Monster mash, p.12
Monster Mash, page 12
“Then here’s what I’m going to propose, and you can feel free to decline, but I think it might do you good. I want you to spend the afternoon with me.”
I frowned. “Doing what?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Whatever we feel like doing, when we feel like doing it. And if you start to spiral or worry, or your mind races, it’ll be my job to distract you.”
I looked down at where our hands were joined on the tabletop. It sounded nice, like the sort of thing normal people did. People who didn’t have a giant wedding to plan for two very important clients, or people who didn’t have such terrible anxiety. Not knowing what we’d be doing every moment was a little terrifying, but I wanted to like the idea of it.
The waitress came with our teas in cute little mason jars. I yanked my hand away from him and clasped my hands in my lap under the table, looking away.
“Ready to order?” she asked, getting out a small pad of paper and retrieving her pencil from behind her ear.
“We’ll take two orders of the mofongo with shrimp and then finish off with a couple of guava turnovers please,” Matteo said, collecting the menus and holding them out to her.
“Sure thing, hon. I’ll be right back with those for you.” She took the menus and flashed me a smile before sauntering away.
“You’re going to love their mofongo. It’s the best,” Matteo said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had mofongo. What is it?”
“Fried and mashed plantains,” he said and picked up his tea. “Puerto Rican staple. They serve it with this spicy sofrito and shrimp, and it really is to die for.”
“Is that where you’re from?” I asked, absently stirring the tea with my straw. “Puerto Rico?”
Matteo snorted. “I’m from Santa Barbara.”
I froze, suddenly realizing how insensitive that must’ve been. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Matteo held up a hand. “My grandparents live there and a bunch of my cousins. I go a couple times a year, so I guess if you go back far enough, I am. Heritage is complicated, you know?”
I let out a slow breath. “I guess.”
“What about you? Where in Ireland is home?”
“Actually, I was born in Manhattan, if you can believe it. Mum’s American, Da’s Irish, so the first two years of my life were spent between the two. They split when I was about knee high or so and I went across the pond with him. Wasn’t until she passed three years ago this September that I come back over.”
“Sorry to hear of your loss,” he said, but it wasn’t with the bland tone everyone else always used. He genuinely sounded invested.
I stared into my tea, my throat growing tight, and shrugged. “She’s not in pain now, and I had time to say goodbye, so…” I sighed. “But it hit hard. I had just taken over Enchanted Moments when I came over to take care of her and when she passed, it was like…” I cleared my throat and forced a smile. “But you don’t want to hear about all that. It’s depressing. Tell me more about Puerto Rico and you.”
It was a relief when Matteo immediately launched into a story about something he and his cousins did last time he went for a visit. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about my mother. I did, but it was still hard. She was the reason I’d gotten into wedding planning. It was her business, her dream. She’d made her living for decades planning the weddings of Manhattan CEOs and east coast royalty. After she passed, I came out west hoping to do the same in her honor, but something inexplicable happened.
I had always been a bit high-strung, but the anxiety settled in practically overnight. I became terrified of leaving my house, convinced that if I did, something bad would happen to me. For a year and a half, I’d run Enchanted Moments from my living room, only leaving when it was absolutely necessary and having to be heavily medicated to cope. Even now, it was difficult for me to be in crowded spaces or out after dark, or anywhere, really. I lived by a rigid routine, one that had gone completely to shit when I lost my phone.
Since then, I’d been a complete mess. I’d missed two appointments, showed up late for another, and had a crippling anxiety attack that had me going home early the night before.
At home, I couldn’t stop thinking about Matteo and how easy he was to talk to, even if he had gotten under my skin. I thought I had imagined it, but now that we were back together, I knew I hadn’t.
Why is this easy? I wondered, watching him make wide gestures as he described what sounded like a rather intense game of dominoes with one of his uncles. I could sit here and listen to him talk all day.
Even though it was just Matteo talking, the conversation didn’t feel at all one-sided. He’d frequently pause and invite me to respond with a, “You know what I mean?” Other times, he’d bring the conversation back around to me, comparing something to the color of my hair or saying I reminded him of someone random, or that so-and-so’s brother’s sister’s cousin would’ve liked me.
In the space of an hour, I felt like I already knew some of his extended family based on the stories he told, and a part of me even wondered what it would be like to go to Puerto Rico with him. His family sounded like a bunch of wild heathens, the kind who knew how to throw one hell of a back yard party.
The mofongo, too, was incredibly delicious, but the company certainly helped.
Of course, the real highlight was the guava and cream cheese puff pastries he’d ordered. The outsides were buttery and crispy, and the insides were sweet and creamy indulgence. I couldn’t stop myself from moaning when I bit into one.
“That,” I declared, “is like an orgasm in your mouth.”
“Well, not quite,” he quipped. “But it is pretty damn good.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had guava before this. I have to say it’s criminally underappreciated. I’m surprised.”
“That’s not the only surprise I have in store. If you’re open to it, that is.” Matteo’s smile sent a jolt of lust straight through me. How dare he look so hot with that big dumb grin plastered on his face?
