She continues to stare out into the dusk. “I don’t know how you managed to get down here so fast when you couldn’t even draw a complete breath. You even had the presence of mind to grab the hose and keep them back so we could get in the office.” She turns that look on me…the one I couldn’t decipher before. It’s respect, no, admiration.
I take a step back into the office. Marsh follows like a big cat stalking prey, smooth and measured. She comes closer, eyes glinting, and closes the door quietly behind her. Then she pounces.
Her arms are around me, and she’s kissing me. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, and her hips are grinding against mine. I’m instantly wet and my belly tightens. “Yes,” I breathe when she takes her mouth, that wonderful mouth, from mine.
“You were fearless today. A warrior. A wasp warrior. I never realized that was inside you. Knowing you’re the same woman who submits to me, gives me her trust, makes me crazy hot.” She whirls us around so my back is against the door. “I’m going to fuck you, Lauren the Brave.”
“Yes, please.” I’m helpless against her frenzied onslaught and so turned on I’m afraid I’ll come the minute she touches me.
She claims my mouth again while she unbuckles, unzips, and pushes down my pants. Her gloriously long fingers are between my legs, cupping my sex, then plunging inside me. She doesn’t tease. Her thrusts are forceful and fast, her fingers filling me, her palm massaging my clit.
Too soon, way too soon, my orgasm is upon me. The spasm holds me in an iron grip while Marsh plunges into me. Then everything bursts free, and pure tingling pleasure flows through me like a drug spreading through my veins. One orgasm leads to a second. I may have briefly blacked out, because the next thing I feel is Marsh holding me up and my head resting on her shoulder. Consecutive orgasms don’t happen to me. Sure, like most women, I can have more than one orgasm in a single night, even a second shortly after the first with the right stimulation. But I’ve never had one orgasm flow into the next. Wow. My strength is returning, and I lift my head from her shoulder to kiss her. She accepts my kiss and deepens it until we break apart, needing air.
I slip off the stupid sheet strip that’s tied in a bow on top of my head. I can’t believe I could turn anyone on while wearing that. “Marsh, please let me touch you.”
She narrows her eyes, studying me for a long moment. Then she rotates us so her back is against the door and begins to unbuckle her belt. “On your knees.”
I snatch a saddle blanket from the top of the trunk and throw it on the concrete floor, where I sink to my knees. I’m nearly blind with arousal, but not stupid. Marsh and I both need her to dominate, but neither of us is into pain. I wait on my knees for her permission, her order while she pushes down her jeans, then her black boy-short underwear.
“Just your mouth,” she says.
I tickle my nose against her dark-blond curls and inhale like testing a glass of fine wine. Her scent is intoxicating. The insides of her thighs shimmer with arousal, and I lick them clean before moving upward. I lick all of her and she moans, then grabs the back of my hair.
“Suck me.” Her voice is hoarse and tight. Her grip on my hair guides me to her clit and holds me there. So, I do her bidding.
I suck her turgid flesh into my mouth, scraping my teeth lightly over the top of her clit as I suck and release, suck and release. Her hand in my hair begins to tremble, and her thighs go rock hard. I look up without taking my mouth from its task, but her head is thrown back, her face to the ceiling, so I’m cheated of seeing her eyes as she comes. Instead, I draw my satisfaction from her loud, growled declaration that comes next. “Mo-ther fuck-er.”
I continue to suck until her thighs soften. Then I begin to lick away the spoils of my success. Her hand on my cheek stops me, and I put my hand in the one she offers to help me stand. She wraps her arms around me and holds me tight against her. I curse that I didn’t have the presence of mind earlier to pull my shirt off, because she’s still in her sports bra, and I can feel the warmth of her skin through my shirt. And I can feel her curls against my belly because she’s a few inches taller than me. I’m wet again, but too exhausted to do anything about it. I sense she is, too.
