Longing for the Minotaur (Indecent Monsters #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

VALENTINA

Banon has always been an asshole, and today is no different.

“Tina-a-a-a-a!” he shouts from the window of his car. He still calls me that, even though I’ve long since switched to “Val.” Back in high school, everyone called me “Tiny Tina,” including Banon, and it made me hate my own nickname. So I picked a different one.

Valentina is flexible like that, which I’m grateful for now.

One of my college friends cocks an eyebrow, probably wondering why I’m answering to the name “Tina.” I wave at her as I head toward Banon’s car and open the passenger-side door.

It’s messy in here as always, with abandoned Hogburger wrappers and Taco Heaven bags lining the floors. He has a few stupid doohickeys on the dashboard that wobble and wiggle as I shut the door and Banon puts the car in drive.

“Don’t call me that here,” I snap at him.

“Call you what? By your name?”

“It’s Val,” I enunciate clearly, though I know he knows and he’s just trying to get a rise out of me. “Come on, man.”

He raises his hands off the steering wheel in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Old habits die hard. I mean, I’ve called you Tina since you were twelve.”

Don’t I know it. That’s always what I’ve been—Tina-a-a-a! Just an annoying little stepsister he taunts from a car window. But the thing that’s always been most painful?

How gorgeous my jackass stepbrother is. Everyone knows it, including him, which is both part of the reason he’s such an asshole, and part of the reason I still let him get away with what he does.

He just looks so pretty doing it.

I’d never tell a soul that, of course. I just nod along whenever my college friends get a glimpse of him and remark how hot he is.

“Minotaur daddy right there,” my friend Natasha said once after Banon dropped me off. I’m just in college and I still live on campus, so I don’t have a car of my own.

“Do not call my stepbrother ‘daddy,’” I warned her.

“Sorry. Just calling the shots like I see them. He’s like four or five years older, right?”

Right. He’s always been one hundred percent out of my league, not just because he’s way hotter than I am, but also because he’s much older.

Well, and other barriers, obviously.

But Natasha was absolutely correct. Banon is big—bigger than big.

Fully jacked, and I would know because I’ve seen how much time he spends at the gym.

His fur is buckskin brown, almost more of a gold, with shaggy blondish hair and two big, black horns.

His eyes are radiant blue. I could draw him from memory if I had to.

Banon roars away from the curb in that annoying way he always does. I don’t even bother to try to correct his driving or ask him to slow down anymore. He won’t do it. Well, he will for a few minutes, then get distracted by talking and speed up again, ripping around curves and blowing yellow lights.

I just hang on for dear life and listen as he starts telling me all about his last football practice.

He didn’t get drafted his last year of college, and now he plays in the minor leagues, trying to get noticed.

I think he should have given up after he didn’t get drafted, but nobody can tell Banon what to do.

He is the definition of a minotaur: stubborn and driven.

In the meantime, though, he works for a moving company, picking up heavy boxes and furniture all day. He’s really perfect for it, and he’s not the kind of guy who could work an office job where he has to sit in one place all day.

“We still have cheerleaders, you know.” His mane puffs up a little. “The squad captain hit on me after the game the other night.”

A familiar surge of jealousy rushes through me. I know it’s ridiculous, just like every other time Banon’s gotten attention from a girl, but I can’t help it.

“Good for you,” I say, rolling my eyes to disguise how put out I feel.

“Hey, aren’t you happy for me? She has a really great ass.”

I stick out my tongue. Exactly the opposite of what I wanted to hear.

“Thank you for that image.”

Banon grins. “You’re welcome. You like girls, don’t you?”

I shoot him a glare. “Not girls like that, no. I like nerdy girls. Not girls who jump up and shake their tits for football players.”

“Hey, cheerleading is a respectable profession. It requires a lot of athleticism.”

Sighing, I gaze out the window. I don’t want to hear about his love of cheerleaders. I still remember vividly when he brought home Lillian Esparzo, head cheerleader at our high school, on prom night.

Unconsciously, I shiver all over just remembering it.

“You cold?” Banon asks, reaching for the car’s thermostat. When he glances over at me, turning the heat up, there’s real concern in his eyes.

“Thanks,” is all I say, pulling my cardigan tighter around me.