I was so distracted by how perfectly fuckable he looked that I forgot to be anxious about the promise of a surprise. I hated surprises, but for some reason, when he promised me one, it made my heart pound for an entirely different reason.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh? Do tell.”
He snorted and stood. “That’d ruin the surprise, now wouldn’t it?”
Matteo held out his hand. And this time, I took it.
Ezra squirmed in the seat next to me and reached up to sneak a finger under his blindfold.
I slapped his hand. “No peeking.”
“I wasn’t peeking!” he protested. “I had an itch.”
He was adorable when he was lying, but then he was adorable all the time. Sometimes, I’d look over at him and have this weird urge to pet him like he was a cat. Then my mind would go elsewhere and I’d wonder if he’d arch his back like a cat stretch and how he might look from behind doing that naked.
It was difficult for him to be blindfolded. It must’ve made him incredibly nervous, not knowing what I was about to do, but I had told him we could stop at any time. All he had to do was say muffin, and I’d take the blindfold off. I think it helped to know that we were somewhere familiar and safe. The shop was a public place, and he’d been in the dining room before. Though I would rather have taken him to my apartment up above the shop, I didn’t want to push him too far on the first outing.
“Okay, are you ready?” I asked, picking up the first paper sample cup.
He inhaled sharply and nodded. “Hit me.”
“Open up.”
Ezra opened his mouth, and I quickly slipped the little plastic spoon full of pink icing between his lips. His tongue slid out, going over his lips, making me wonder what he tasted like.
“Take your time,” I said.
“I don’t need to. That’s strawberry.” He tipped his head to one side. “No, wait. There’s something citrusy in there. What is that?”
“It’s strawberry lemonade,” I supplied. “My strawberry lemonade cupcakes are one of the most popular things in the shop.”
“Huh. Well, I can see why. That’s delightful.”
“Sip,” I instructed and lifted the glass of soda water to press the straw to his lips so he could cleanse his palate. “Next?”
“Give me a hard one.”
Oh, I’ll give you something hard, I thought and picked up a cup of green frosting. “Open.”
As soon as I put it in his mouth, he made a face and didn’t even bother swallowing before speaking. “Ugh, what is that? It’s horrible!”
“Guess.”
“It’s got a texture.” He flapped his hand. “It’s like a pina colada went bad and threw up in my mouth!”
I snickered. “You’re not far off. It’s coconut pistachio, the least popular icing flavor.”
“Who would even order such a thing?”
I shrugged. “It’s popular with the itherie.”
He shook his head until I offered him the straw and he drank half the glass, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “Do me a favor and don’t offer that on tasting day.”
“You said give you a hard one.” I picked up the paper cup with the white icing, which happened to be my favorite. “One more. Open up.”
Ezra did as I instructed, and I popped the spoon into his mouth. Some of the icing smeared over his lip, painting it white. It wasn’t intentional, but I wished it was. My breath caught at the sight. He looked delicious.
He’d look even better with my cum painted over his lips, I thought, watching intently as his tongue darted out to clean the icing off.
“Oh, that’s nice,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “What is that?”
I stared at him, my heart pounding and my mouth dry. “Coquito.”
His smile faded. “Are you all right? You sound—”
I darted forward before I could think and crashed our mouths together. It was a stupid thing to do. I meant to ask first, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to taste him.
Ezra gasped into me, but he didn’t push me away. For a minute, he didn’t move at all. Then, slowly, he relaxed. A hand reached out, brushing over my cheek, traveling lazily up to tug on my ear. When he reached to touch my horns, I pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, face flushing brighter pink by the second. He tore off the blindfold, blinking blearily as he took in the light. “I didn’t mean…”
I frowned and tilted my head. “Why are you sorry? I kissed you.”
“I just…” He fidgeted with the blindfold, rubbing the fabric between his fingers as he glanced up at my horns. Ezra chewed on his bottom lip before standing abruptly. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I just remembered I had a…a…thing.”
“Ezra, wait.” I stood so fast the chair fell over. How could I have been so stupid? I should have moved slower. Stupid, stupid Matteo.
Ezra shook his head, blushing so bright the tips of his ears turned red as he retrieved his jacket from the hanger near the door. He shrugged it on without looking at me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he mumbled and fled through the door.
I went after him, but by the time I made it to the street, he was already getting into a cab. I watched as it sped away, my heart sinking. How was I ever going to face him on Saturday now?
I did what I always did and took my frustration to the kitchen. This time, I resolved to bake a nice pineapple upside down rum cake. It wasn’t my favorite, and they didn’t sell well because they dried out rather quickly, but that wasn’t why I was baking.
How could I have made such a stupid mistake? I asked myself for the fiftieth time as I creamed together the butter and sugar, adding eggs one at a time. It was clear Ezra was nervous. I should have known to take things slow, but since when had I ever done that? Slow just wasn’t me.
I split open one of the pods of fresh vanilla and scraped it into the bowl. Maybe I should talk to him. But how? He didn’t have a phone. There was the business number on the Enchanted Moments website, but then I might wind up talking to his assistant, and that would be awkward. Saturday is only a few days away. Maybe I should give him time to cool off.
