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Chapter 15
“No coffee tonight,” he announced as she entered the collection room, smiling at the way his voice seemed to bounce against the tiles. “We’re getting piñata juggernauts. Limited time only. Everybody likes ice cream, you can’t say no.”
The only camera in the collection room was above the milking machine, and the scope of the fish-eyed lens only captured the machine and the cooler, where the valuable collections were stored. The privacy and anonymity of the clients were one of the farm’s top priorities, thus there was no eye in the sky in the top level of the room, leaving her free to climb the short staircase and pull down her mask, stretch up to her toes, and kiss the pink expanse between his exposed nostrils. There was no room for argument or debate, he’d made up his mind and that was final.
Violet tsked, even though she knew that she’d be giving in to his whims. He’d already let her know that he would be hangry and terrible company if they didn’t eat something before their last-minute dinner reservation, had been grousing non-stop that it had taken nearly a month to secure and the best time slot offered was at one in the morning. “If they’re strolling around getting coffee all day, why can’t they have normal reservation times?” he’d demanded the day before, when his name finally came up in the La Vie Rouge reservation queue. She’d be going to his house from work, where she’d wait for him to get home and evidently eat a week’s worth of sugar by way of a limited-time iced cream treat. She couldn’t wait.
“Okay, first of all, that’s very bossy of you. Plus that thing’s got to be five thousand calories!”
She’d not anticipated seeing him before then; hadn’t expected to see him at the farm at all, but when she’d been handed her files for the day, a purple sticker peeked up from the bottom, setting her heart into a climbing expedition up her throat all afternoon.
Her schedule had been a solid wall of Earners, the easiest day she could have asked for.
“Wait,” her first client had ground out, teeth clenching as the nozzle finished him off. “Don’t pull it yet, I’ve got more.” Sure enough, after minutes of leg shaking and teeth-gnashing, several more spurts of semen entered the bottle, bringing it just over the fill line. The bull was maybe a decade older than Rourke, sable with ivory markings, with horns filed to smooth, rounded ends and a braided copper ring in his nose. It was an impressive amount, Violet thought as she labeled the bottle, all things considered.
“Our youngest is starting school in the fall,” the minotaur said with a shaky laugh, pushing himself off the bench on unsteady legs. “We thought the local university would have been less expensive than moving away, but . . .” He trailed off with a shake of his head and Violet nodded sympathetically.
“Nothing here is inexpensive,” she agreed, earning a snort and another nod as the bull hitched up his jeans. “I understand why, and it’s such a nice place you wouldn’t want to see anything change, but still. It’s a lot. You know,” she added as the minotaur headed for the door, “oysters and spinach. Add them to your diet, if you’re not allergic. The zinc and folate help with, ah, production. If you’re trying to bank that first semester . . .” She trailed off with a blush.
“Oysters,” he repeated seriously, head bobbing, either not noticing her reddened ears or not caring. “I’ll definitely be doing that. Thanks for the tip!”
The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, and she found herself paying closer attention to her clients than she ever did before. Every minotaur who came in with a ring through his nose left her wondering if he had a new baby at home, a family vacation to save for, a down payment on a house. The bulls without rings may have been students, may have been looking to splurge on a gaming system or pay hospital bills or start building a retirement fund. She’d long ago accepted that Kirime was right: this wasn’t sex work, especially not for the employees, but she realized that it likely wasn’t for the bulls who visited the farm either.Humans havecommodifiedus.This wasn’t any different than selling plasma for bar money. She passed the other human in the hall just then, who would forever and always be Stiff Grip Sally in her head, the girl plodding along in a pair of alpine milkmaid scrubs.Well . . . it’s still sexual for some of them.
She’d practically bounced into the collection room once his file finally rested in her hands, overjoyed that she’d be able to hold him and stroke him again, but he’d yet to release his hold on her as his face screwed up into a familiar pout.
“Then we’ll share one,” Rourke insisted, dropping his giant hands to her hips, preventing her from pulling away. “You can pick the flavor. There are chocolate stars inside and rainbow confetti, so frankly I don’t understand why this is even a conversation. And I’m an eldest child, so just in case you were keeping score, being bossy ismybirthright.”
His always-messy hair tumbled over his forehead, and she leaned forward against him, reaching up to brush it back when she felt it. He was there for his weekly appointment, there to be milked, and he’d always followed the courtesies of the farm. It was preposterous for the heavy bulge at the front of his pants to shock her, but she gasped all the same when he pulled her flush against him, a slow, closed mouth grin spreading across his face. She’d held his cock in her hands, had stroked and pumped it, knew its weight and sensitivities . . . but feeling it pressed to her, even through several layers of clothing, when she’d not yet felt itpressedto her was tortuous. She clawed at his broad chest for purchase, whimpering when his hips shifted, moving the hard bulge against her.
