace becoming more urgent. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart."
His hand slips between our bodies to find the sensitive bundle of nerves at my apex, circling with just the right amount of pressure. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing me right to the edge of release.
"Dae," I breathe, my entire body starting to tremble. "I'm going to?—"
"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough with authority and desire. "Come on my cock like you were made for it."
The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless pressure of him filling me completely sends me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave, stealing my breath and making me see stars.
I bury my face in his shoulder to muffle my cries, my body clenching around him in waves.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, his rhythm becoming erratic as my contractions pull him toward his own release. "So good. So fucking perfect."
I'm still riding the aftershocks when I feel him swell inside me, his thrusts becoming desperate and uncontrolled. With a muffled roar against my neck, he follows me over the edge, spilling himself deep inside me as his massive frame shudders with release.
For long moments afterward, we stay locked together, breathing hard and clinging to each other like we're afraid the other might disappear.
His weight should probably be crushing, but instead it feels like the most natural thing in the world—this connection, this intimacy, this feeling of being exactly where I belong.