Chapter 8
Katie
Fury simmers inside me at the sheer audacity of this beast. I am more awake now that I’ve had a little nap, and I assess my surroundings.
He’s right, there are no trees. Nothing for me to hide behind in an attempt at escape.
I know with this open plain, I wouldn’t make it two steps before I’m tackled again.
Besides, there is still the rope tying us together to be dealt with.
I bristle at the reminder of him pinning me to the ground, a dull throb resuming between my thighs when I think of how I could feel his scarily large appendage against my leg.
He could kill a girl with that thing, and yet I feel myself getting wetter at the thought of it, of how hard he was.
Of the warmth and weight of his body against mine.
It’s been a few months since I’ve been with a man, Greg being the last, and the experience left me not desiring a repeat encounter anytime soon.
So, why hasn’t my body gotten the memo? This Minotaur is a beast in more ways than one, and I certainly don’t want him .
I settle on the ground, clenching my thighs together in a bid to ignore the need that’s made itself at home in my body.
The ground is thankfully devoid of any rocks as I curl onto my side and wrap my arms around my waist to stay warm, the cold, hard dirt sucking it from me almost instantly.
I’d kill to have my jacket right now, and I mentally kick myself for leaving it in the labyrinth.
I stare at the Minotaur’s broad expanse of back muscles, watching it rise and fall so rhythmically, I think he might be asleep already.
I am so uncomfortable that I can’t even think of closing my eyes.
If I wait just a bit longer, I might be able to attempt to pry my knife back from the waistband of his loincloth, and then I can cut this rope and make a break for it.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but as my consciousness stirs, the morning sun on my face, I feel so blissfully rested and refreshed.
Then I remember I was so uncomfortable last night.
Frowning, I open my eyes only to be met with a soft fur-coated chest, complete with two nipple rings, staring back at me like a pair of judging golden eyes.
I tense, the illusion of being warm and cozy shattered as I question how the hell I ended up a few feet from where I settled down for the evening, and why exactly I am curled up in the arms of the Minotaur.
I run a mental checklist: Not missing any clothing?
Check. No body parts hurt? Check. Although the need between my thighs hasn’t dissipated in the slightest. The ache is like an annoying mosquito bite I just want to scratch.
Relief that nothing untoward seems to have happened to me in my unconscious state floods through my body, and I relax a little.
The warm fur beneath me does a surprisingly good job of cushioning against the ground, and I’m incredibly comfortable despite being exposed to the elements.
Amongst other things. I swallow thickly as I glance down the Minotaur’s broad body to the only item of clothing he wears, and within it, the red glint of the knife handle peeks out.
This is the perfect opportunity to get it back.
I very slowly reach down to wiggle it out without waking him.
I get my fingertips around the end of it and give a slight pull, feeling it shift a little as I ease it out.
“Fucking hell!” I screech as I’m flattened by a thick body pinning me into the ground, my hand trapped between us in the process, and judging by the size of the thing in my grip, I no longer have a hold on my knife.
“What do you think you are doing?” the Minotaur growls into my face.
“Nothing,” I squeak out, staring past the golden ring in his nose, to his golden-brown eyes that glare at me beneath him.
He hardens above me, and I am sadly not talking about his muscles.
His trouser-snake, or should I say anaconda, twitches inside my fist. My mouth floods with saliva before my brain takes over, and we both roll away from each other in disgust. I wipe my hand on the leg of my jeans as we sit on the fur in silence with our backs to each other.
I mentally scold myself for my body’s complete inability to control itself.
Fortunately, my pocketknife slips out from between us, and I snatch it from the fur while his back is turned, sliding it back into my pocket.
He clears his throat and stands up, startling me, and I try my hardest not to look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
He doesn’t check to make sure the knife is still securely tucked away in his loincloth, and I relax just a little.
My eyes flick toward said loincloth. Don’t look!
I mentally chide myself. His excitement is no longer noticeable.
Thankfully. I seem to be exactly eye level with it as I stare at him from the ground.
I wouldn’t want to have my eye poked out with that thing.
In one swoop, he pulls the fur out from under me and shakes it out before rolling it back up and putting it away in his pack.
“Hey!” I protest, tumbling over until I’m in the dirt.
“Let us go, before the sun rises too high.”
Without waiting for me, he promptly turns and walks off, only pausing when the rope between us pulls taut. Grumbling, I get up and dust myself off, rubbing at the marks across my middle where the rope has caused friction against my skin, a light pink line marking my stomach and sides.
I trudge along behind him in silence, not making any effort to help speed up this journey.
The mountain trail doesn’t seem to get used often.
The ground is littered with loose rocks; the dirt has softened over time from feet traversing over the path frequently.
In some places, tall strands of grass threaten to overtake it completely.
My eyes water and my nose itches before a bout of sneezing overcomes me.
“Achoo, achoo, achoo, achoo!” I sigh, but it comes out more like a wheeze, and I dab my eyes and nose with the bottom of my tee.
The Minotaur looks over his shoulder at me.
“Are you well?” He looks at me like he doesn’t care if I’m sick or not, his concern merely for whether I will slow him down.
“I think I might be allergic to this dust, or grass, or something—” My voice is thick with congestion.
“Allergic?”
“Makes you sneeze, and itchy. Sometimes it can cause death if it’s a bad enough reaction.”
“Death?” Something flickers across his gaze, and I can’t help but feel like death might be the solution to all his problems. My death, specifically. I bristle.
“I won’t die. Well, not from this. I might sneeze to death, though.”
He purses his lips, pondering, then stalks back to me.
“What are you doing?” I take a few steps back, my hands up as if I can stop him from whatever he’s made up his mind on. I look at the edge of the path over my shoulder. We’re not that far up yet, so a fall probably wouldn’t kill me, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell.
He grabs at my wrists, pulling me into him before bending down, scooping me up behind my legs, and throwing me over his shoulder.
“Hey! Come on!” I groan, beating his back. “This isn’t going to help, you know! I’m still just as close to the grass and the dirt as I am walking on my own two feet if that’s what you were hoping for.”
He grunts. “Perhaps, but if I must listen to you sneeze all day, I can at least ensure our journey does not take so long.” He jostles me on his shoulder to reposition my body like I’m nothing but a sack of potatoes.
I should be offended, but instead I’m mildly turned on at how he can just pick me up like it’s nothing.
On the other hand, he could throw me around just as easily.
Greg flashes through my mind. That thought quickly douses any lingering arousal from this morning.
It’s not much use fighting him now that I’m hanging over his shoulder like a limp rag doll, but with each step up the mountain, I become wary of how much harder it’s going to be to escape.