Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2)

by Melanie Martins

  “I know,” I cut him off as I close my eyes for a second, trying to find the best words to articulate what I’m thinking, but the only thing I manage to say is, “And, um, how do you intend to discipline me in the future?”

  His smile twists into a racy one. I guess he was not expecting such a question. “Depends… If you do something really naughty, I might use the belt.” Fuck, I nearly moan at his words, and I don’t think I’m supposed to feel like that. “But you have to misbehave very badly for that…” Somehow it sounds like an invitation for me to do so. “I’ll never do anything out of anger though. I want you to know that.”

  Before I can say something more, he presses his lips to my forehead. “Now get some sleep and let me know your decision when you have thought this through.”

  I close my eyes, reveling in his kiss as much as I can, and as I lie in bed, the sting feels nearly gone.

  Chapter 13

  Hudson Valley, September 13, 2020

  Emma Hasenfratz

  I’ve never looked forward to a polo lesson like I am today. With my parents and the housekeeper out, Yara and I will have the entire house to ourselves. Cameras are disconnected, and I’ve made sure the housekeeper stays in the city long enough, buying shit I don’t need. As Yara gets out of the car, I notice she’s already wearing a marine blue polo shirt, white breeches, and boots. Well, she truly lives for her passion. Her chauffeur goes to the trunk and takes out two big brown leather bags, which must contain her polo gear.

  “Good morning, Ms. Hasenfratz.” Her formal, icy tone is enough to make a flood of emotion erupt inside me and a dark desire in my pussy ache to come out.

  Jeez, I feel soft like a marshmallow when she is around, and I’m pretty sure this bitch knows it. “Hey, Yara,” I reply casually, trying to feign indifference to her charms.

  “Where should I put the bags, Miss?” the chauffeur asks me. And judging by his tense shoulders, they seem pretty heavy.

  “Oh sure, this way, please.” I lead them to the changing room beside the stables. Yara enters first and takes a quick glance around at the modern and spacious design of the place, while her chauffeur is already headed toward the bench that sits in the center to put the bags there. Curiously enough, I notice she smirks once her eyes alight on my brand-new polo apparel resting on a chair beside the Italian shower, and I wonder what she’s thinking.

  “Thanks,” Yara says as the chauffeur leaves. My breath quickens at the realization that there is only the two of us in the changing room. Fuck, I’m with Yara Van Lawick, alone in my changing room. Thank God for that engagement party. As I see Yara opening the first bag, I ask, “Um, what did you bring?”

  She turns to face me, and as our eyes lock, she says, “Everything we need to have fun.”

  I let out a quick chuckle at her serious statement, but not her. Yara opens the first bag wide and takes out two polo sticks, two mallets, two pair of gloves, two helmets…

  “Helmets?” I ask, nearly in outrage. “I’ve never fallen from a horse before. This is ridiculous.” But I take my words back upon seeing her turn again, her squinted eyes dangerously censuring me as she holds a long leather whip.

  “There are whips in polo?” I ask, my voice slightly shaky. I must sound like a dumbass right now, but my heartbeat is speeding up like crazy. And I can’t seem to look away from the instrument between her hands.

  “Yes,” she says simply. “Don’t you have riding crops in your stables?”

  “I guess I do.” The truth is, for the sake of horseback riding, I’ve never thought about using it. And I don’t remember Petra using one either.

  Yara is checking me out from top to bottom with a resting bitch face. “Get dressed. You have five minutes.” And then she leaves the changing room, her order hanging in the air.

  What? Bitch, no one tells me how long I have to get dressed! But at this point, I’m just batting my eyelids at the door she just crossed through. Well, she seems just as authoritative as her older brother. Must run in the family. My thoughts then go to her poor kids who have to deal with a mother like her.

  I take my clothes off and put on the polo shirt, beige breeches, and brown boots I bought yesterday, while cursing under my breath at her attitude and praising my parents for being her precise opposite.

  Stepping outside, I see Yara smoking a cigarette as she waits for me. Enjoying one without me? I huff at how rude that is.

  “Ready,” I snap.