Surprisingly, the conversation ends, with Banon driving toward our parents’ house while I sit silently in the passenger seat, looking out the window.

Tonight is Thanksgiving prep night. Banon’s mom, Marissa, likes to go all out for Thanksgiving.

It’s a really, really big deal to her, and so it’s a big deal to Banon and my dad, which then means it’s a big deal to me, too.

For Thanksgiving prep, we all get together for dinner and talk about what we’re going to make on Thanksgiving, draw up a kitchen schedule, and make grocery lists.

It’s actually very boring, but again, it makes Marissa happy, so it makes Banon and my dad happy.

Banon’s always been a mama’s boy, as much as he pretends like he’s not.

He’ll do just about anything for her, same as my dad does.

And I guess I don’t blame them. When the car finally pulls up outside the house, a tall minotaur woman is waiting on the front step.

She holds her arms out and I’m pulled into a hug first, where she squeezes me tight as if we haven’t seen each other in months.

Then she ushers me inside, saying how she made my favorite Jell-O with the fruit inside.

I don’t really love it all that much, but it makes her happy to prepare it for me, so I never correct her.

My favorite is actually black forest cake with chocolate and cherry.

Dad’s waiting in the kitchen, already opening a bottle of wine. Our parents love to imbibe, let’s just say that. Wine tasting is their hobby, as is whiskey tasting, and also beer tasting. Dad raises his arms just like Marissa did when she saw me and pulls me into a hug.

“Great to see you, kiddo,” he says, squeezing my shoulder and then going back to the wine.

Even though their house is taller and wider inside than most houses, given Marissa’s big horns, Banon still fills up every room and hallway he stands in.

I have to move out of the way when he comes into the kitchen, and I sigh as he bumps into the overhead shelf he’s bumped into every single day since our parents bought this house when I was in eighth grade.

We lived in Banon’s mom’s house before that.

It was a weird situation, all said. Banon’s dad had died a few years before, and Marissa was a single mom.

My dad and my mom got divorced when I was young, and my dad won full custody of me.

It was simple for us to move into Marissa’s house when she and my dad got married.

But there were weird echoes of Banon’s biological father everywhere you looked—a wall he had repainted, some letters he had scribbled on the wall to mark Banon’s height while he was growing up.

Eventually, we decided to leave that place completely and find a new home that would be the beginning of our new blended family.

Those were the most miserable years of my life, going through high school in this house. I’m glad I’m in college now, where I’ve found people like me, people I jibe with. School was never like that for me, not like it was for Banon. Those were his glory years. Mine are yet to come.

Eventually, the wine is opened and poured, and all of us sit at the table to start making plans while the casserole finishes in the oven. It’s all very normal. I lift my head to drink from my glass and catch Banon looking at me, his brow furrowed.

I raise an eyebrow in a way that says what? He just shrugs and throws back more wine.

He’s making the easy stuff, of course, like stuffing and green bean casserole.

I’m making the sweet potato pie like I always do, with cream, sugar, cinnamon, pecans, and marshmallows.

I’ll also be making the gravy, while Dad handles the turkey and the rolls.

Marissa is all about the desserts, and she’s plotting a lemon meringue and a pecan pie both.

Nobody at our house likes pumpkin pie. It was a huge bonding point between our families: no pumpkin shit at Thanksgiving.

Now that the jobs are assigned, it’s time to eat.

We’ve already finished the bottle of wine, so next comes a new craft cocktail that Dad learned how to make from watching a YouTube show.

We joke about how well the egg foam pairs with the mac n’ cheese, with a side Caesar salad that Marissa threw together so we had some semblance of healthy food in this meal.

“We haven’t talked about any of the important stuff yet,” Dad says, swishing his cocktail and tasting it again. “Like Tina—I mean, Val—I meant to ask how your classes are going.”

“They’re fine,” I say. “I’m glad I switched majors, though. I feel like econ will be a lot more useful to me in the long run.”

Banon raises his head. “You’re doing econ, too?” He slaps the table. “Carrying on my tradition!”

I knew he’d have this reaction when I switched majors. But going into the humanities had a lot less chance of paying off for me, and with all the student loans I’m taking out, I want this education to get me somewhere after I graduate.

