The Minotaur's Deep-Tissue Claim

I came to the monster spa for one simple reason: to relax.

Instead, I ended up on the massage table of a towering Minotaur with hands the size of my waist and eyes that follow every inch of my body like he already owns it.

His touch is dangerous.
Too slow. Too knowing.

Every press of his massive palms sends heat curling through me in ways a massage definitely shouldn’t.

I should walk away.
I should remember he’s a monster.

But when he leans close and his deep voice rumbles in my ear, promising he can make me feel better than I ever have before…

I realize something terrifying.

I don’t want the massage to end.

And if I’m not careful, I might leave this spa claimed by a Minotaur who has decided I’m his favorite indulgence.