Page 44 of Bred By the Minotaur
Tremulous hope swells in my heart. I want Milo to like me. I want all of his little smiles. I remember how he cuddled up against me as I turned the pages of the book, and how his eyes fluttered as he drifted off, and I wouldn’t mind reading to him again and again.
“I like him, too,” I say. “He’s such a sweet kid. You did good.”
Hank nods, but an expression I can’t read crosses his face, and he doesn’t say anything else.
We head to the living room, where Hank flicks on the television and sinks into the big armchair. Immediately, Darla climbs up into his lap, settling herself on one of his thick thighs. He brings up my favorite cooking show, playing the episode before last.
“You like Cooking to the Top, too?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. This season has been great.”
We talk about our favorite competitors as we watch and bet on who will win each challenge. I’m almost disappointed that Hank is on the chair and not the couch with me, because all I want is to be closer to him. Seeing him now, remembering how he felt when we were at DreamTogether, my whole body is alert and craving him in a deep, incurable way.
It’s just the pregnancy hormones. I have to be careful of that. Last time, I got pretty emotional, and didn’t always make the best choices.
I have to remember that eventually, when my house is finished, I’ll move out of here—and I want it to be on good terms. That will be much more difficult if things get complicated between us.
When it gets late, I head off to my new bed with a soft mattress and big pillow, and sleep like the dead.
Sixteen
Hank
I keep extra quiet that night when I take my cock in hand, knowing that Phoebe’s in the room down the hall. I close my eyes and my head drifts back, my horns resting against the wall as I think about everything that happened tonight, every smile she gave me, every time her breasts strained at her shirt or her jeans gave me a great view of her ass. How she sat on Milo’s bed with him, her arm curled around him, and read him a book in such a quiet, tender voice.
She’s so painfully perfect, I just have to think about her on the breeding bench in front of me, that incredible, glistening pussy on display, to get off. I cover my groan with one hand, biting into my palm with the force of my orgasm.
Then I wipe myself up with a tissue and toss it in the trash. My cock is still hard as I’m thinking about her, wanting desperately to be inside her.
I don’t know how long I’m going to last.
Now, when I’m away at work and Milo’s home from school, Mom and Phoebe trade off looking after him. My mother watches him during business hours so Phoebe can get her work done, and then Phoebe takes over. Phoebe asked for a list of all of Milo’s favorite foods, then went shopping to come up with new recipes he might like.
But now she has to prepare two dinners, one for us and one for her sister. So sometimes she makes extra and carries it over to Sandra’s house in the evenings.
“Sandra is scary,” Milo tells me. “I like her... but she’s scary.”
Phoebe bites back a laugh. “It’s because Milo has hooves,” she confesses. “Sandra hates nothing more than shoes in the house because she’s terrified of tracking in dirt. But Milo doesn’t have shoes, so Sandra’s knitting him some slippers.”
Milo wrinkles his snout. “Slippers?!” He clutches his little hooves tight against him. “I’m not gonna wear slippers.”
But all Phoebe has to do is look sad for a moment, and Milo changes his tune pretty quick.
“I guess I will,” he mumbles.
When he comes back a few hours later, he’s wearing tiny knitted slippers on his small hooves.
“I sorta like them,” he says, flicking his tail.
The first week that Phoebe lives with us is when her morning sickness starts. It surprises her one day at dinnertime, and she suddenly rushes from the room, hand covering her mouth. When I hear her puking in the bathroom, Milo leaps off his chair.
“Is Phoebe okay?” he says, eyes huge. “She’s sick!”
“I don’t know. Stay here.” I rub his head before racing off after her down the hall. She’s in the half bath, crouched over the toilet, heaving her guts out.
“Damn,” she mutters as she sits up, breathing heavily. “Must have food poisoning.”
I raise a brow at her. “How far along are you?”