“I’d ask you to stay, but I’m not going to the house. I’ll sleep here so I can keep an eye on Fancy.” She squeezes me in a rare show of affection. “You’re welcome to use the bathroom. I’ve got to feed the rest of the horses. But if you wait, I’ll help you wash off that tenderizer before you go.”
“I’ll wait.”
She nods and pulls up her pants, then disappears into the barn.
I know she won’t be long because I’m familiar with the routine. Morning and evening feed rations are prepared in the morning. She just has to dump each one in the correct bucket. Hay bags are refilled as soon as all the horses are turned out or saddled for lessons by the boy who helps around the stable. Marsh has to bring the horses in, but it’s later than their usual feeding time, so they’ll be standing at the gate. All she has to do is open it and get out of the way. They all know which stall is theirs and that dinner is waiting. She follows and closes the doors on the stalls to keep them tucked in for the night.
So, I don’t have much time. Bathroom first. I need to pee and clean up. Damn. I find it impossible to keep a dry crotch around her. I smell like sex, and my underwear and riding breeches are soaked through. Then I remember the stack of clothes in her trunk. Yep, two sets of clothes. Which for me? Another pair of boy-short underwear and a thong. I take the thong, the sweatpants, and the long-sleeved T-shirt, leaving her the boy-shorts, soft flannel pajamas, and a short-sleeved T-shirt.
I rinse out my underwear and the crotch of my breeches and hang them over the shower rod. I toss my polo into the laundry bag hanging on the back of the door. I hadn’t realized how dirty it was from my fall off Fancy until I took it off to remove my bra. I feel that I’m running out of time, so I rush to open the sofa bed, put the fitted sheet on the thin mattress, and get the soft blanket from the trunk. I’ve barely sat down on the bed when the door opens. I wish for a moment that I had my toothbrush, then decide I don’t want to wash the taste of Marsh from my mouth just yet.
Marsh enters with a canvas carrier filled with wood and sets it next to the stove in the corner. She looks me over. “You’re staying?”
I’m suddenly uncertain. Did I assume too much? “If that’s okay with you. I’m concerned about Fancy. I guess I’ve gotten attached.”
She turns back to the stove and begins building a fire. The longer the silence stretches between us, the more my uncertainty grows. The fire blazes to life, and Marsh closes the door to the stove. I feel like she’s closing the door on us, like she’s regretting that she let me touch her. If only I could turn back the clock and never ask.
Marsh rises from her task and comes to the bed where I’m still sitting. Is the night getting colder, or is it just me? I can’t look at her, so I stare at my boots and contemplate pulling them on and going home. A finger lifts my chin, and I stare into the blue depths of her eyes.
“Thank you.” She bends down and places a light kiss on my lips. “I’d like for you to stay.”
My anxiety deflates like a hot-air balloon with no flame. “Are you sure? Really, I can go home. I know you’ll take good care of Fancy.” Damn that tremble in my voice.
“Very sure.” She touches her lips to mine again, then points to the stack of clothes I’ve assembled for her. “Are those for me?”
I grab the clothes and thrust them at her. “Yes. I hope it’s okay. I wasn’t snooping. I just noticed them when you asked me to get the sheet, and I thought…” My words come in a rush until I realize she might think I’m being presumptuous and sputter to a stop mid-sentence.
Marsh gives me a crooked smile. “Yeah, the wet crotch is a bit uncomfortable. I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the bathroom, and I scramble to get under the covers. Only a few
minutes later, I realize the sweatpants are going to be too warm under the thick, soft blanket, so I scramble out again and take them off. Although the thong covers none of my butt, the T-shirt is plenty long since Marsh is taller than me, and I slide under the covers again.
The minute I settle in the bed, I realize the adrenaline rush of fighting the wasps off, the poison from the stings, and the post-battle sex have drained me. I must have drifted off and only partly rouse when Marsh slides under the blanket next to me. Her hand finds my bare butt and strokes me from hip to knee. I’m so glad I shaved and lotioned up that morning, but I’m too tired to even open my eyes.
