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We’re standing in the doorway of Libby’s bedroom. I completely fill the doorway. I’d completely fill the bed.
Why am I so scared all of the sudden? Scared I’ll wake up, mess up, maybe even throw up? “Libby, the effects of being with an incubus can last for hours. It might be better if we—”
“Is it okay if we just snuggle up? I-hrm—well, I guess you’ve seen me loopy and helpless. I can tell you that I don’t have anyone left in my life outside of this town and I’m lonely. When you hug me, it’s... it’s just the best rush. When Ricky kissed me,” she looks at me steadily, clear-eyed and clear-headed, “my body reacted, but my brain didn’t enjoy the way it felt—out of my control. When you hug me, I feel safe. Happy. Horny. I’d be good with more than just a cuddle. As long as we both approve...” Libby smirks at me and uses my weakness. “Nothing else matters.”
I feel a rush of protectiveness sweep over me. Libby needs me. Wants me. I flick my tail hard and the door swings shut. Her eyes pop. “Tails come in handy.”
“I see that.”
We stare at each other. I’m definitely letting her make the moves. There’s a tiny voice in my mind that’s on repeat. Don’t squish her. Don’t step on her. Watch your hooves. Watch your horns!
“I won’t break. I’m tough.” She smiles at me, hand on my elbow. She has to reach up to pat me. My cock twitches. Something about Libby’s small size and fragile appearance is a turn-on. It’s the protective instinct, honest. Nothing to do with imagining how tight she’ll feel around me—if we get that far. But I also know that appearances can fool you.
“I know you’re tough. I watched you go out, night after night in the freezing rain to hunt for those cats. I helped search for them the night we found them.”
Her grin stretches. Libby shakes her head wonderingly and sighs, leaning into me.
“What?”
“When I heard your voice on the phone, or when Doc would talk about you, I pictured this big bruiser, pounding metal on an anvil, covered in tattoos—who was a big teddy bear on the inside.”
“Tattoos don’t work. Fur. Well, hair.”
Oh, God. I’m so bad at this.
Libby doesn’t think so. “The tats aren’t important. You are how I pictured you...well, in the middle region. The head and hooves were a surprise.”
I gulp. “The middle might have a surprise, too.”
She blushes. I blush.
My confidence ticks up a notch. We’re cute together, and this is new territory for both of us. I smooth my hand over her arm, touch light and soft as if I were stroking one of the kittens. My hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, and it fits in one palm. My sweet Libby. Tough inside, delicate outside. The opposite of me. “I’m the soft teddy bear, and you’re this intrepid, persistent woman. And then you’re so delicate, like a flower, and I’m...clunky.”
“Massive. Mighty. Minotaur.” Her eyes are reeling me in, all pupil in the dim light of her bedroom.
I love the way she says that.
I love the way she leans up on her tiptoes to kiss me. The way she digs her hands into my shoulders when I bend and comes up with me when I straighten, wrapping her knees over my hips. My hands instinctively come up to support her, and I realize that her dress is up over her bottom now. She’s wearing a scrap of black fabric, a thong. I’ve got bare Libby cheeks, one in each hand. I can’t resist kneading them softly. They’re so supple and squeezable. Perfect. Like all of her.
“Mm. No fair. You found something to play with and I still need to.” Libby gives me an arch smile and tugs on my hoodie. Then frowns. “Um. Can you help? I don’t know how to maneuver shirts off over horns—but I’m willing to learn.”
“Oh, me, too! Willing to learn. About you. What you like...”
“I like cats. Black Sabbath, Slayer, Metallica, Iron Maiden, and Motley Crue.” Libby stands back and keeps staring at me with those luscious, luminous eyes, as she drops the shoulder straps of her black dress. Somehow I manage to get my shirt off while whacking myself in the eye with the headphones I forgot were still tucked inside my collar.
She keeps talking, stepping in to close the distance between us. “I like guys who are kind to animals and people. I like... you.” Her fingers trace over my bicep and trail down my pectorals, down my abs. “Wow,” Libby’s voice is awed.
I guess she means it. She likes me. She must, or she wouldn’t touch me like this. Look at me like this.
Don’t disappoint her, Milo. You have thousands of years of minotaur genes to live up to.
With a grunt, I take a turn in the lead, reclaiming the beautiful woman who is now in a thong and bra, her silky bare skin an endless delight everywhere it caresses my fur. I nuzzle into her neck and she kisses my cheek while she strokes my neck and my ears, working out how we kiss, working out how we fit.
There’s one piece of me that’s very insistent about this. My jeans are killing me.
Libby climbs up me again, her calf pushing against my straining cock, making me groan in a good way.
That little vixen. She does it again, rubbing her leg firmly against me as I grope my way gently up her hips and back, working out how much support she needs—and how to keep from bursting out of my zipper by sheer force of arousal.
