Chapter 9 #2
I dashed through the archway. This one could only be a ballroom, with ornate walls and a small stage at one side.
There was nothing to jump over, nothing to crawl under and switch directions, nothing to block his direct charge.
I ran across it anyway, as there was no way but forward or sideways.
I veered towards a closed door. I could hear the heavy clomps of his hooves behind me, the heavy huff of his breath.
He would catch me soon.
On the other side of the door was a service staging room, filled with counters to place things and cupboards to keep things. There were three exits, and I chose the one straight ahead, the door behind me crashing open.
Then I was in a kitchen made of stone, both familiar and unfamiliar.
One of my mundane friends who had vanished in her first year had worked in the school kitchens, and she had told me about the equipment, how it was similar but powered differently, how spells were used to heat and cool, but I didn't have time to look around, to see the details of what that long-lost friend had mentioned.
All I had time for was to notice the piebald minotaur directly in front of me, wearing an apron as he looked up from the mound of dough in front of him on the counter.
This minotaur's forehead wrinkled in confusion as he looked at me.
"A mundane?" he asked.
Warm arms wrapped around me, lifting me up off my feet and tucking me back against a broad chest. Durom faced the other minotaur, his head arching over mine as he let out another bellow, this time towards the other minotaur, the sound thankfully nowhere close to my ears, though I could feel the reverberations.
"Durom, wait, you can't!" the cook said, lifting his hands from the dough. "That's a mundane!"
He stepped towards us.
His approach was a challenge.
If he hadn't moved, if he had just stood there and watched, Durom would have taken me on the kitchen counter in front of him.
Durom had mentioned that his people took mating chases seriously.
There was a difference between the madness of a mate-scented chase and a casual one.
The way he had talked about it made it sound like it wasn't just him who was cautious about initiating things with others outside their culture because of the differences in how they approached things.
He made it sound like his people as a whole would step in and stop mate-scented chases with other species, making sure that the individual on the receiving end knew what they were getting into before they were chased down by a lust-crazed minotaur.
Trying to stop a mate-scented chase would always result in a fight.
I didn't want to witness a fight. I wanted to get laid.
"It's okay! I initiated this, and I know what is going on! Leave us alone!" I shouted out as Durom swung me around his body and set me down behind him as he lowered his head towards the other minotaur.
The other minotaur paused at my words, stopping his approach.
Durom let out a snort and pawed the ground.
I bolted, running towards the door to my right.
That was enough to trigger Durom again, and he let out a groan that was more of a snarl as my fleeing demanded he follow. I burst out into the entry space, Durom hot on my heels. He caught me as my foot found the first step of the stairs.
This time, he didn't lift me up.
He pushed me down.
He was over me, one hand on the stair over my shoulder, his arm stopping me from lunging forward.
His touch was forceful but gentle, putting me in the position he wanted me in.
As I tried to push up on my hands and knees, I found his back blocking my rise, then his other hand was on the edge of my trousers, yanking them down over the curve of my shapely ass.
He was going to take me out here, on the stairs.
Anticipation seared through my body.
He had told me in one of our many conversations that I should let him prepare me before I ran, that I should let him lick me and bring me to my peak so that I was ready for him, for his girth and the rampant demands of his rut-crazed mating lust. He had been adamant that I should do that before running.
He had suggested that we do that, and then I run a short distance to a bedroom.
But I was too excited, too eager, and a little bit too shy to ask him to do that, especially after he had backed off in the intensity of his flirtation.
Saying what I wanted was hard. Running away was easy.
Now I would reap the glorious consequence.
He grabbed my hips with his hand, the other still on the stairs over my shoulder, supporting his weight.
He lifted my hips up and his slippery length slipped between my thighs, prodding and missing with a frantic thrust yet managing to drag through my lower lips, stroking his dripping log through my lower lips.
Minotaurs produced their own lubrication, he had said, and the easy slide of him against my skin was a tantalizing torment.
He pulled back, the tip of him catching against my opening.
He thrust again.
It caught over the edge, slipping out, spearing between my legs with the aggressive force of slippery skin against willing flesh, dragging a cry from my throat with the pleasure of having my clit stroked by his dripping length of desire.
He grunted and tilted my hips with his strong hand as he found my opening once again, lodging himself there. He gave a little thrust this time, followed by another as he parted my lips, dipping into me centimeter by centimeter as he secured his position before going for gold.
There was a pause, a stretch, a slide as he inched in.
I gasped as he spread me open, my body on fire, every nerve focused on the intense invasion of a space that had only the company of my own fingers for far too long.
He pulled out, bare skin sliding against skin, not all the way, just another inch, as if reassuring himself he was in, then he pushed. It was sudden, rough, and utterly delicious.
I let out a guttural cry as he spiked me to the hilt, pleasure invading my senses.
All I could feel was him inside me, spreading me open, an intense invasion of heat and power, his flesh flush against mine, his breath hot against the back of my head as he covered me with his body.
There was a tremble of his skin against mine, or was that me trembling?
I couldn't tell; all I could feel was the press of him up inside me, unavoidable and everything I desperately craved.
Then he moved.
Out and in, ploughing into me with slow, steady thrusts that caused me to gasp as each one rocked me forward, my face pressing into the stairs as he held my hips up at his mercy so he could drive into me over and over again.
His heavy balls slapped against me, smacking ecstasy between my legs with each thrust, like the light tap of a dominant palm demanding that my pleasure rise to meet his furious need.
It did.
I cried out, unable to hold it in as the sensation built with in me, spurred on by the rawness of the moment, the intensity of the chase, the weeks of longing, the helplessness of my body as he pinned me underneath him, taking me right where he caught me, so overcome by lust that he was disconnected from all his plans, his choices usurped by my own need to not wait, to not ask, to be taken rough and ruthless simply by triggering his pent up desire.
His thrusts became frantic, demanding, slamming into me with unrelenting force, and I came apart.
I shattered, pieces of me ricocheting through my body with slivers of endless delight, frenetic explosions throughout every part of me, a myriad of fireworks that spasmed and clenched as he drove deep into me, roaring as his heat flooded deep inside me in spurts of primal need.
I was limp, my desire to move at all pounded into oblivion.
He lifted me, still impaled upon him, cradling me back against his chest even as he kept my hips tilted, and my back arched to stay exactly where he wanted me. I felt anchored, safe, held.
"Mate," he whispered softly, the first coherent word he had managed since I had bolted from him. The word carried warmth, and in it I felt all the love that had been there from the very first moment he had said it, not knowing anything about me.
I closed my eyes as he carried me up the first set of stairs and then the second, each step sending echoes of pleasure through me, his length never softening.
I heard a door shut, and I opened my eyes to see that he had brought me into a large bedroom, the details a haze as he moved us toward the bed.
He was still hard within me as he reached down to grab one of my legs, pushing my flexibility to its max as he spun me on him until I was facing him and my back was down on the bed and he was on top of me, his lower abs pressing down against my wet mound as he rocked, stroking his length inside of me, our combined fluids making the motion slick and slippery, the friction of his hefty log pulling another moan from me as the pleasure began to build again and I realized he wasn't going to stop.
I didn’t want him to stop.
He kissed me so gently, his broad, thick lips covering mine as the motion of his body told another story, of tenderness and care, and fervent determination to have me each and every way that he could.
It didn't take me long to climax again, brought there by the tender strokes of a male who would stop at nothing to support me while I explored every inch of what it meant to be me.