  She throws the cigarette away, not even bothering to ask me if I want one. My face is as angry as it gets, but she gives me a polite smile and brushes past me, returning to get her gear.

  And I thought I was a spoiled brat—damn, this woman is the worst! Since I still have some manners, I ask, “Need some help?”

  “Yes, please, you may put your helmet on, and get your gloves and polo stick.”

  Since she said “please” for once, I swallow my bitterness, put the idiotic helmet on, and follow her to the stables. Wait—why is she even leading the way in my house? “Do you know the way?” I ask her.

  “I know where the entrance to the stables is, thanks.”

  “Your left thigh is not tightening enough in the saddle. That’s why you can’t turn properly and miss your offside shot,” Yara explains right after my failed attempt to hit the ball at twenty yards. It seemed so easy though! Fuck, we’ve been here for at least thirty minutes, and I haven’t been able to hit the ball once! Meanwhile, Mrs. Van Lawick did some gracious demonstrations of what an offside and nearside shot look like. Well, at least I had the pleasure of admiring her sculpted body in action.

  “This is way harder than I thought,” I say in my defense.

  But Yara doesn’t give a shit, and she is already showing me once more how to do the rotation. “See my thigh?” My eyes are again on her thighs, and I must have checked them out a thousand times by now. “It’s tightening in the saddle, and my right one is gripping and pushing in. This gives me a strong, firm base on the saddle. And I’m confident enough to lean out, turn my shoulders wide, and make my shot without feeling like I’m gonna fall off.” I nod, following every inch of her moves as she executes her shot and the stick head hits the ball.

  Wow. It’s pretty dope to watch, and from afar, it seems effortless. “Now go and repeat!”

  I get back into position, and when Frodo starts trotting in the direction of the ball, I follow her instructions exactly. My left knee goes into the saddle, then my left thigh tightens into it, my right one grips and pushes in, and with a firm base, I lean out, turn my shoulders almost parallel to the horse, and my mallet goes up and then straight down to hit the ball. Damn! It worked! My eyes glow with excitement seeing the ball soar away, like, super far away.

  “Finally!” I shout with joy at my small victory.

  Her horse gallops in my direction, and she makes him stop inches from mine. “There is nothing like persistence and training. Good job.”

  I lick my lips at her praise. Just to hear another compliment from her, I’d be keen to spend the whole afternoon training.

  “Now try to do a nearside forehand shot.”

  “Okay, but first, can you show me again how you move your thigh?” I ask with a hint of humor.

  Without further ado, she does just that. But Yara is so focused on the demonstration that she doesn’t even understand my underlying intention.

  “Sure, so my right knee digs into the saddle, my right foot pushes into the right stirrup, and my left thigh grips the saddle and pushes in. This gives me more freedom and stability in order to reach out on the nearside.”

  My lips curve up as I let myself picture her body, this time completely naked in my Italian shower.

  “Now go!”

  But her loud voice is enough to startle me, and Frodo starts trotting by himself, following her command. What the fuck, dude? You have to obey me, not her! Since I wasn’t focused, and this is a nearside shot, which needs more concentration to execute the rotation, needless to say, I miss the
ball terribly.

  “You’re not focused! Repeat!”

  Jeez, I’m getting tired of her shouting commands. I’m not a polo expert, for fuck’s sake! Give me some time!

  “Remember, you don’t have to hit it hard! Keep your shot to twenty, thirty yards!” I hear her saying as I trot again in the direction of the ball.

  My position seems stable enough, so I lean out and my mallet goes down and strikes the ball at around twenty yards.

  “Yeah!” I say just above a whisper as I see the ball rolling away.

  Then I push the reins and instruct Frodo to gallop toward Yara. As I reach her, I notice there’s a smile on her lips. “Well done, Emma.” And mine just gets bigger. “When you focus and follow my instructions, you can do wonders.” I know she’s talking about polo, but my eyes are drawn to her lips, and I imagine her saying that but for another reason. “Alright, let’s take a break,” she says, getting off her saddle.

