Bad Boy Minotaur by Michele Mills

My neighbor is a huge, undeniably powerful Minotaur.
You heard me right—a Minotaur.
With curved horns on either side of his head and a heavy gold ring that pierces both nostrils. He’s often shirtless while he tinkers with his motorcycle, which exposes a sweaty six pack of abs and the intricate tats that sleeve both of his muscular arms.
Tonight, on Halloween, my insufferable neighbor is throwing yet another raging party with lots of rowdy guests, and it’s continuing way past curfew and late into the night. I’m so very tired of this behavior.
That’s it—I’m marching over there!
I arrive in a short robe and fuzzy slippers, ready to let loose with a verbal barrage.
His front door swings open and the Minotaur’s heated, possessive gaze travels from the top of my messy bun, along the length of my curves, to the tips of my painted toenails.
A wide grin spreads across his harsh features.
And he grabs my wrist and pulls me inside.
Then slams the door shut behind me.