“Yup.” I slug back my cocktail. “Going to become a numbers girl.”

“Well, I have all the tips and tricks for you. Especially about the professors. You just have to know what they want to get good grades. I can help you there.”

Sometimes I wish we could have afforded me going to an out-of-state school, so I wouldn’t feel like I’m getting Banon’s hand-me-downs.

“I’m not trying to keep my sports scholarship,” I say. “I’m there to learn, and I’m going to get my grades honestly.”

For a second, it looks like I’ve hurt him. “I earned my grades honestly,” he says.

“Sure.” I look at Dad for support. We’ve always joked about how Banon is a bit of a muscle head, and in high school, it got him a pass when it came to grades.

“Banon worked hard in college,” Dad says instead, a disapproving tone to his voice. “Just like you’re doing now.”

Marissa gives me a reproachful look, too, and I stare down at my food.

Jeez. I didn’t think everyone would get so offended by something I thought was obvious.

Conversation turns to football, and Banon talks about his performance at the last game. He thinks next year he’ll move up to captain of the team. I pick my food apart as everyone talks, still feeling guilty, and then getting mad that I feel guilty.

“So, you guys going to stay the night?” Dad asks while Marissa pulls out the Jell-O she made.

Banon chuckles. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t be driving.”

Damn it. I didn’t think about that when we all started drinking—that I wouldn’t make it back to the dorm tonight.

I like my roommate, and I like having my own space.

My childhood bedroom reminds me too much of my loser years, of the person I was in high school who was tormented by classmates and who had no real friends.

“Fine,” I say, scooping myself some Jell-O. I don’t speak until I’m done, then I get up from the table, put my plate in the dishwasher, and head down the hallway.

“Going to bed?” Banon calls out.

“Yeah.” I don’t want to open my mouth and risk further humiliation tonight. “See you in the morning.”

Then I’ll see if I can get a ride home to campus from Dad or Marissa instead.

Everyone says goodnight, and I duck into my old room, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Then I stumble to my bed, my head swimming from all the booze I had tonight, and flop onto it.

At least I still have the comforter I like here, and the mattress is definitely nicer than the one I have back at the dorm.

Unfortunately, though, I moved all my sex toys to campus, so I have nothing here to quell the itch that’s formed in my lower abdomen. Seeing Banon does this to me, much to my misfortune. I know I shouldn’t think of him like this, my own fucking stepbrother, but I can’t help it.

I push off my pants and toss them aside, then drag my hand down between my legs. It’s easy to summon an image that’s been imprinted on my mind since I was fourteen.

I heard when Banon and Lillian stumbled into the house on prom night.

They had both been drinking—that much was clear by their slurred whispering as they passed my room to get to Banon’s.

We share a bathroom, our rooms separated by Jack and Jill doors, so it was easy for me to spy on them.

All I had to do was push open Banon’s door just a hair and peer through.

There, I saw the entire thing. Banon taking off his clothes while Lillian did the same. It was the first time I’d seen my stepbrother completely naked, his thick, immense cock hard and pointing out. Lillian had stroked it a few times before she got to her knees and then sucked him off.

I’d wondered then what he tasted like. Did she enjoy it? I don’t personally love giving blowjobs, but she seemed really into it.

And then, Banon had picked her up, carried her to the bed, and laid back on it before ripping open a condom and slipping it on. She climbed atop his lap, took his cock in her small human hands, and guided it inside her.

I remember every single vivid detail, her pussy spread immensely wide around him, his cum dripping down from the condom. His cock glistened in the low light as it moved in and out of her, and though she tried to keep quiet, her cries grew louder and louder.

Oh, how I had wished it was me. I was still a virgin then, but I’d watched enough porn to understand sex.

No porn compared to that moment, though. Seeing Banon thrust his hips up, burying his cock inside her, had nearly undone me.

It’s easy to remember it, blotting out Lillian’s face and replacing it with my own as I touch myself.

My finger speeds up, imagining that thick cock inside me, filling me obscenely, driving me closer and closer to the finish line.

My hand shakes wildly as I get more riled up, until my orgasm is so close I can almost touch it.

Then, there comes a knock at my door. My hand freezes.

“Tina?” says a quiet voice on the other side.

Banon.