Unbridled

by D. Jackson Leigh

  Her eyes are so full of sadness when she looks at me. “Leave, Lauren. I’m a virus that spreads to everyone around me as long as she’s around.”

  I touch her cheek. “It’s okay. You’re not the one going to prison.” I raise my voice. “Marshal.” An armed man holding out his US Marshal’s badge steps into the barn corridor, and I point at Maggie. “That’s her.”

  He walks toward Maggie. “I’m US Marshal Trent Ford,” he says. “Margaret Talmadge Bouling, you are under arrest for destruction of property, felony animal cruelty, and obstruction of justice, for starters.”

  Maggie’s face grows red. “What’s this about?” She whirls on Marsh. “What have you done?”

  Skyler and Kate, who flew back a week early to be here for Maggie’s arrest, step into the corridor behind the marshal.

  “We found Robert Swearington, Maggie,” Kate says.

  “And you’re arresting me because of some outlandish story he’s told you?”

  “Lauren and I intended to get an affidavit from him, but as it turns out, we didn’t need it,” Skyler says.

  I squeeze Marsh’s hand and pick up the story. “You see, Maggie-Tallie, Robert knew you were up to something bad, though he didn’t know what. So he disabled the security camera like you instructed, but before he texted you, he planted a second camera in the rafters you didn’t see. It recorded everything.” I held up a thumb drive. “I brought you a copy so you can give it to your lawyer.”

  Marsh grabs it as Maggie lunges to get it. “What does this show?”

  “Robert was one of the students she groomed from a teen, like you,” I tell her. “She ordered Robert to inject Jakobi with an overdose of selenium. When he refused, she snatched the syringe from him and did it herself. You see, she was wearing latex gloves, but he wasn’t. She pointed out that his fingerprints were the only ones on the syringe and threatened to turn it over to the police if he didn’t go along with her. Then she shipped him out of the country under an alias. That’s why Kate couldn’t find him.”

  “I’ll kill him.” Maggie snarls the words. “Where is the little drunk?”

  “He’s in rehab at an undisclosed location,” Kate says. “We think that, with therapy, he’ll survive the damage you’ve done to him. I’ll make sure he gets the help he needs and a job when he’s able.”

  “And I can add communicating threats to the charges against you,” the marshal says, pulling out his handcuffs.

  Maggie spins and runs for the opposite entrance, and Marsh moves to chase her, but I hold her back as Harrison and Alex appear, blocking Maggie’s escape. The marshal handcuffs her and recites her Miranda rights as he leads her away.

  Marsh turns to Kate. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to get away from her and make my own way when I offered to ride Jakobi for you. If you hadn’t hired me, she wouldn’t have killed your horse.”

  “Not true, Marsh. She’s mentally ill and would have gone after Jakobi anyway because he was going to take first place from her entry. She’s the only one to blame, and I’m so sorry I didn’t follow through and figure this out for you four years ago. Lauren is the one who insisted you’d never be free of it until we did find who did kill Jakobi. She never gave up on you.”

  Harrison comes to his sister and hugs her long and hard. “It’s all okay now. We’re going out to watch some of the show so you and Lauren can talk. She’s a good woman, Marsh. You can trust her.”

  Kate and Skyler walk past us to follow the men, but Skyler pauses to squeeze Marsh’s shoulder. “If you’re not up for it, either Jules or I can show Crescendo for you today. You’ve got a couple of hours until your class, so you or Lauren just let us know if you need us. We’ve got your back.”

  I lead Marsh into the small office, and she sags against the door after I’ve closed it to give us privacy. “Maggie has Butter and says she’ll shoot him if I don’t ride for her again.”

  Her eyes fill, and she looks up at the rafters to collect herself. “That’s what you saw, Lauren. She said she’d tell me where he is and let me buy him back if I’d fuck her one more time. I knew I couldn’t trust her, but I was desperate.” Her breath hitches. “He was my horse when I first tried out for the Olympic team, but he was too young then and not quite good enough. Maggie made me give him up and ride a better horse. I hunted him down and talked the owner into leasing him at my stables when he wouldn’t sell him. I’ll probably never find him again. She might have already killed him.”

  I hold her face in my hands. “I have him. It’s a long story, but Alex and Harrison told me what Maggie was holding over your head, and we tracked him down, too. Kate Parker has a lot of connections. Turns out, Maggie’s husband bought Butter for her, but the papers were still in his name. He was happy to sell him to me when we told him she was about to be arrested. Butter is safe, and I’m his new owner. I’m just waiting to see if you have a stall free for a new boarder. That is, if you’ll let me come back to Langston Farms.”

  I’m caught off guard when Marsh falls into my arms and sobs. We slowly slide to the floor, and I hold her as tight as I can.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  What do you need, Lauren?” Marsh’s lips, her tongue taste my neck, and I close my eyes.

  “I…I don’t know.” Truthfully, I do know, but I’m afraid to ask.

