Four Margo
Four
Margo
I mean, ‘business’ meeting.
Okay, so the enormous, buff, delectable minotaur wants me to join his crime ring.
My smoogling and texting the group chat this afternoon had indeed confirmed I was a moron who should pay more attention to the local news.
I chewed my nails about it for half an hour until my sister texted me that if I didn’t bang him, she was gonna buy me a bull-cock sex toy for every birthday and holiday until I die.
She was right. I’m not gonna look a gift horse… erm, bull, in the mouth. I haven’t gotten laid in forever. A little hit-it-and-quit-it sounds great. And I bet this guy will rail me to the seven Hells and back. Gotta be better than a human man, though that’s not saying much.
I hop in my beat-up old Forester and head downtown.
The Goddess did not smile upon me.
I hurry down the sidewalk, tugging my bright yellow pencil skirt down. I push open the door to the coffee shop and immediately spot the huge minotaur.
Jonas jumps up and crosses the space with a grin on his face. I notice again his immense body and I push down a thought about what his fur feels like. Get a grip.
“Hey Margo. Wow, you look incredible,” he breathes.
“Thanks. I don’t have a lot of… business meetings these days.”
He frowns. “That’s a shame, I can’t imagine why.”
I chuckle awkwardly. “So what do you recommend?” I ask as I turn to the menu board.
He puts a large hand on my lower back, and I feel goosebumps erupt everywhere. Damn, I really do need to get laid. Guys rarely have this effect on me. Women, sure, but that’s an entirely different story.
He leans down—way down—and says quietly, “Hm, well, I like sweet things. Do you?”
I am ninety-nine percent sure that’s not a double entendre, but shit, it might as well be.
“Um, sometimes. What are you drinking?” I nod towards his reusable travel mug. It’s covered in stickers. I note one from the big birding group here and bite down a smile.
“Marshmallow frosted iced latte,” he answers, again in a voice meant only for me.
Devildamn, this guy exudes sex. Just take me now, you rowdy beast.
Fuck, am I ovulating or something?
“I guess I’ll try the spotted mocha,” I decide as I study the menu. I tug out my dinged-up coffee cup. Jonas takes it gently from me, hand brushing mine as he steps up and orders for me.
My stomach swoops. Gentlemanly.
“Oat milk!” I blurt, adding sheepishly, “Lactose and I don’t get along.”
Fuck, why did I say that?
When I dig out my wallet, he gives me a silent, dirty look that is enough to make me put it away without another word.
Jonas takes my drink from the barista and hands it to me. He again lets his fingers drag along my flesh. This time, I look up, catching the intense longing on his face.
I blink, turning, and adjust my bag.
“Let’s go to the bookshop,” he offers.
I nod, not trusting my voice right now.
He opens the door and ushers me out. The evening is still warm, and I smile. I love this city.
“Do you play?” Jonas asks.
My mind is firmly in the gutter, so I open my mouth to answer before I notice him looking at my cut-up T-shirt that drapes off my shoulder emblazoned with ‘San Hades Hellraisers.’
“Oh, uh, no. My sister does.” I shrug. “She lives in Utah; she bought me this shirt when she was here to visit. I think she wants me to start.” I laugh. “But I’m too soft for roller derby.”
He makes a noise deep in his throat, and I don’t know how to interpret it. My eyes catch on the silver ring in his nose, and dirty thoughts overwhelm me.
“I’ve only met a few minotaurs, but they all had gold nose rings,” I say, just to fill the silence as we walk.
He steps in front of me to open the door to the bookshop, again ushering me ahead of him protectively.
He chuckles. “Then the minotaurs you know are all married.”
“Oh, uh.”
“Good evening!” A cute woman with riotous curls sitting behind the register greets us. “I’m Livy. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Livy,” Jonas says, his deep voice doing things to me.
“I’m going to guess you’re a romance girlie,” he says to me as I take a sip of my amazing coffee.
I chuckle. “Nope. Sci-Fi or bust.”
He laughs, and there’s a hint of a cow-like low to it. It makes me smile.
“I should have known, given your doorbell at the shop.”
We walk around, perusing. Jonas grabs a couple books off a shelf, and I lean in.
He notices and holds them up. “Romantic sci-fi. You’ll like them.”
I raise an eyebrow, and he huffs. “You will. My treat, but you gotta tell me the truth after you read them.”
“Soooo… you read romance?”
I didn’t know minotaurs could blush. It’s just the barest hint of darkening, visible through the short fur on his cheeks.
I grab his hand and squeeze. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you! It’s cute,” I clarify. Nodding, I add, “Okay, I’ll give them a shot.” I flash a smile up at him and his entire face lights up.
He nods, not looking at me, and leads us on. But he distinctly does not let go of my hand.
