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“That’s me,” I say, probably sounding stupid.

Romy frowns. “Of course it’s you.”

I rub a hand over my jaw as I stare at the painting. “I haven’t seen myself like that in a long time.”

I recognize the shape of my old face in the portrait. Not because she somehow made me look more human than I am. The horns are there, and so is the fur. She hasn’t hidden any of it. But somehow, when I look at the painting, those aren’t the first things I notice. For years, they were all I noticed when I looked in the mirror.

“You really see me like this?” I ask.

Romy gives me a confused look. “How else would I see you? This is you, Otis. Are you feeling okay?”

My chest tightens. She doesn’t understand what I’m asking. To her, there’s never been a difference between the man I used to be and the minotaur standing in front of her.

I grab her around the waist and pull her against me so I can kiss her.

“Thank you for seeing me, Romy.”

She slides her arms around my neck. “I’ve always seen you, Otis.”

Fuck.

I kiss her again, but this time, I don’t stop.

“I watched you study every inch of my face, trying not to think about everything I wanted to do to you once you put that damn paintbrush down.”

She gives me an impish grin. “Well, my love, the paintbrush is firmly down.”

Chapter Thirteen

Romy

I tug Otis’s shirt over his head and toss it toward the easel, which is probably a terrible place for a shirt to land, but I have zero functioning brain cells left to care about wet paint right now.

Otis backs me toward the couch. I sit and tug him closer by his belt loops until he follows me down. His weight settles over me, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

His hands slide under my shirt, and I arch into his touch when he finds my bra and works it loose before pulling my shirt the rest of the way off. He kisses my neck and my collarbone, and I thread my fingers through his hair.

God, this man makes me ridiculously horny.

I push at his shoulders until he sits back against the couch cushions, then slide off the couch and kneel between his knees. The look on his face is worth everything. He lifts his hips as I undo his belt and jeans, helping me drag them down along with his boxers. He’s already hard, and the sight of him still short-circuits my brain every single time.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

“I want to.” I wrap my hand around his minotaur dick, and his whole body goes tense. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for days, by the way.”

“Fuck, Romy.”

I lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of him. He moans loudly as I take him into my mouth. He’s too big for me to take all of him, but I use my hands on the rest of his dick.

“Romy.” His voice cracks on my name. “That’s, fuck, that’s so good.”

His hips twitch forward instinctively before he catches himself and goes still, like he’s terrified of hurting me.

“You can move, Otis,” I tell him.

His hand tightens gently in my hair as he lets himself relax into it. I set a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as I can, and his breathing turns ragged. My eyes water, but I don’t care. Fuck, I want him to come undone in my mouth.

“Romy, I’m not going to last if you keep—fuuuck.”