Page 39 of Minding the Minotaur
She must have been watching me dress, little witch, because she’s there almost as soon as I’ve hauled on my jeans.
Her face is flushed, her eyes feverish. I wonder if she’s been masturbating.
Wouldn’t surprise me. She is literally the most receptive female I’ve ever encountered. She looks so beautiful with just a wisp of golden hair falling out of her ponytail and her lips swollen and ready for my kisses.
Gods, I really wish I didn’t have to jack off at an impersonal medical clinic. I want it to be so much more than that with Sammy.
I scuff a hoof, my heart rapping wildly against my ribs as we gaze at each other.
Yep, I’ve got Sammy fever, real bad.
But before I can even kiss her, Tippy calls down the passage that breakfast is ready. We make our way to the dining room to find a special spread laid out. My mouth waters. The smell of coffee and bacon and pancakes, as well as buttery croissants, is a welcome distraction from my libido. The morning of clinic day I’m allowed to dose up on carbs and fats. Medical orders. And boy do I love these breakfasts.
So, it seems, does Sammy. Her eyes pop and she thanks Tippy profusely. Tippy gives a slightly disapproving sniff. She hates buying in pastries from Tasty Ted’s, the troll baker down the road. “Don’t forget, there’s fresh squeezed orange juice there too,” she says pointedly as she walks out.
I sip my coffee and keep flicking glances at Sammy. Her breasts taunt me, and I stave off an image of my cock rubbing between them.
“Mmmm, this is delicious.” She bites into the buttery croissant and rolls her eyes ecstatically, which does nothing to calm things down in my nether regions.
“How long have you had Tippy cooking for you?”
“Four years now. I didn’t used to eat well, but once I started doing this job, I kind of realized I needed to look after myself better. Lots of protein, but I’m allowed bacon and croissants on my production days. Fat and carbs together seem to, er, improve my output.”
She licks a crumb suggestively from her lips with the wickedest little eyebrow waggle.
I reach over impetuously and cover her small white hand with my great big one. I want to tell her how happy last night made me, but the words get stuck in my throat, along with a piece of croissant. Finally, through a splutter I manage, “Last night was amazing…”
She curls her fingers around mine, opens her mouth as if to answer… and then fucking Otis walks in.
I whip my hand away and Sammy quickly picks up her cup of coffee.
If Otis saw us touching, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Just came to check in,” he says casually, ambling over. “I’ve organized for Len to take you to the clinic at 10.30, Arlo.”
“Sammy’s coming with me,” I say.
“Of course,” Otis intones drily. “She’s on duty.”
I eye him sharply, but his face has its usual frowny set to it. And yet… there’s something in his tone that makes me wonder if maybe he isn’t completely oblivious to the chemistry between us, and thatmaybeit doesn’t worry him so very much.
“How are you this morning, Samantha?” Otis asks casually.
“Good, thank you Sheriff,” Sammy says, cup hovering close to her face. Behind it, her cheeks have turned rosy.
“Did you sleep well?” the bloody orc persists.
“Mmm, yes, thank you.”
“Tracking this guy’s movements didn’t keep you awake then?”
Sammy splutters on a mouthful of coffee. I hand her a napkin to wipe her mouth, making sure my fingers don’t graze hers, and say calmly, “I gave her my word that I wouldn’t pull any dirty tricks.”
Otis grunts, and I smother a grin. If our good sheriff had seen just how dirty me and my minder got last night, his big green head would probably explode. It’s been literally years since Otis dated. He had a girlfriend when he was at college, a dryad, but she left him for a gargoyle. He doesn’t ever mention her, but I sense he was badly hurt.
Now all he does is work. And invent weird crap in his spare time, like that device he fitted the portal cape with, and the surveillance screens he’s set up in all the rooms of my home.
Otis grabs a croissant from the basket in the center of the table and strides toward the door.