“You know,” he murmured, hands continuing to press her to him, “I was originally going to cancel today. I’ve got a hot date tonight, figured I should probably stay home and get ready. Then I thought it might be smart to keep my normal appointment, take the edge off before tonight . . . but now I think I’d rather keep the edge. Save it all for her.”
“Oh?” her voice came out on a squeak, and his smile twitched. “And what made you change your mind?”
“Well, you know, I like this girl. A lot. We have a great connection, we have fun together. I can envision her in my life in five years, ten years. And I know that probably seems a bit premature, moving a little fast, but this isn’t my first rodeo and I’ve been stupid in relationships before. Now I know what I want, and she checks all my boxes. I think I do for her as well. And tonight is supposed to be the big night. We’ve been taking things slow, I’m a gentleman after all . . .”
Her throat closed and her finger clenched the material of his crisp dress shirt, a shade of lavender that was so pale it was nearly silver. If he’d rushed her into bed as quickly as she would have liked, she would always wonder if that’s all their relationship was to him—sexual release from a source he already knew could satisfy him. He liked herpersonal touch, and she’d always be insecure that was all she was to him. It was backward thinking and stupidly outdated, but her mother and aunt had talked aboutno one buying the cow when the milk is freefor years, and she’d obviously absorbed a bit of it.
Instead, he’d brought her into his life and had given her the opportunity to call the shots.He’s been making such an effort, literally from day one.He’d picked most of their date locales, he’d taken a step away from her work to prevent muddying the waters. They’d been hiking and had gone for walks in the park, she had seen grand old buildings and beautiful art, tried new food and met his neighbor and obvious friend. He’d acknowledged their different social standings and had given her every opportunity to change her mind . . . like a gentleman. Her cheeks colored when she realized how little sex actually had to do with it.
“Like a perfect gentleman,” she agreed, leaning into him. Nothing was said for a long moment, and he cradled the side of her face in his palm, what had become a familiar, tender gesture. The pressure of his velvet thumb against her cheek was a whisper, and she thought he was right: he checked all her boxes.
His smile lit the room, and she swayed. “I’m going to leave. Save this all for later.” Back and forth, a movement so slow she might have thought she was imagining it, he pressed his erection against her, a promise, she thought, of things to come. It wasn’t all about sex, but the sex was absolutely going to be a perk.It’s a good thing we’re going back to his place then. You’d wind up gumming up the washing machine in the building from the mess on the sheets. Mrs.Muehlsteinwill try to do her laundry after you and get everything covered in minotaur milk.“As a matter of fact,” he continued, interrupting himself with a slight groan when she twisted her hips to grind into the bulge in his pants, “I’m not even sure we’re going to make it to get ice cream. We might need to jump right to the post-dessert activities.”
“That’ll just make the main course more satisfying,” she suggested with a laugh, pushing herself off his chest until he released her hips. As much as she wanted to drop to her knees and service him with her mouth right there, it wouldn’t do to get caught, not if she wanted to still be employed tomorrow, and she was forced to agree with him—keeping an edge had been thrilling, if not a teensy weensy bit frustrating.
“I guess I should get going if I’m not giving a collection today. I might end up surprising my date early. I hope she comes prepared.”
* * *
She thought he might have been joking.
His massive truck was sitting in the driveway when she pulled up to the address he’d given her—a cute little cape cod-style on a tree-lined street—and she half expected him to be waiting at the door, ready to lead her on to the night’s adventures. Instead, she’d needed to knock, letting herself in when his deep voice bellowed that it was unlocked from somewhere deep in the house.
Her earlier explorations of the neighborhoods in Cambric Creek had not gone amiss, for she saw immediately that the entire house seemed designed for someone his size. Rourke’s slate blue house was nestled in between two of identical build, the accommodative architecture that made this multi-species community so in-demand. The doorways were wide and tall, the depth between the counters and the cupboards great enough that his horns would be safe from collision, everything bigger, taller, designed for someone of stature and bulk.
She’d just stepped through the kitchen, eyeing the green tartan blanket on the back of the sofa when he appeared.
The small, white towel, slung low across his hips was all that he wore.Worewas a bit of an overstatement, she realized, for the jut of his erection pushed forward the front of the towel, showing the curve of his heavy balls just beneath the hem. Dragging her eyes up his taut abdomen, over his pebbled nipples and broad shoulders, taking in the way his short hide thickened around his neck, full and plush, she wanted nothing more than to wake up beside him with her face pressed to his throat. Her eyes continued their hungry climb, landing at last on his aggrieved scowl.