“If I weren’t so tired…” Marsh lets the sentence hang in the silence for me to finish in my head, and I think I smile. “Roll over to your other side,” she says, guiding me so she can spoon me from behind. The flannel of her pajama pants is soft when our legs entwine, and her hand sneaks under my T-shirt to hold my breast. She yawns, her breath warm. “Attachment to Fancy is fine. Just remember that I don’t do relationships.” Her lips touch my cheek. “If I did, you’d be at the top of the list.”
Chapter Seventeen
The sun coming in through the single window is so bright in my eyes.
I wake with Marsh’s words on a continuous loop in my head. My uncertainty has returned. Even after the intimacies we shared, Marsh still maintains that she doesn’t do relationships. What does that mean? She wants an open relationship? Or maybe she’s making it clear that she might walk away at any convenient point? I try to dismiss those insecurities and concentrate on her last words.
If I did, you’d be at the top of the list.
That’s enough incentive to continue my pursuit of her, right?
I roll over to find her side of the bed empty and mentally scold myself for sleeping so late. I’m sure Marsh got up several times to check on Fancy, but I was dead to the world.
I rise and stretch lazily. I’ve got writing I need to do, and a business trip later in the week that I have to plan, so I pull on the sweatpants I’d shed last night, fold the bedding and put it in the trunk, then fold the bed up into a sofa again. I try to move the desk back in place, but it’s too heavy now that I don’t have wasp-induced adrenaline.
When I go into the bathroom to retrieve my clothes, I smile. My panties I left drying on the shower rod are missing. I go to the laundry bag hanging on the back of the door and dig out the boy-shorts Marsh had worn the night before. No. I’m not going to sit around sniffing her underwear or anything like that. It’s a symbol of ownership. I chuckle at the thought of us in a wedding chapel, exchanging underwear instead of rings. My writer’s brain sometimes conjures the most ridiculous images. I gather the rest of my clothing and decide I’m going to have to suck it up and wear my boots home. Sweatpants and boots. How nerdy is that? I shrug at my internal conversation.
I stick my head out into the corridor first to make sure a bunch of people aren’t there to witness my walk of shame. No. No. This is a walk of triumph. Not everybody can say they’re at the top of Marsh Langston’s list. Whatever. It doesn’t matter because the barn appears to be empty. I peek into Fancy’s stall. It’s empty, too. Hopefully, that means she’s fine and was turned out with the other horses for some pasture time.
When I emerge from the barn, I shade my eyes from the bright morning sun. I’m startled at first that the area is empty of the usual groups who come for lessons. Then I remember Marsh told Alex to cancel today’s classes. I’m about to head for my SUV when I spy Marsh and Jules over by Marsh’s truck. Are they arguing?
Marsh is pacing, and Jules is talking fast, gesticulating with her hands as if trying to convince Marsh of something. Marsh slaps the truck’s fender, and Jules barely hops out of the way when Marsh gets in the truck, slings gravel as she turns it around and speeds down the driveway. Jules is shaking her head, her face red. I don’t have to go to her because she’s heading my way.
“Go home, Lauren,” Jules barks as she passes me.
I break free of my shock and chase her. “Wait. What’s going on? Marsh looked upset.”
Jules turns on me. “Haven’t you pried enough into her life? Leave her alone. Forget you ever found this stable. If you want riding lessons, at least five other facilities would probably be glad to accommodate you.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”
Jules slams the side of her fist against the wall. “It’s none of your business. Marsh never was your business, so go. Forget you met her. She doesn’t need another Maggie in her life. The last one almost broke her.” She wheels and heads for the office door.
I’m sputtering at this sudden exile. “Tell me what happened.” Jules ignores my demand, so I run to catch up with her, but she reaches the office door three steps ahead of me. When she slams the door behind her, I’m so close I have to put my hands out to stop myself from colliding with the door and maybe breaking my nose. The lock audibly clicks into place. I slap my hands against the door in frustration. “Jules. Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
Silence.
