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 inher 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 intobefore 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 shyto 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.