  She reads my hesitation. “Yes, you do.” She fills my glass again with the potent mixture of Fireball and Apple Crown Royal, my favorite cocktail.

  We’ve been a bit shy with each other since we reconnected a week ago. We made slow, sweet love the night of our reunion, and it was so deep, so emotional. A new Marsh has emerged since Maggie was arrested. She is kind and lighthearted, and I fall even more in love with her every day.

  But I miss some of the old Marsh, the one kissing down my neck right now. I treasure our soft moments together, but sometimes I still hunger for the dominating Marsh willing to bend me over the dining-room table and take me. I struggle to explain that contradiction to her now, fearing it might drag out bad memories of Maggie’s sexual demands.

  I gulp down more of the truth-inducing liquor, but my fear is too great, and I deflect. “I’m never going to get the hang of posting a trot. I’m just too awkward.”

  “You are not.” She emphasizes each word. “You are beautiful on horseback.” She kisses her way up my neck and sucks my earlobe.

  I only need to sway backward an inch, maybe less, to feel her breasts against my back. Are her nipples as hard and aching as mine? If I fall against her, will her arms come around me?

  “I want to be beautiful for you. I just can’t find the rhythm.” I hope she can hear the plea in my tone, read the submission in my words.

  “You have control issues, but I understand.” Her lips are gentle as she moves to the other side of my neck, tasting and caressing. “When you finally win control of your life, it’s hard to give up even a little to anyone else. I understand. And it’s okay.” The kisses stop, and I feel her arms relax and the pressure of her breasts against my back lessen. She’s pulling back.

  A shudder runs through me, and I tilt my head in invitation for more. “I don’t know.” I’m talking about posting a trot now, but she’s talking about sex. “You make me want to. I need for you to help me.”

  “But you have to tell me what you want, what you really need.”

  I whimper as I stare into the fireplace. Haven’t I told her before with my actions? If I spell it out for her, will my words burn us like the flames that are consuming the wood?

  She turns me in her arms, and her mouth is on mine. Her lips, smooth and warm, taste of the cognac she’s drinking. Her long fingers stroke my cheek and down my neck as her tongue asks entrance and I open to her. I hum as she explores my mouth, our tongues sliding and flicking and filling, an unconscious rehearsal of what we both hope will follow.

  “I can help you, Lauren, if you’ll tell
me what you need, what you desire.”

  I tremble. Can I? I stare at the floor and whisper my fear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She freezes, still as a statue for several long seconds, an eternity while I drown in my fear. She lifts my chin with her finger, and her expression of confusion makes my eyes fill.

  “I love you, Marsh. I’m so in love with you, I never want my desires to cause you pain.”

  “Oh, Lauren. Don’t you know I’m in love with you, too? How do you know your desires aren’t also mine?” She brushes her lips against mine, then kisses the tears on my cheeks. “I’ve never been in a wholesome relationship, but I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy after getting away from Maggie. I’ve learned relationships don’t survive without truth and communication. You have control issues, and I have trust issues. We’re not going to last long if you aren’t honest and open with me so I can trust that you won’t keep things from me again.”

  I nod. She’s right. I clear my throat and try to scrape up some courage, but my mouth opens and closes with no words forming. I’m so afraid we’re both too damaged to be together.

  “Talk to me, please. I have to know that if I do something you don’t like, you’ll tell me. If you don’t, then I’ll find it hard to tell you what I need, what I desire.”

  “You promise to be honest, too?”

  She touches my lips with hers again. “I promise.”

  I swallow hard to loosen the tightness in my throat. “Because of my overbearing father, I do insist on having control of almost everything in my life.” I shrug. “I don’t mind advice, but I make my own decisions. Don’t ever order in a restaurant for me unless I ask you to. It’s a trigger.”

  “Noted. I don’t like people whispering behind my back and keeping things from me. So, no matter how well-intentioned, never try to throw a surprise party for me.”

  I nod. This is getting easier. “Never accept a dinner invitation for us without checking with me first, even if you know I’ll want to accept. That’s another trigger.”

  For the first time, Marsh averts her eyes from mine. Her jaw works like she’s chewing on the words she wants to say.

  I touch her cheek to bring her gaze back to mine. “Tell me,” I say softly.

  She looks stormy. “I don’t share.”

  Share? Food? Her closet? Her shower with another person? “Can you be more specific?”

  “I don’t want to share you with other lovers. I don’t have a right to ask, but you’re the only woman I want in my bed, and I want to be the only one in yours.”

  “You have every right, and that’s what I want, too.” I place my hands on her cheeks and draw her in for a heated kiss to seal the deal. We’re both breathing hard when I finally release her. Her admission is the courage I need.

  I clear my throat. “There’s one exception to my control issues.” My cheeks are burning. How do I say this?

  “Tell me,” Marsh says, turning my own soft words back on me.