After ten minutes of pacing outside the office door, I sit down, pull off my boots, and take off Marsh’s clothes, except for her underwear. I’m going to keep those, damn it. I leave her T-shirt and sweats and pull on my dirty clothes from the day before.
I pause at the door of the Volvo, then get in because my eyes are filling with tears. I’m not giving up. I’m going to talk to Marsh after she has time to cool down.
* * *
I manage to drive home with tears running down my cheeks, reviewing over and over what Jules said to me. How can my life go to shit during the few hours I slept?
By the time I pull into my garage, I’m no longer crying. Instead, I’m sinking into a depression. Obviously, Marsh must have found out about the manuscript I’m working on. I open my liquor cabinet and bypass the flavorful Apple Crown Royal in favor of a full highball glass of Crown Reserve. I head for my luxurious master bathroom, begin filling the claw-foot tub, and toss in one of my favorite bath bombs.
I could have gone straight to the hot tub on my patio, but with my dark mood I don’t want to be out in the cheery sunshine. And I don’t want to bother with a bathing suit because the cleaning service is scheduled to show up in a few hours. I strip and climb into my tub, the water so hot it’s almost scalding my skin. “Alexa, low lights, master bath.” I have a smart home but rarely remember to use it.
As the lights dim, I take a big swallow of my drink, then cough at the burn in my throat. I begin a review of my situation.
Haven’t you pried enough into her life?
Jules had undoubtedly been referring to the story I’m writing based on what happened to Marsh. Sure, I can switch to a different story—maybe something based on the electrocutioner who was paid by owners to kill high-priced horses for insurance money. Or the polo ponies that were overdosed when a compounding pharmacy made an error while mixing their feed supplements. But those cases were solved, and Marsh’s incident isn’t. That’s what makes her story interesting to readers.
Maybe I’m wrong to be poking into Marsh’s life, especially without talking to her first, but who could have told her? The only people I’ve discussed this with are my agent, my editor, and Tallie, who swore an oath of secrecy. Sort of. But what motive could she possibly have? There has to be some other person. Maybe Marsh or Jules has a contact in the police department who alerted Marsh that I’d requested copies of the police file on the investigation. Or maybe it was the local reporter I’d questioned. Geez. How could I have been so stupid to think Marsh wouldn’t find out?
I send a quick text to Marsh’s number.
I can explain.
Four hours later, I still haven’t received an answer, so I text again.
Please let me explain.
I try to work, but writing isn’t happening today. I’m too distracted. Inst
ead, I call LaSalle and tell her I’ll drive to Raleigh tomorrow for the book signing and stay with her rather than a hotel. She’s my sister confidante, and Dorine’s the mother I wish I had. I need my chosen family with me right now. The thought of never seeing, never kissing Marsh again causes an awful, hollow pain in my chest, like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Could it be? Have I finally, truly fallen in love? Or is this the way you feel when you betray someone you care about?
* * *
“I can’t finish this book.” I’m driving to North Carolina and on a call with Edith after six of my eight pleading texts bounce back. Marsh has blocked my number.
“Calm down. You always panic halfway through a book, and they always end up being spectacular.” I can hear Edith rustling papers while she talks.
“This isn’t about my usual mid-book insecurities.”
“Then what is it?” I can picture Edith putting down her papers and taking off her reading glasses to give me her full attention.
“It’s about prying into something, into someone I never should have. It’s about betraying someone I really care about.”
“This story is good, Lauren. Really good. I feel confident in saying this book will slap down the critics who think you’re only good for one best seller.”
I’m surprised. “Who says I’m only good for one?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you prove them wrong. This book can do that. I love the romance you’re weaving into the mystery. That’s going to greatly broaden your audience. You should do that in every book.”
“Duh. How many times do you want my detective to fall in love?”
“Once. You can write a romance for her sidekick.”
“She doesn’t have a sidekick.”
Edith lets out a sigh. “Write one. You’re the author. You can create as many characters as you need to make this story and the next marketable.”
Unbridled Page 17