Maisie
The thing nobody tells you about teaching a seven-foot minotaur to ride shotgun is that there’s nowhere for him to put himself.
Kazan was folded into the passenger seat of the buggy he’d built for me, one knee too close to the controls, his horns nearly brushing the canopy. His tail had given up and hung over the side.
He looked uncomfortable. He also looked pleased.
“You’re too big for this,” I said.
“It was built for you.”
That was true. The seat fit me, and the belt didn’t cut into my neck. The footrests were close enough that I didn’t have to stretch.
Every part of it had been made with me in mind.
I tried not to let that make me emotional. It was a vehicle. A beautiful, ridiculous, expensive vehicle that meant I never had to wait for anyone to take me anywhere again.
So maybe it wasn’t just a vehicle. It was freedom.
I set my hand on the throttle.
Kazan watched me, but he didn’t reach over. He didn’t correct my grip. He’d already shown me twice, and now he was letting me do it.
I eased the throttle forward.
The hover-field hummed beneath us, and the buggy lifted off the ground.
I sucked in a breath.
Kazan’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything.
Good male.
The buggy slid forward onto the ridge road. I kept my hand light, the way he’d told me. The machine didn’t lurch or fight me. It moved like it had been waiting for me to stop being afraid of it.
The orchard fell away on one side, rows of wet leaves and violet fruit shining in the morning light. On the other side, the woods rose thick and dark.
I’d ridden this road with Kazan before. I’d watched it pass from the passenger seat.
Now I was driving.
My own hands.
My own direction.
The road dipped, and I stiffened.
The buggy adjusted before I could panic, gliding over the rough place as if it wasn’t there.
“It knows the ground,” Kazan said. “It’ll avoid the worst of it.”
I nodded and kept driving.
There were a lot of things I didn’t have to do anymore. I didn’t have to ask if I could leave or explain why I wanted something. I didn’t have to measure every breath in case it annoyed someone.
I didn’t have to be small.
My vision blurred for a second, and I blinked it clear. I didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not when the road was open and Kazan was quiet beside me, too large for the seat and too careful with me to crowd in when I needed space.
After a few minutes, my shoulders loosened. The buggy responded to every slight movement. I didn’t have to force it.
That was new too.
I glanced at Kazan. His arms had relaxed. His tail had stopped flicking. He wasn’t watching the road anymore.
He was watching me.
There was heat in his gaze, but there was something softer too. Pride, maybe. Or joy. I was still learning all the ways he looked at me.
I took one hand off the controls long enough to touch his wrist. Just a brief touch.
Then I kept driving.
Some parts of me still expected punishment for being happy. Those parts could learn.
The road curved, and I saw the turnoff.
It was barely a track, half covered by weeds, disappearing under the shadow-wood. I’d noticed it weeks ago, when Kazan had first brought me this way. I’d been too scared to ask where it went.
I didn’t need to ask now.
I turned.
Kazan looked at the road, then at me. He didn’t stop me.
The buggy left the ridge road and slipped beneath the trees. The light changed at once, turning green and dim. Branches dragged softly over the canopy. The ground beneath us was rutted and wet, but the hover-field carried us over it without trouble.
I drove until the track opened into a small hollow surrounded by trees.
No houses or voices. No one but us.
I brought the buggy to a stop and left it idling, the low hum running beneath us. My heart was beating fast now, but not from fear.
Kazan knew.
I saw it in the way his eyes darkened and the way his body went still, all that size and strength waiting on me.
I unbuckled my belt.
“You taught me to drive,” I said. “I wanted to thank you.”
His breath changed.
I climbed across the bench seat. There wasn’t enough room. My knee scraped against something, and my scarf caught on his belt, and Kazan tried to shift back even though there was nowhere for him to go.
I didn’t mind the awkwardness.
I liked that this wasn’t smooth, or perfect, or planned down to the last second. I liked that I wanted him and I was doing something about it.
I settled between his knees and looked up at him.
He was so big like this. All hard muscle and warm skin and controlled breath. His hands rested on the seat, fingers spread wide. He could have lifted me away with no effort at all.
He didn’t.
I reached for the ties of his pants.
“Hold still,” I said.
His jaw flexed.
Then he held still. Desire moved through me, slow and hot.
I worked him free.