“You’re a romantic then,” I blather. “That tracks.”
He stops, and I drop his hand to grab a novel. He merely watches me silently.
Again, my mouth runs away from me. “I, uh, figured out what the Emerald Moths are. What are the loan terms?”
He steps behind me and leans in to grab a book over my head.
“Better than what you’re paying the bank.”
“Right. The bar is in Hell, though.” I flip the book, skimming the back. I open the back cover and glance at the author photo. Ugh, another white dude. I slide it back into its place on the shelf.
He laughs, that deep sound that starts in his belly. Again, I grin without meaning to.
When it trails off and silence stretches, I say, “Speaking of, what uh… pantheon are you from?”
He looks down at me, huge brown eyes blinking slowly.
I hurriedly add, “I mean, Greek, surely, right? Unless there are other bull-demons?”
“There are not. We’re all Greek, yes.”
“Gotcha,” I mutter into my coffee.
“How did you get into the car business?” he asks, re-shelving a book he had been looking at. He pulls an old copy of a classic sci-fi off the shelf.
“My dad taught me. He raised me and Tessa himself.”
“Oh, shit, baby, I’m so sorry,” Jonas rumbles, quickly juggling things to take my other hand in his.
I blink, furrowing my eyebrows. “Whatever for?”
But my mind is firmly locked on the pet name he just dropped on me.
“You said your dad was dead when I came to your shop. And now, your mom…” He trails off.
“Oh, she’s not dead,” I blurt, “just an insufferable narc. Probably banging some rich, married European dude.”
The snort of laughter that Jonas lets out makes me grin. Jonas still holds one of my hands. He leans down as his chortle dies off and his muzzle is against my neck. I freeze, afraid that I’m about to say—or do—something entirely inappropriate for a ‘business meeting.’
“Wanna grab something to eat?” he whispers.
I’m not sure how I manage not to blurt ‘I’ve got something you can eat’ but I somehow keep my trap shut and nod.
An hour and some street tacos later, and we’re wandering a nearby park. A band is playing in the little pavilion, something folksy sounding. We’re walking a neat, paved spiral path.
“So, how did you get into the… what did you call it? ‘Compulsory merchant guild’ business?”
He reaches up and rubs a horn as his tail flicks back and forth.
“Rosie, my boss,” he clarifies, “raised me from a calf on the Fields of Asphodel. When the Hells fell and we shifted to this plane, I just stuck with her. She’s the brains of the operation.
I’m the brawn.” He smiles, clearly not offended by the role.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, our fingers still laced together, “you seem plenty smart to me.”
Suddenly, I stumble on a loose stone. Or maybe over my own clumsy feet, who knows.
Jonas catches me, arms around me. I hear his coffee cup hit the ground from far away as I’m entirely caught up in him.
He straightens us, but doesn’t let go. My face is in his chest and I can smell him.
He smells… wild. Like a field and a chilly wind, all mixed together.
My eyes close, and I shiver in his arms.
“Baby, are you alright?” Worry colors his voice.
But then, a low growl escapes him. “Oh,” he says softly. “You’re alright, all right.”
I shift, my panties wet.
He sniffs deeply and I am suddenly terribly concerned that he can smell my pussy.
His thumbs begin to stroke slowly, back and forth, on the bare skin of my arms. “Margo…” He pauses, his muzzle snuffling my hair, and I lean into his body more.
He starts again, “Margo, this is very forward of me, so please tell me if I’m overstepping… But would you like to go back to my place?”
I shift from foot to foot.
Oh Jesus fuck, is that his erection?
Doubt flutters through me. That might be a mountain I can’t climb.
You only live once, though. And while that thing might kill me, it’ll be a valiant death.
“My place,” I whisper.
His hand cups my chin, putting a bit of space between our bodies. I dislike the distance. I just want to be all over him.
“Baby, I understand that would be more comfortable and safe for you. But I doubt your bed could handle me. How about a hotel, as a compromise?”
That’s probably true. And how sweet that he wants me to feel safe.
I manage a nod, and he leans down and lays a delicate kiss on my forehead. “That’s my girl.”
The hotel is crazy fancy. One of those with minimal decorations, everything done in a boring shade of gray and super architectural. I say nothing as Jonas slaps down a gold credit card.
“The suite, please,” he tells the clerk in an impeccable suit.
The clerk’s eyes drift to me, and Jonas instinctively positions his body more in front of mine. I can feel the low, simmering energy flowing off him, and I think it’s protectiveness. Cute.
“Of course, sir,” the man responds, clacking away at the computer. In a moment we have a big, golden key—which makes me roll my eyes—and a note with a code for the elevator.
Jonas leads me to the elevator, and the door dings as he types in the special code to get it to go to the floor with the suites.