  I do the same, and we take our horses to tie them up at the entrance to the stables. Then I invite her inside the house and into the kitchen. After I take my helmet and gloves off, I open the fridge and grab two small bottles of water. “You want one?”

  My question is hanging in the air as I observe Yara taking her helmet off carefully enough not to disarrange her ponytail. If there’s a ladylike manner of taking a helmet off, Yara surely is the best representation of it. Then she removes her gloves with the same elegance, and, as my eyes fall on her hands, I squint upon seeing that she’s got a tattoo on each wrist. Oh, I didn’t expect Mrs. Van Lawick to be tattooed. I don’t think I’ve seen them before, but I recall she was wearing a bracelet and a watch when she arrived, covering her wrists. I look a bit closer as she extends her hand to take the bottle—there’s a black X inked in the center of her inner wrist. It’s not too big, but visible enough to notice it.

  “Thanks,” I hear her saying, before she drinks a bit of her water.

  “Nice tattoos.”

  She gives a quick glance at her left one, then her eyes land on mine and she just says, “Yours too.”

  I thought she would open up and tell me the meaning behind the letter X. After all, when it comes to mine, they all have a reason for being on my skin. So I ask, “I’ve never seen that type of tattoo before. What’s the meaning behind it?”

  Yara just replies with a side smile as she keeps observing me with her dark brown eyes. Then she takes another sip of her water, letting an awkward silence settle between us, like I asked a question I shouldn’t have.

  “It means I’m different,” she replies, keeping it way too short for my liking.

  “Oh, I’ve got one that says exactly that.” I show her my left inner forearm, where it says, In our differences lies our strength, the quote written in italics on one single line. It’s one of the first tattoos I got, but it’s still my favorite one.

  “You got that because of her?” And it doesn’t take a genius to know who the her is that she’s referring to.

  “Yeah,” I utter vaguely. “And you? You got them because of someone?”

  Another question that Yara wishes I wouldn’t have asked. She lets out an exasperated breath that makes me feel like I stepped over some sort of boundary.

  “No,” she replies back. “I didn’t get them because of someone.”

  “So you just woke up one day and thought, ‘Why not get the letter X tattooed on each of my wrists?’”

  At this point, I know Yara is getting pretty pissed off by my insistence. All of a sudden, she steps closer and stands just inches from me. Then she meticulously observes every feature of my face, and, to my greatest surprise, the back of her fingers go to my cheek and she starts stroking it. Her touch is exciting and petrifying at the same time. It reminds me of one of the Bond villains stroking his white cat. “You know curiosity killed the cat, don’t you?”

  Fuck, I freeze on the spot as she says that. Not that I’m scared, but because I didn’t see it coming. Playing along, I lock my eyes on hers and tell her, “I enjoy taking risks.”

  There is a trace of a smile filled with pride that lands on her lips. By now, this feels like a test. Yeah, she’s testing me, my character, and my audacity.

  “Don’t play a game you can’t win, Emma.”

  Oh boy, she’s really testing me. My heart feels stuck in my throat, but I remain as stoic as possible. If there is one thing I’m pretty good at, it’s games. And whatever is happening between us right now, it’s electrifying, bizarre, and pretty exciting. The more I look at her, the more I want her mouth on mine, to taste her lips and feel her tongue tangle with mine. But the fucking truth is, I’m just too nervous to take the plunge, so instead I just lean over and whisper, “I may surprise you.”

  Her lips part slightly in astonishment, and her eyes drift down to my mouth. I swear, the tension shifts at that instant—it’s sexual, visceral, and my heartbeat feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. She licks her lips. I swallow at the sight, and I’m this close to kissing her.

  “The break is over.”

  But Yara’s frigid voice crashes all my hopes, and the air between us cools down just as fast.

  She turns her back on me like the bitch she is and leaves the kitchen. And while I’m left wet and hanging like a dumbass, I’ve got no options but to blink twice, mentally slap myself, and follow her. If this is a game, then we are at Yara 1, Emma 0.

  We take our horses again to the vast green field on my estate, and once Mrs. Van Lawick is back in her saddle, she’s also back in polo trainer mode, or yeller, or whatever she is.

