Page 6 of The Bull's Beauty
Stupid. Stupid.
I don’t look back, but the image of him lingers—the sweat on his chest, the way his hands would feel dragging up my thighs, the rough growl of his voice in my ear.
“Get a grip, Bea!” I scold myself under my breath.
I’m leaving! Tonight!
Chapter Five
Silas
She really thinks she did it, that she was able to slip away unnoticed.
My foolish, reckless, beautiful girl.
I intentionally left a gap in the guard rotation, reassigned the patrols, and ordered the watchful eyes away. I gave her this chance. Every step of her freedom was laid at her feet by my hand, and she will never know how easily I could have kept her.
I could’ve caught her at the gate and pinned her against the stone wall, my body flush against hers, my teeth grazing her ear as I growled, “You’re not leaving.” She would’ve fought me and, Gods, the thought of her writhing against me, hot and furious, makes my cock throb against my leathers.
I let her go, though, because sheneedsthis. Needs to run, to prove something to herself. And I love her for it, even if she’ll never let me say it.
However, the Wildlands are no place for her, or any other female. Especially not alone. She has no idea how cruel the world is beyond the stronghold. She thinks the Minotaurs are the worst of it and that I’m the enemy, but I know what waits out here. I’ve seen it, I’ve killed it, and if anything so much as touches her, I’ll paint the forest floor with its blood.
If I had my way, I’d walk beside her and carry her pack until my shoulders ached. Hold her hand like I’ve been dying to since the first moment I laid my eyes on her. I’d let every thorn pierce my hide, each stone slice into my hooves, if it meant she never had to hurt again. But she doesn’t trust me. When she looks at me, there’s poison in her eyes, enough to kill a weaker Bull.
I just can’t stay away from her.
She tries so hard to convince everyone she doesn’t need anyone. I see through it, how her shoulders droop when no one’s watching. She pretends she’s fine, but she’s bleeding on the inside, and no one else seems to notice, or they’re just too intimidated by her to try.
She’s actually covering more ground than I thought a tiny female like her would be able to, like every step she takes away from the stronghold might stitch together the wound she’s carried since the day we took her. I know from experience that pain doesn’t fade just because the scenery changes. It burrows deep into your soul and whispers lies in your quietest moments.
I hate that I can’t take it from her, hate that even if I could, she wouldn’t let me. I’ve let her believe I’m cold and unreadable, when the truth is I burn for her in silence. I should haveshownher when I had her pressed against the corridor wall, kissed her like I’ve dreamed of doing since the moment I laid eyes on her. I should have stopped her tonight, told her she’s not alone.
But, I can’t take her freedom. I refuse to be another Minotaur, another male, who decides what’s best for her. I won’t rob her of this. So I keep my distance behind her, far enough to stay unseen, close enough to intervene if I have to. She’s clever, but she’ll get tired and slow down soon. When she stops to rest, I’ll rest nearby.
This is madness, and I know it. Dakar would skin my hide if he knew what I was doing. He’d order me to drag her back, lock the gates, andend it.
Gods help me, I would rather face Dakar’s wrath than crush the flames in her spirit. That fire is what drew me to her in the first place.
I track her across the ridgeline and down a steep, moss-covered slope. Her pace hasn’t slowed, though, and she’s going to collapse if she doesn’t stop to rest soon.
When she finally does, she veers off the path and into a shaded clearing, tucked beneath a tangle of ash trees. When she finally steps off the path, I think maybe she’s heading toward the stream to refill her waterskin.
What she does next makes every muscle in my body lock tight.
She shrugs off her satchel and peels off her cloak, revealing the thin cotton blouse underneath, damp with sweat. She looks around once, cautious, but she wouldn’t be able to see me. I’m buried deep in the brush, watching through the leaves, heart pounding.
She frowns down at herself, then slowly unties the laces of her top, exposing the soft, heavy swell of her breasts. Her nipples are taut, already beading with droplets of milk. Her body’s aching to be relieved.
She cups one breast and presses her palm in a practiced rhythm. Milk squirts out in short, white streams, dribbling onto the grass. She sighs with relief as the pressure starts to ease. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting slightly. Her cheeks flush. And I—
Fuck. My knees nearly give out.
I’ve seen blood spilled across battlefields. I’ve watched warriors scream as steel split their flesh. I’ve stared death in the face and never flinched.
This undoes me.
The sight of her milking herself makes something primal snap inside me. My cock aches, hard and furious against thetight seam of my leathers. I press my palm to it, but it’s no use. The need is unbearable.
