Page 66 of Bred By the Minotaur
As my belly gets bigger, Milo takes measurements of it, writing them down in scribble nonsense in a notebook. He gets a doctor’s set for his sixth birthday because he’s become so fascinated with the process of growing a baby, and he loves to listen to my belly while we’re watching television.
I can tell that Hank is growing more and more restless by the day, but he’s good at keeping it to himself.
We still haven’t talked about marriage again, not since the hospital. I think Hank can tell that I’m working my way toward it, finding my footing here with him and with Milo.
He’s not so subtle when he hands me the phone number for a therapist. He’s been seeing one since his accident to help him work through some of the feelings of helplessness he’s had.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about your parents. I thought maybe you could go there and explore those feelings safely with some help.”
I raise my eyes to his big brown ones, and I just want to fall into them.
So I do what Hank suggests and call the number on the scrap of paper. It takes us a few sessions to get into my childhood baggage, but once we’re there and digging into it, I want to curl up and hide.
I’m glad that I have Hank after those sessions, when I’m tired and empty of tears and don’t want to talk about anything anymore. He simply holds me around the shoulders and turns on a mindless TV show, his cast up on the coffee table.
One of these nights, after Milo’s gone to bed, Hank brings me up onto his good thigh and simply rubs me between my legs, over my jeans. After a time, he pushes down his gym shorts enough that his cock pops out.
“Warm me a little, won’t you?” he purrs, unbuttoning my pants.
I shuck them off, then, with my shirt still on, I sink down onto him, taking that thick cock as deep as I can. After a few moments, my body opens to accept all of him, and Hank settles his hands on my waist to watch the show over my shoulder. Every so often he reaches around and thumbs over my clit, and groans as I pulse around him.
“Look at you, such a good place for my cock to rest,” Hank says, slightly canting his hips back and then pushing in deeper. He stops again, exhaling a long breath as he rests his chin on my shoulder.
We watch the show that way, his finger moving languidly on my clit, building me up to an orgasm and then letting me fall back down. He nips my neck, fingers my nipples through my shirt, and sometimes just watches with his arms around me.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I lift myself up onto my thighs. It’s a lot of weight with my big belly, but I’m desperate. Hank chuckles as I drop down on him, taking everything I can inside me, before doing it again. He thrums my clit faster, whipping me up into a storm until I’m biting into my hand to muffle my cries.
When he takes me there, to our special home together in the stars, I know what I need to do. I’ve talked it over at length with my new therapist, about how much I want to be the person Hank and Milo need.
But I think that maybe Hank was right, and I might be okay the way I am.
We sit there, panting, until Hank’s leg suddenly starts itching. He groans in annoyance. I separate us, then reach for the side table to get his scratcher.
“My fur under the cast will never grow back the same again,” he grouses as he puts the scratcher in his cast.
“Hank.”
He pauses and glances up at me, clearly surprised by the seriousness of my tone. “Phoebe?”
“Your cast comes off next week, right?”
He nods uncertainly. “Yep. Should be right as rain.”
“Then...” I clear my throat. I’ve been thinking for so long about this, and now that it’s here and I’m about to say it, I suddenly fumble the pass. “Then, um... do you want to, uh... get married?”
I can’t look at him as I ask this question, because it’s been so long now since we discussed it. But then a hand takes me by the chin, and Hank turns me back to look at him.
“Yes. Yes, I definitely want that.” He leans sideways to kiss me, quick but tender pecks, half a dozen of them. “When? I’m game for anytime after this cast comes off.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Right after you’re free.”
His eyes widen. “A shotgun wedding?”
I take his hand and run it over my bump, which is nearly close to bursting now. “Seems appropriate.”
He snorts a bit like a horse, and I love when he does that.
“Let’s do it. We don’t need anyone but Mom and Sandra, anyway.”