  After another half an hour of training, my skills have truly improved, and despite the fact that she annoys the hell out of me, I must say, I feel way more confident as a horseback rider than before. Once Yara announces we are done for the day, we put the horses back in the stables and quietly return to the changing room.

  There, Yara starts putting her polo gear into her bag, and as I watch her do so, it’s clear to me that this day was just about polo, and nothing more. Jeez, when I thought for a second that the training was just an excuse for something else… What a fucking dumbass I was… She is married after all. What was I expecting? To get laid? I huff at how naive I was.

  “Undress.”

  Huh? Did I hear her say something? My eyes land instantly on her as she’s standing right in front of me. And I wonder if I’m not hearing voices in my head. “Did you say something?”

  “Yes.” Her tone carries the same authority it did during our polo session. “I want you undressed.”

  And her words feel like they settle in my stomach and catch fire. She demanded just like that, no explanation given whatsoever. It seems like just another command, like during our polo training. Fuck, Yara is playing again just like she did in the kitchen, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Play along and stand naked in front of her? She knows she’s getting under my skin. She fucking knows that. Should I obey? I have never wanted to undress so damn fast, but I’m not in control of the situation and she knows it. If I decline, it means I lose—as simple as that. Why? Because Mrs. Van Lawick will retract herself, leave my house, and I’ll never have another opportunity to play. My pussy is drenching at her words, my heartbeat pounding, and my mind wondering what she will do next. So I take my helmet off, my gloves, my boots, and the rest just follows. Yara doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, or even blink. She remains observing me attentively as I strip my clothes off. And I must say I never imagined myself stripping for anyone’s pleasure. When I think of a striptease, I think of those accompanied by idiotic dances and songs. And to me, it’s ridiculous and lame.

  My clothes are on the bench, and I’m barefoot and naked in front of her. Yara is still in full polo attire, and the contrast makes me feel exposed, and so damn anxious.

  She inspects me like a general would inspect her troops, and I wonder for a second if she attended military school or something. Then she moves behind me, and I hear her breath approaching my ear, and then askin
g, “You wanna play?”

  Her question gives me goosebumps, and my nipples harden at the tension that is emerging again.

  There’s not a thousand ways to say yes, but I don’t want to sound desperate either, so I just mumble a lazy and nonchalant “Yeah…”

  All of a sudden, though, her hand is on my throat and she pushes my head backward. “Don’t talk to me like that ever again.” Her voice is not loud, but it’s steady and firm enough to make me freeze on the spot. “Try again.” Okay, she definitely attended military school. Who would in her right mind take someone by the throat?

  But, swallowing my pride, I stand straight, and, playing along, I give my answer in a more composed manner. “Yes, I do.”

  And while I can’t see it, I’ve got the feeling that Yara is smiling at me, reveling in her little game. “Better.” She brushes my hair to the side, leaving the nape of my neck exposed, and, leaning down, she presses her lips to my skin. Jeez, I try not to shiver at her kiss, but it’s harder than I thought. “Let’s play, then…”

  She turns me around, and, before I can say or do anything, she slams her mouth down on mine. Oh my… A flood of heat pulses through my body, and I whimper into her. This kiss is exactly what I imagined it’d be like—intense, raw, visceral, aggressive… But I want more than that, and as if she knows it, she reaches up and grabs the back of my head, pressing us closer together. Then, once our lips part, I hear her saying in a low voice, “Bend over the bench.”

  My body is simmering with rapture, and I can barely process her request. “What?”

  “Didn’t you say you want to play?” Her tone is filled with desire and lust, but I’m still not used to her blunt commands. Jeez, what does she have in mind?

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Your lesson is not over,” she says, cutting me off. My eyes open wide, and as they lock onto hers, she adds, “So do as you are told.”

  For someone who spent her entire youth defying authority, it’s hard to swallow her passive-aggressive tone, and while I’m curious enough to see how far she will go with her little game, I still have the tenacity to ask, “You gonna punish me, huh?” I pause, gauging her reaction. “Are you gonna do it with that whip?”