Page 49 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

"Wait," I say, my voice rough. "Let me."

I lift her easily—gods, she weighs nothing to me—and lay her gently on the bed, my hands lingering on her hips. Her silver-blonde hair fans out across the quilt, her eyes steady on mine as I hover above her.

"I'm sorry," I say, trailing a finger along her jaw. "I've been a fool."

"Yes, you have." Her smile takes the sting out of her words. "But you're making up for it now."

I lower my head to kiss her neck, breathing in her scent. "I promise you, Maya, I won't let anyone come between us again. Not Varina, not my own stubborn pride."

My fingers work at the laces of her bodice, surprisingly nimble despite their size. Years of merchant work have given me dexterity most wouldn't expect from a minotaur my size.

"No more pushing me away?" she asks, lifting slightly to help me slide the fabric from her shoulders.

"Never again." I kiss the newly exposed skin of her collarbone. "You and Ellis are my family now. I was too afraid to admit it."

Her tunic follows her bodice, and I drink in the sight of her. Pale skin marked with a few scars—stories I want to learn. The practical, no-nonsense Maya who bandages wounds without flinching, who stands up to a minotaur twice her size, who coaxes my nephew to laughter when I couldn't—she's all soft curves and warmth beneath me.

My hand finds the scar on her right hand, the one she got saving a minotaur child. I bring it to my lips.

"You mean everything to me," I murmur against her skin. "Everything."

She shivers, her free hand reaching to pull me closer, but I resist. There's more I need to say, more I need to prove.

"I'll never let you go again." I trail kisses down her sternum, between her breasts, across her stomach. "I'll spend every day showing you that."

I work my way lower, sliding her leggings down her legs. She lifts her hips to help me, her breathing quickening. When I settle between her thighs, I look up to find her watching me, her eyes dark with desire.

"Dex," she whispers, reaching down to touch one of my horns.

I turn my face to place a kiss on her inner thigh, then the other. "Let me take care of you."

I take my time, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her fingers tighten in the quilt beneath her. She tastes like sunlight and herb gardens, like coming home after a long journey.

Her practical nature disappears here—she doesn't hold back her responses, doesn't try to be quiet or restrained. When she threads her fingers through my hair, careful around my horns but urgent in her need, I feel a surge of pride.

"Don't stop," she breathes, her hips rising to meet me.

I have no intention of stopping. Not until she falls apart for me, not until I've shown her with actions what I tried to say with words. That she's mine. That I'm hers. That the journey that brought us here—through grief and duty and misunderstanding—was always leading to this.

When she finally comes, my name on her lips like a prayer, I feel something lock into place. Something that had been loose and uncertain within me is now secure, anchored by her.

I rest my cheek against her thigh, watching her chest rise and fall as she catches her breath. Her hand finds mine, fingers interlacing.

"Come here," she says softly.

I feel her fingers trace up my arms, urging me to move. When I lift my head, Maya's eyes are luminous, her cheeks flushed. She tugs me upward, and I follow willingly, careful not to crush her with my weight as I move over her body.

"Come here," she whispers again, pulling me down for a kiss.

This kiss is different. Slower, deeper, with purpose rather than urgency. Her tongue slides against mine, and I groan into her mouth. Her fingers work at the ties of my shirt, then move to my belt. I help her, shrugging out of my vest and pulling my shirt over my horns with practiced ease.

Her hands explore my chest, fingers threading through the coarse fur there. I've never felt self-conscious about my body—minotaurs aren't known for shame—but under Maya's gaze, I feel both proud and vulnerable. She traces a scar on my shoulder, a souvenir from a trading expedition gone wrong.

"You're beautiful," she says.

I laugh, the sound rumbling up from my chest. "That's my line."

"I beat you to it." She smiles, hands continuing their exploration downward.

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