I added the rum, eyeballing it and putting in just a splash more before folding in the flour. The pineapples looked to be perfectly glazed, so I transferred them into the cake pan. The batter mixture went over the pineapples and I popped the whole thing into the oven for an hour.
While the cake baked, I went upstairs to get set up for the next part of my afternoon. I pushed my coffee table to the center in front of the sofa, which I added a dark throw to. Another matching tablecloth for the table, some candles, and a little music made the perfect ambiance. Then all that was left was to set up the camera. The camera work was essential. Too high and it’d show more than I wanted, but too low and it wouldn’t capture enough.
The timer went off downstairs, so I hurried to retrieve the pan from the oven. Of course, the moment of truth was flipping it over onto a plate, and it came out beautifully.
Perfect, I thought, leaning in to inhale the sweet scent. I gathered the pan with the extra rum sauce, reheated it and put it in a portable pitcher. Then I took it all upstairs and got ready to put on a show, one that I hoped would relieve all the tension that’d built up and let me forget all about Ezra.
I groaned and sank deeper into my favorite armchair, clicking through endless videos about nothing. It was late, and I was two glasses deep into a good Sauvignon blanc, one that was too good to get drunk on, but I hung on that edge. I’d always been a lightweight when it came to drinking.
Matteo probably thinks I’m a flake, and he’s right. All it took for me to turn tail and run was a kiss, and a damn good one at that. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed me like that, with passion. Like they wanted to devour me whole. I touched my lips and closed my eyes, remembering the warm feel of him against me. Why did I run?
I hadn’t wanted to. At that moment, all I wanted was for him to take my arms and pin me to the table. I wanted to feel the insurmountable weight of him on top of me, wanted him to hold me down and make me forget everything except for him.
What would that be like? I’d been with plenty of human men of all kinds, but I had no idea what a minotaur cock looked like. It had to be big, right? That’s what the rumor was. Everyone giggled about it like it was some sort of inside joke. My fellow wedding planners had a group chat where they’d share pictures of hot dogs too big for buns every time there was a minotaur wedding. I’d always rolled my eyes at that, but what if it was true? What if sweet, chill Matteo had the dick to end all dicks, and I’d just thrown away my chance to know what that was like?
I groaned again and ran my hands over my face. When I opened my eyes, I found myself staring at the fourth minute of a thirty-minute ad on a seven-minute video about this year’s bridal trends. I sighed and clicked away from the video back to the homepage. How long had I been mindlessly scrolling through the internet in search of a distraction?
The only distraction I want is probably baking up a storm and hasn’t thought twice about me since I left. I sighed and started another video, this one about stress-free receptions, but it couldn’t hold my attention.
Eventually, I left behind the bland wedding videos in favor of spicier content.
When it came to porn, I usually wasn’t the most adventurous sort. Vocal, musclebound human hunks were my go-to for a quick wank, but something possessed me that day to try something new. Instead of going straight to my preferred website, I pulled up HornHub, which was probably the most well-known monsterfucker website in the world. I’d been there a few times, but more out of curiosity than anything else. I’d never really looked. All that was about to change.
My hands shaking and mouth dry, I put my cursor in the search bar and typed the word minotaur. If I said it was pure curiosity that drove me, I’d be lying. This was me being a masochist. I wanted to know what I was missing out on, and I wanted the misery of it rubbed in my face. Otherwise, I never would have clicked the search button.
My screen was suddenly awash in stills of huge uncut cocks. Some of them were attached to muscular, meaty minotaurs in suggestive poses, but they mostly all looked the same.
Except for one.
One of the most recent uploads had crepes in the thumbnail and the title advertised strawberries and cream. It didn’t take a mathematician to figure out what the cream was supposed to be.
Color me intrigued, I thought and clicked on the video.
A trendy remix played over what started out as a standard cooking video. The camera, however, started a slow zoom out from the pan to show a huge, hard minotaur cock. I didn’t know whether to stare at that or the expert way he rotated the crepe mixture around the pan. The camera angle changed, showing him from behind. Not his face, but muscular shoulders and an ass covered in brown fur you could bounce quarters off of. A long tail swayed enticingly while he cut strawberries. It cut to the image of juicy red strawberries in a bowl and him stroking his huge cock above it. There was a close up of him popping a particularly juicy strawberry dripping with cum into his mouth and the sultry smirk that followed. Some text popped up on the screen:
Hungry for more? Be a good boy and catch me live on OnlyFangs.
I stared at the screen, unable to move for a minute. I’d never once considered myself into either minotaurs or literal food porn, but my cock was throbbing hard and leaking into my pajama pants. The video tease had been so short, and I was so shocked, I hadn’t had time to get it out, but I definitely wanted more.
New kink unlocked. Apparently, I’m into beefy boys making and eating sexy food.
I moved the cursor to the side, revealing a small icon that revealed he was streaming live on OnlyFangs. I’d never whipped out a credit card so fast in my life.
The live stream was well in progress with two or three people already in the chat, leaving tips and making requests, even though BeefyBoy69 wasn’t on the screen yet. The camera seemed to be recording a pineapple upside down cake that was just sitting on a coffee table while calm music played in the background.