Even knowing him, even having had him inside me, I had to pause when his cock filled my hands. He was thick and heavy, already hard, the head slick with want. I wrapped both hands around him and still couldn’t make my fingers meet.
His eyes stayed on my face.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
I stroked him once, from base to tip, slow enough to make his breath catch. “I want to.”
Then I leaned down and licked him.
He tasted of salt and heat. His hands gripped the seat, and the leather creaked under his fingers. The sound went straight through me.
I took the head of his cock into my mouth.
I couldn’t take much, so I used my hands for the rest, sliding them over him while my tongue circled the head. He groaned, low and rough, and the sound settled around us.
My body answered it.
I was already wet. Already aching.
But this was for him.
For me too, in a way, I was still learning how to admit. I liked having him like this, liked the way his thighs tensed around me and the way his stomach tightened with every stroke.
I liked knowing that I could make him lose control, and that he trusted me enough to let it happen.
I pulled back to breathe, then took him again.
Kazan’s hips jerked once. Barely. He stopped himself at once, every muscle locking down.
Always so careful.
I loved him for it.
I loved making careful hard.
I stroked him faster. My hands were slick now, moving over the thick length of him while my mouth worked the head.
My knees pressed into the floor, and my scarf slid loose. My hair fell forward, and Kazan made a rough sound when I looked up at him through it.
His eyes were dark gold, fixed on me like there was nothing else in the world.
I moaned around him.
He groaned, and his hips bucked.
Good. I did it again.
His tail flicked against my waist. Not pulling. Not forcing. Just warm and firm, while his control frayed.
“Maisie,” he said. My name sounded ruined in his mouth.
I pulled back just enough to answer. “I’ve got you.”
He shuddered.
I hadn’t meant the words to do that. Or maybe I had. Maybe I wanted him to hear what he’d given me so many times. Safety. Certainty. Someone who would hold on and not make it a cage.
I took him back into my mouth.
He was close now. I could feel it in the pulse of him against my tongue, the strain in his thighs, the way his breath broke apart above me. I worked him harder, both hands twisting up as my mouth sucked at the head.
“Maisie.” His voice was rough. “I’m going to come.”
I didn’t move away. I wanted him. All of him.
He came with a deep groan, his hips lifting despite his control. I took what I could and stroked him through the rest, feeling him spill hot against my tongue and over my fingers.
I stayed with him until the last shudder passed.
When I sat back, my knees hurt and my mouth was swollen, and my scarf had slipped nearly off my shoulder.
I felt wonderful.
Kazan was breathing hard, one hand still buried in the torn leather, his head tipped back against the seat. I watched his chest rise and fall, watched the tension slowly leave his body.
I’d done that.
Good.
His eyes opened, and the look he gave me made my skin heat all over again.
Not satisfied. Hungry.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Before I could climb back to my seat, he reached down and lifted me into his lap. I went easily because I wanted to. There was no room, but he made enough. His hands held my waist, and his forehead pressed to mine.
The hover-field hummed beneath us. Leaves tapped softly overhead. His cock, still half-hard, pressed against my thigh.
I smiled.
He kissed me.
It started slowly and turned deep almost at once. His mouth opened over mine, hot and demanding, and when he tasted himself on my tongue, his fingers tightened at my waist. I felt the growl in his chest before I heard it.
My body clenched around nothing.
He slid one hand down my hip, under my skirt, and along the inside of my thigh. I opened for him without thinking.
Then I remembered the road.
The buggy.
The controls waiting for my hands.
I caught his wrist before he could touch me where I wanted him most. Kazan stopped immediately.
No frustration. No push. No making me explain.
He simply waited.
“I want to drive more,” I said.
His eyes searched mine, hot and soft at once. Then he nodded. “All right.”
I put my hand back on the throttle.
The track waited ahead, dark and narrow beneath the trees. I didn’t know where it went.
“After,” I said, keeping my eyes forward, “you can repay me.”
His tail flicked at me. “I will.”
Two words.
A promise.
Heat curled low in my belly, but I made myself wait.
I eased the throttle forward, and the buggy lifted beneath my hands. It slid deeper into the wood, smooth and steady, carrying me exactly where I chose to go.
Kazan sat beside me.
Mine.
The road belonged to me.
So did the wanting.
I drove.