“Mira,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I—I don’t want to treat you like a spoil. If we do this?—”
I press my fingers to his mouth, silencing him. My mind is ablaze with too many thoughts: Could this be a mistake? Will I regret seeking comfort in the arms of the minotaur who “won” me in an arena duel? But the fear of tomorrow’s uncertain fate tangles with a craving for the safety of his embrace. Right now, I don’t care about the city’s labels.
“I choose this,” I rasp, sincerity trembling in my voice. “Not because anyone forced me. Because I want—need—something real, even if it’s just for tonight.”
His breath stutters. Then, with a growl of pent-up longing, he claims my mouth again, fiercer this time. I gasp, arching into him as the tension surges into heated urgency. Everything about him is powerful—solid muscle coiled beneath short fur, the heady musk of his body steeped in leftover adrenaline. My senses reel.
We stumble back, bodies pressing into a wooden table in the antechamber. The subtle ache in my limbs from last night’s skirmish flares, but I barely register it. His hands roam over my back, cautious yet insistent, as if verifying I’m truly here. I clutch the folds of his tunic, pulling it aside to bare more of his chest.The scar I’ve seen so often in the training yard stands out, and I trace it in a reverent caress.
He shudders under my touch. “Tell me to stop,” he rasps, voice straining. “If this feels wrong?—”
I tug him close, breath ragged. “It feels necessary. Don’t stop.”
That’s all it takes. Our mouths clash again, tongues meeting in a desperate dance. Each brush of his lips sparks an electric jolt under my skin, a reminder that we’ve been circling this moment since the day we realized we were allies, not enemies. My head spins at the sheer intensity.
He shifts, lifting me onto the table with remarkable gentleness, mindful of my smaller frame. My legs wrap around his hips, and I feel the rumble of his breath in his broad chest. Despite his size, his touch is reverent. The press of his body is firm, a living shield between me and the swirling chaos beyond the estate walls.
The tension in my belly coils tighter as our clothes come undone in halting movements. Each layer parted is a concession to trust—no Senate edict, no orc threat can intrude on us here. I brush my palms over the hard planes of his abdomen, feeling the suppressed shiver that travels through him. He groans softly, burying his face against my neck, letting out a low murmur of my name that sends a thrill skittering down my spine.
His muzzle grazes my collarbone, the velvety fur against my skin a sensation I never imagined associating with warmth and desire. I gasp, tangling my fingers in the short hair at his nape. There’s a distinct awareness that this is taboo: a minotaur champion and a human captive. But in this charged moment, labels dissolve.
He braces his hands on either side of me, careful not to crush me with his weight. Our eyes lock, chests heaving in unison. The flicker of doubt crosses his expression—fear that I’ll resent him,that I’ll feel like a trophy. Gently, I cup his cheek, letting him see the raw need in my face. “We’re both prisoners,” I whisper. “Let this be our choice.”
A tremor goes through him. Then his restraint snaps, and we fuse together in a heated rush. His mouth seeks every inch of my neck, my shoulder, each exhale rough with pent-up longing. My pulse thrums wildly, and my own inhibitions melt away. I yield to the onslaught of sensation, letting him explore me, returning each touch with equal fervor.
Our bodies align, the friction of his fur against my bare skin igniting new jolts of pleasure. He moves with care, but there’s a current of desperation in every motion, as though we only have this sliver of time before the city’s demands tear us apart. I cling to him, moaning softly when his hands tighten around my waist, guiding me closer. The edge of the table digs into my thighs, but I welcome the pain, a grounding reminder that this is real.
Heat builds between us, urgent and unstoppable. He lowers his muzzle to my lips again, kissing me with a hunger that sends sparks through my veins. My body answers, arching to meet his. The wave of need crests, carrying us into that inevitable moment when all barriers slip away and the last of our clothing tangles around ankles and wrists. There’s no ceremony, just two souls taking solace in the only comfort we can find.
He hesitates, breath ragged, searching my eyes. I realize he’s seeking permission one final time. My heart clenches. “Yes,” I whisper, voice trembling with raw want. “I’m sure.”
In response, he claims me in a swift surge of passion. My gasp mingles with his low groan. The sensation overwhelms me—scorching, desperate, a physical merging of all the tension we’ve stored up. We move together, stifling cries so the estate’s corridors won’t echo our union. My nails bite into his shoulders, a tide of pleasure coiling in my belly, each thrust a step closer tooblivion. It’s not graceful or measured; it’s a frantic collision that chases away fear. My mind blanks to everything except him.
Time blurs, punctuated by our soft moans and panting breaths. The table rocks beneath us. My nerves light up with every roll of his hips, every graze of his mouth on my shoulder, until I can’t hold back the wave of sensation cresting through me. My head tips back, a soundless cry curling my toes as I’m consumed by shuddering release. He follows moments later, trembling against me. The moment his body tenses, I feel him yield to the same unstoppable force.
After, wrap around each other in stunned silence, hearts thrumming in unison. The reality of what we’ve done settles slowly, a mix of satisfaction and a faint edge of panic. Did we just complicate everything further? Possibly. But for a precious span of moments, we found a shred of solace that politics can’t steal.
He eases away, carefully guiding me off the table, keeping a hand curling around my waist to steady me. My legs shake, the aftershocks leaving me tingling from head to toe. We stand there, breath mingling, bodies still entwined. My cheek rests against his chest, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat.
Eventually, he lifts my chin, searching my face. The desire in his eyes is now tempered by guilt. “Mira… I—I don’t ever want you to feel like a prize in my bed. This was more than lust. I?—”
I press a finger to his lips, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s all right,” I say softly, though my emotions swirl in confusion. “I wanted this. But that doesn’t erase the fact that Vaelen, the Senate… they still see me as your spoil.”
A flicker of pain crosses his features. “I know.” He brushes a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I wish I could claim you as an equal in their eyes. But the city’s rules?—”
Tears threaten just beneath my lashes. I blink them away, forcing my voice steady. “I can’t let that overshadow what justhappened. Even if it changes nothing about my legal status, it changes something for me… and maybe for you.”
He nods, exhaling. “It does.”
For a moment, we share a fragile closeness, neither sure how to articulate the avalanche of feelings. Then practicality reasserts itself. Footsteps echo in a distant corridor. We scramble to collect scattered clothes, still caught in the dizzy aftermath of passion. Once clothed, we stand across from each other, the antechamber bearing silent witness to our reckless union.
His gaze flicks to the door. “We can’t stay here. The staff might come searching.”
I wince at that reality. “Right.” A wave of awkwardness washes over me. I realize how easily rumors could spread if someone discovered us. We have enough enemies already.
He gently reaches for my hand, clasping it. “Later, we’ll talk. Truly. For now, let’s keep this… between us.”
I nod, numb with the realization that we must hide this from the Senate, from everyone. But a small smile tugs at my lips. I can’t regret it. The warmth of his presence still lingers on my skin, a shield against the ice of Vaelen’s threats. “All right.”
