Chapter 5
My chest heaves, the chill of the winter air doing nothing to calm the tremble in my hands as they thread through my hair. Tugging the dark strands, the zip of pain at the roots grounds me for a second.
But that’s all I get—a second of reprieve before I remember the problem sitting on my couch, inside my home.
And the even bigger problem she created by feeding on me.
Even though I just came, in my pants, no less, my cock is rock hard, chafing against the zipper of my jeans with each step I pace in the snow. And that’s exactly how it will remain—angry and hard—until the rut clears from my system.
And the only way to clear a rut is to… well, rut.
Worst of all, a rut is only triggered under specific circumstances for a minotaur male. It can only be triggered by one’s mate.
Vanessa Bielski cannot, and will not, be my mate. Ciboire! I had a mate once, and it was the biggest mistake of my life.
A mistake I will not make again. Ever.
The door to the sugar shack swings shut behind me. I grab the spare sweater hanging on the coat hook and thread my horns through the stretchy neck hole before tugging it over my body. Not that I need it; my skin is feverish, thanks to the overwhelming need to fuck coursing through my veins.
Condensation wafts off the evaporator, adding humidity to the air. This batch of sap will be ready for bottling in another day or so. In the meantime, I head to my workbench and get out my candy-making supplies.
But when I sit on the stool, my cock rubs against the front of my pants where the cold, sticky remains of my orgasm seep through the denim. Fuck. I can’t very well face the minx inside and change my pants.
Sighing, I stand, and my cock grates against the zipper, shooting a lightning bolt down to my toes.
But in the two decades I’ve lived here, I still haven’t gotten around to raising the workbench to accommodate my seven-foot-tall height, so standing to work means being hunched over.
Combined with sleeping on the couch tonight, my back will hate me in the morning.
Frustration trickles through me, and I brace my hands on the worn wood of the workbench. As I bow my head and close my eyes, my nostrils flare and the distinct scent of her arousal mixed with my cum hits my nose. Pre-cum leaks from the head of my cock, adding to the wet spot on my jeans.
“Calisse de tabarnak!”
Her moans echo off the walls of my brain, adding to the pent-up energy I’m trying to suppress. I need to move, or I’m liable to march inside and fuck her for real this time—not just have her ride my thigh until she screams in ecstasy.
The stool topples over in my haste to get out of the claustrophobic sugar shack.
Outside, I fill my lungs with breath after breath of clean winter air, welcoming the crisp, icy burn of each inhale.
Overhead, the full moon illuminates the winter wonderland surrounding me. Like a snow globe, a few glittering flakes swoop through the air. If I was a Christmas kind of guy, this would be a magical setting.
But I’m not.
I huff and follow the trail around the side of my cottage. Tiny boot prints lead me to the front of the house. At that point, the tracks turn into craters in the immeasurable mounds of snow and lead toward the road.
There must be a lull in the storm, only sparse flurries dropping from the dark sky, but the temps are plummeting.
Each time my hooves sink into the snow, a chill ripples up my spine.
I don’t want to be out here long. Another wave of snow and wind is supposed to hit tomorrow, according to the radio forecast earlier.
Moonlight reflects off the sleek silver car as I approach the road. A fresh layer of snow coats most of its exterior. Each tire is buried about halfway in the snow. Merde, she’s not going anywhere until the entire storm has passed and I can dig her out.
A shimmer in the backseat has my hand reaching for the door handle before I can stop myself. It’s unlocked.
Swinging the door open as far as the snowbank will allow, I squeeze my massive frame into the small space. A cardboard box sits on the black leather seat.
Baubles of all shapes and sizes, strings of lights, and some other random festive objects fill the box.
Christmas decorations?
Her earlier words float through my head. Where’s your Christmas tree?
I snatch the box, crumpling the cardboard in the process. It’s been years since I bothered to put up a tree. The last time was with Annabelle. When we were happy.
A four-foot pine tree along the road grabs my attention. The trunk is broken, and it’s leaning to the side, threatening to fall at any second. Seems a shame to leave it here when I have a whiny vampire in my cottage who won’t shut up about missing her Christmas plans. When life gives you lemons…
My breath fogs up the air, and a trail of fallen pine needles follows me as I trek back to my cottage. Braced on my shoulder, the tree drags through the snow behind me. The box of Christmas nonsense is tucked under my other arm, the contents jingling happily with each step.
I did a quick scan of the rest of her car and didn’t find any spare clothes or blood packets. But there’s no way she’s feeding on me again. If she needs more sustenance, I’ll bleed into a fucking glass before I let her near me.
My cock is already primed and ready to explode; I don’t need her fangs in my neck, forcing me over the edge again.
No. I’ll take care of this rut the old-fashioned way… with my hand.
By the time I lug the small tree to my front door, the house is dark. Magnifique.
Maybe I can sleep off this rut and shoo Vanessa out of my cottage at the first signs of daylight.
It would seem luck isn’t on my side tonight.
As I lean the tree against the cottage to open the door, excruciating pain rips through my groin, and I double over.
“Fuck!” I growl into the darkness, my cock throbbing in my jeans.
A steady river of pre-cum flows from the sensitive tip where it rubs against the harsh metal zipper. I need a release. NOW!
The tree will be fine outside until morning. Swinging the door open, some part of my brain is still functioning, and I stop myself from tearing it off the hinges. The last thing I need is Vanessa waking up and offering to help relieve the ache.
In my current state, instinct is likely to win out over logic, and I’d end up fucking her straight into the floor.
