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Someone tapped his arm, and he turned, startled to find himself in the middle of the buzzing coffee shop and not stretched out against the milking bench.
“Oi, you’re up.” The girl had silvery platinum hair, her eyes ringed in black, and her face screwed up in a scowl. She jerked her chin meaningfully in the direction of the checkout counter before them, where no one stood in front of him, rolling her eyes as she shook her head.
“Sorry about that,” he grumbled, ducking his head, horns cutting through the air as he stepped up to the counter shamefaced.Great. You want to be banned from this place too.
“Rourke, did you come by during the lunch rush just to cause trouble?” the ewe-faced woman to the left of the register asked good-naturedly as she placed labels on the ever-growing line of cups. Xenna was one of his neighbors. She had been warm and welcoming when he had moved into their development and equally as friendly when Lurielle had done the same later that same year. She was social and gregarious, and most importantly, she owned the bustling coffee shop with her brother, and he knew there was no bite behind her words. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the accented young woman behind him.
“Just came around to give you a hard time, actually,” he shrugged after relating his order to the tiefling behind the register. “Hold up the line, empty one of the napkin dispensers, you know. Typical afternoon business.” Her laugh accompanied him as he moved to the pickup side of the counter, losing himself in the throng of other patrons after a few moments, retreating into his memories once more.
“They don’t have the same personal touch this place does,” he’d explained when the girl asked if the other milking facilities were the same as the farm. “And the personal touch is a perk.” Once again, the words escaped his mouth before good sense could prevail. But much like that well-timed squeeze, what happened next was most definitely not his imagination.
“I guess it depends on who’s doing the touching.”
She was flirting with him. He didn’t know how else he was meant to construe her words. “Some personal touches are definitely more enjoyable.”
He wanted to invite her up the short staircase to his level, would gladly flip to his back on the bench, and let her climb aboard. He wondered if he would even fit. She had seemed so petite from his vantage point high above her, but that could have simply been a trick of the perspective. It didn’t make a difference, all humans seemed small, but still . . . Breeding with humans was a part of his species’ culture, human aunts and grandmothers and cousins populating every minotaur family he knew. His bull cock would be a tight squeeze, and she would likely need to work up taking him fully, but he would make it fit eventually.
As if she had heard his thoughts, the girl’s next words had continued the same line of thinking.
“I think I might be the only human working here. I thought my hands were going to be too small for them to even keep me on. Glad to know the personal touch makes up for it. Is that why you put in the request in the first place?”
Rourke had wondered what his disembodied cock looked like from her vantage point, wondered how small her hands really were. She had no problem gripping him, squeezing and pulling, finding his every hidden sweet spot. Fingering his foreskin with her tiny fingers.Making your cock hard just thinking about her hands, making you come harder than you ever have before.
“Well, that and you do have those perfect, tiny little hands,” was what he had gritted out, the sound of her laughter seeming to vibrate against his frenulum. He had groaned at that moment, her fist closing over his head and twisting before dragging back down his shaft, pushing into his root just the way he liked. It seemed especially perverse, having this conversation while she was literally stroking his cock, her tiny hands doing the work right then and there, proving that they were more than adequate for the job.
“Just let me know if this personal touch is to your liking.”
He wasn’t imagining the connection they had; he was sure of it. How was he supposed to go back to random hookups after this? How was he supposed to care about going out with strangers, dating, jumping through painstaking hoops to get to know someone, only to find out that they would never be able to handle his meat in the same manner? Sexual compatibility wasn’t the only important thing to consider in a relationship, he knew that, but itwasimportant.
She squeezed his balls in response to his unvoiced thought. Her touch was more than to his liking. He wanted to find out what else those perfect little hands could do if she would whimper and writhe when he licked her pussy, if her voice would be soft and breathy when he fucked her, or if she would scream like a wildcat.There’s only one way to find out, and we’re not going to learn the answer here.
“I can’t think of a single way it could be any more to my liking.”
She’d milked his balls through his orgasm as he ejaculated down the nozzle’s hose, pressing her thumb to the pulsing muscle behind his sac until his insides turned to jelly.And that wasn’t in your imagination either.
“So, how are things at work? Hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard?”
He was shaken from his x-rated reverie once more as Xenna migrated down the counter to help expedite the drinks that were being finished. She flashed him a blunt-toothed smile before calling out the name on a towering blended confection.
“Busy,” he choked out at last. “You know how it goes, always busy.”
“You know, I’ve seen you more in the past week than I have in a month. I can’t tell if you’re avoiding being at the office or if you’re pulling all-nighters, and you need the extra caffeine. I have a medium flat white for Millie and a large chlorophyll chiller for Avrille.”
He huffed, blowing through his nose and rolling his eyes, avoiding answering her question. He had been in the Black Sheep Beanery an unusual amount of times in the past week, not that the owner should have been complaining about the extra revenue he was bringing through her doors, in addition to the unnecessary calories he was consuming. If he admitted it to Xenna, Rourke thought in aggravation, he would need to admit it to himself. He had been coming to the coffee shop at odd hours, outside of his normal late afternoon stop all week for one reason, and one reason only — the conversation he’d had with her at the end of his last appointment.
“Where did you go for coffee?”
At the start of the appointment, she had disclosed that she had finally stopped for coffee in town. When her eyes turned up to meet his, they had been bright once more, crinkled at the edges. A genuine smile hidden behind her mask, he was sure of it, and heknewthat was not his imagination. She mentioned the grim little café in the same plaza as his gym, laughing in outrage when he pulled a face in response.
“That’s terrible. You need to go to Black Sheep; they’re over on Main with—”
“The one with the black awnings,” she finished the sentence, and his stomach flip-flopped like a fish. “I’ve wanted to try it, but they always look so crowded when I pass on my way home.”
“Find the time; you won’t regret it. I make a point of pulling away every afternoon for a caffeine fix.”
He was a fork-tongued hypocrite, for even as the words came out of his mouth, he’d thought about Lurielle admonishing him that he ought to make time for the things that were important. And here you are, lecturing someone else.Hopefully, she’s not as thick as you and will actually take the hint.
Since then, he had stalked the coffee shop daily. He stopped in the mornings and popped in again around lunchtime. Swung by for his normal late afternoon visit and had even stuck his head through the door in the evenings once or twice. Despite the extra time padded into his schedule for Americanos and maple pastries, he did not run into her as he’d hoped.
