Page 20 of Misbehaving With Minotaurs
Gray brows furrow. “Am I what?”
“Youlove skyball. I know that. And Arkan’s obviously obsessed. But to be honest, not a single monster outside of you two seems devoted to building a program.”
She sighs. “I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t think it’s that they’re not devoted to the idea of it. I think it’s more that a lot’s changing with the new portal station. Tourism’s up. Ever’s not as quiet and remote as it once was. And then, of course, they’re worried about being pressed into full-time service.”
I shrug. “I don’t want players who don’t want full-time.”
Catherine perches on the edge of the desk. “You shouldn’t. It would probably be good for you to tell them that. It would go a long way toward building a truly professional team, don’t you think? I suspect they’re wary of you because they don’t want to be busy with skyball practices and games… They’re not pros.”
“I need more,” I muse aloud. “I need community outreach to build support. Actually,”—I shift forward, leaning onto my elbows as I stare at her—“you can probably help with that. It’s clear the Evertons adore you, and as long as nothing’s changed, you adore skyball.”
“Oh, I’m down,” she says immediately. “YouknowI love skyball.”
“I’ll get some thoughts together, and then take you to dinner to discuss.”
She quirks her head to the side. “I’m happy to come to your office, Manorin.”
I shake my head. “Conversation’ll be better on a date.”
Her elegant nostrils flare, pink lips parting slightly. “You’re asking me on a date to discuss business? How very romantic.”
I rise and round the desk, placing a finger beneath her chin as I tip her gaze up to me. I love that she barely comes up to my chest.
“I’m telling you we’re going on a date because we’re single, attracted to one another, and have a lot in common. I’m going to take you on that date, talk about skyball for half an hour, talkabout you the rest of the time. Then take you home and fuck you long and hard and deep, Cath. That’s how this is going to go.”
Her gray eyes flash with a range of emotions.
Need. Lust. Power. Indecision.
“Let it out,” I croon. “All that power you’ve got stored up. I can smell it, Sunshine.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” she says smoothly, ignoring her old nickname. “Ever’s courting you for a job.”
I lift my chin. “Who gives a fuck what’s appropriate at this point in our lives? The time for caring what others think has come and gone for me.” I slide my hand down to grip her throat, noting how her nipples pebble under the soft-looking fabric of her dress.
With my free hand, I grip the tie holding it all together and pull. The fabric goes lax, falling open to reveal big, round breasts encased in navy lace.
“Stunning.” I bring my focus to her beautiful eyes. “How long has it been since you’ve been filled?” I bend down and brush my muzzle over her chin. “And I don’t just mean physically, Cath. Mentally. Emotionally. How long has it been since a male brought you pure joy? I could do that…”
She opens her mouth to answer, but I squeeze her neck tighter, just as her comm watch pings, a single name hovering over the flat surface.
Vikand Canterbury.
Catherine jolts, but I grip tighter, forcing her to ignore the watch and look into my eyes.
“Let me take a stab at this,” I growl. “You’re attempting to date that male because you need it, your power needs it, and you want something. But you know he will never, ever give you what you need. He’s safe, and that’s it. So it’s all falling apart in front of you because he’s not right, just like I said.”
Her scent explodes as she drenches me in needypheromones. I don’t even know if she knows she’s doing it as she brings both hands to mine and claws at me. At the same time, she sinks closer, her body doing what her mind’s still trying to catch up to.
The watch falls silent as her mouth drops open. “Manorin,” she whispers, “I?—”
The godsdamn watch blares to life again, the centaur’s name flashing incessantly at Cath’s wrist.
She shifts out of my grip, backing away from me as she re-ties her dress. Her fingers tremble as she glances up at me, then refocuses on the knotted belt.
“I’ve…I’ve got to take this, Manorin. Enjoy the picnic!” She dashes from the room, leaving the air saturated with her crisp apple scent.
Catherine used to love being cornered. But now, there’s a harsh edge to her scent, atornness, if that can be a word. That name I saw must be the centaur male who ghosted her on their date. I assumed, but I’d bet a thousand dollars I’m right.