Dumping the box of decorations onto the chair by the door, I trip over my hooves as I stumble to the bathroom. Not bothering to turn on the light, I close the door and tug at my clothes until I’m naked. My fur is slicked with sweat, my groin crusted with dried cum.
Chest heaving, I wrap a tight fist around my cock. I don’t recognize the animalistic groan that erupts from my chest and echoes off the walls of the small bathroom.
The first slide of my hand up my length pulls another feral groan from my lungs. Crisse. Tingles erupt in my balls as they pull tight to my overheated body. It feels so fucking good.
Her pussy would feel even better, my brain supplies.
“No. Fuck!” In the darkness, my hand flies up and down my shaft. Each time I get to the tip, I squeeze my fingers around my foreskin and twist until fireworks burst across my eyes.
Streams of pre-cum splatter to the floor, and my moans crescendo.
So much for keeping quiet.
But I can’t.
It feels too good.
Sweet relief.
The tingle in my balls spreads to my spine, and goosebumps raise the fur covering my body. I’m almost there.
My arm swings out in search of a towel to soak up my inevitable release. If I don’t catch at least half in a towel, I’ll be cleaning cum off my bathroom floor for weeks. I don’t need that, not on top of my unwanted houseguest.
Since monsters came out of hiding several decades ago, there have been rumors floating around the internet about minotaurs. Those rumors are correct. We’re big… everywhere and produce copious amounts of fluid.
Soft fabric hits my fingers, and I pull it down from the shower curtain rod. In my haste, the towel plops into a pile on the ground.
étrange. I don’t remember hanging my towel there this morning.
But it’s too late. No time to think since there’s no stopping the impending deluge of jizz now.
Snatching the top of the pile, I bring the fabric to my aching cock.
Fist tightening around the base, I let out an earth-shaking moan that rattles the mirror.
Ears glued to the sides of my head, my eyes slam shut, and I ride the rollercoaster of pleasure as wave after wave of cum shoots into the towel.
Cock finally sated—for now—I slump forward onto my knees.
Once my breathing is no longer labored, I get to my feet and flick on the lights.
Eyes falling to my palm, they widen at what I find. It’s not a towel clutched in my fist.
No. It’s something much worse.
The fabric is lavender and lacy and far too small. My stomach tightens, and a fresh wave of lust flares through my veins.
Vanessa’s panties lay in my open palm, absolutely coated in my release. A glob of thick milky fluid drips from the crotch before plopping to the ground where the rest of her clothes lay in a heap.
My brain short-circuits, and before I can think better of it, I bring the soiled garment to my nose and spread my nostrils. Mmm. Her sweet musk mixed with mine is perfection. I want to bathe in it.
What? No, that’s crazy!
I shake my head in an attempt to rid myself of whatever lustful parasite has taken over my mind.
But it’s no use.
Again, instinct takes over, and my tongue darts out, running along the crotch of her panties where most of my load landed. It’s salty and warm, but there’s a hint of something foreign. A hint of her.
My cock springs to life again, thickening between my thighs. Fuck!
The taste has a possessiveness burning to life in my chest like I’ve never experienced before.
Because she’s your mate.
No. No more mates. Not after the last one.
Like it’s on fire, I toss the thong into the sink and step into the shower, post-nut clarity taking over as my brain registers that I just came on this vampire vixen’s panties… and I liked it.
“Fuck, this is bad.” I flip on the faucet as icy-cold as it will go, leaning my forehead against the cool tiled wall, but it does nothing to ease the shame.
So, I turn the dial to hot instead and grab my shampoo.
By the time I’ve scrubbed my fur and skin raw under the scalding water—and beat my cock into a half-hard state—I’m ready to face the cum-coated panties again.
I rinse them as clean as I can in the sink, wringing out the excess water before hanging them, and the rest of Vanessa’s clothes, back on the rod where I found them.
It’s like nothing ever happened.
Did I leave a small patch of my cum on the crotch gusset? Yes, and a feral part inside me purrs, knowing my scent will coat her skin when she dresses in the morning.
After pulling on a pair of sweatpants I found in the hamper, I prepare myself for a fitful night of sleep on the couch. A heavy sigh leaves me, and I open the bathroom door.
Sleepy burgundy eyes blink up at me, half-lidded and drowsy. Tousled waves of snow surround her face, like a halo.
Mon soleil. I bite my tongue to keep the term of endearment from coming out.
“Are you okay?” Vanessa’s question is cut off by a yawn. She rubs her eyes before continuing. The low rasp of her voice shoots straight to my cock, which thickens. Again. Merde. “I heard a weird sound from the bathroom. Like an animal was dying or—”
“It was nothing. Go back to bed, Vanessa.” My words are clipped and harsh, hopefully driving home the point.
Her eyes scan me from hooves to horns before settling on the crotch of my gray sweatpants. “But—”
Moving a hand over my pants, I cut off her view. “Bed. Now.” My teeth nearly crack with how hard I grit my jaw.
Her mouth opens, like she’s going to fight me. I’m more than prepared to throw her over my shoulder and put her back in bed myself. Lock her in if I have to. That may be the best way to protect her from me.
Instead, her gaping jaw snaps shut, teeth clacking, before she spins on her heels and disappears into the dark bedroom.
Bien. Somehow, I have to keep my distance until the storm passes and she leaves. My cock jumps in my pants, like he thinks that’s a terrible idea. Adjusting myself, I trudge to the couch. “Not gonna happen, mon maudit tabarnak.”