  I suck in a breath. “While I like to be in control…” I pause while she takes my hand and brings it to her lips for a soft kiss, “I…I like giving up that control in the bedroom.”

  Her eyes darken, and her voice lowers to a sexy tenor. “What about the dining room?”

  My belly tightens at the memory of her bending me over my dining-room table and fucking me. I clarify. “Anywhere we choose to be intimate.” Then the image of Maggie bent over Marsh’s desk surfaces. My entire face and neck scorch now, but with anger rather than embarrassment. Anger at Maggie Talmadge Bouling.

  “It’s taken me a long time to admit that to myself, and even longer to find the woman I trust to give that control to.” I hold her gaze so she can see the truth in them. “I love when we make gentle, sweet love together, but I also like when you take control.” I force myself not to look away to speak my last truth. “I don’t want it, though, if it hurts you. If it reminds you of what Maggie demanded from you.”

  Marsh’s blue eyes blaze with desire and power. “It wasn’t just that I was young when she seduced me. She culled me from a group of teens because she could see my natural desire to dominate, and she used that tendency to bind me to her.”

  I gasp as she spins me around and pulls me against her. My earlier questions are answered. I can feel her breasts through the thin silk of my shirt, and her nipples are as hard as mine. Her breath is on my neck again, hot and sweet from the cognac.

  “I’m going to the kitchen to get a tray of something for us to eat. While I’m gone, I want you to go into the therapy room, strip, and get in the whirlpool.” She touches my cheek. “Go now.”

  Yes, no. Can I trust that this is truly what she wants, what she needs, too? This is what I’ve wanted my entire adult life. A strong, handsome woman to whom I could trust my deepest secret desires.

  * * *

  The water is hot and swirls sensuously around my naked body. The throbbing between my legs is growing along with my anticipation.

  Marsh reappears as my hand is sliding down my belly for a little self-relief to take the edge off, and the whirlpool jets choose that moment to rest. I jerk my hand up, sure that she saw and read my intention as the water settled.

  “I’ll have to be more specific with my instructions,” she says, setting a large tray at the pool’s edge. Crackers, neat squares of cheese, and dark caviar are arranged next to two bottles of water and a black blindfold. Apparently, she has a thing for blindfolds.

  She lowers her tall frame to the floor and pulls off her paddock boots. “Before I cover your eyes and accept the gift of your trust, I want to give you something.”

  Marsh stands and strips in a slow, deliberate tease.

  She tugs her shirt from her jeans, then releases each button. My mouth is dry when the garment drops to the floor. No bra covers her small, high breasts. She is smooth yet sinewy like a cat, lean muscles gliding under golden skin as she moves. Her tan lines are faint, and I imagine her standing on a mountaintop—bare-chested, arms flung back—to soak in the sun where it isn’t permitted to touch while she is clothed. She flicks open the buttons on the fly of her jeans and slides them and her underwear down smooth hips and impossibly long thighs to step out of them. She’s a true blonde, neatly trimmed and glistening. Is that because of me? I force my gaze up to hers, and she smiles. “Maybe I’ll allow you to taste me later.”

  She picks up the blindfold and slips into the pool. “Sight can be distracting, like static on an old speaker when you’re trying to listen to music.” She moves behind me, molding my naked body to hers. I close my eyes and moan at the slide of her breasts along my shoulders, the fit of her hips cupping my ass, the glide of her skin caressing mine. “Your desire to experience intimacy on a deeper level just triggered your natural reflex to shut down your sight and concentrate on your other senses.”

  I open my eyes. She’s right. That’s why we close our eyes when we kiss? When we orgasm?

  She moves around to face me and holds up the blindfold. “We’re going to use the blindfold to help you concentrate on what you’re feeling.”

  Before I can respond, her mouth is on mine, soft and asking, then hot and demanding. I barely feel the blindfold slip over my closed eyes. I desperately wrap my legs around her lean torso and crush my breasts against hers to anchor myself in this darkness. She gently ends our kiss. My breath is loud and ragged in my sightless world, but I can feel her heart pounding along with mine.

  “You’re an eager student, but you have to learn to pace yourself,” she says. She guides me over to an underwater ledge, where she sits and pulls me onto her lap. Then she takes my hand and wraps my fingers around a bottle.

  “Hold on to this. We’re going to taste some things, and you’ll need to clear your palate in between with this water.”

  I take a long drink. What I really want is to taste her, all of her.

 
“Open,” she says, dropping a morsel on my tongue.

  Cheese. Creamy, yet sharp. “Brie?”

  “Very good. Drink some water.”

  I do as she tells me.

  “Open.” Another morsel. Both sweet and buttery, melting instantly on my tongue.

  I hum with pleasure. “Butter fudge. You didn’t get that in Germany.”

  “No. I flew back through London and picked it up in the airport.” This correct response earns me another long kiss, and I take advantage of our weightlessness in the water to turn and straddle her lap before the kiss ends.

  I drink some water, pleased with myself. Ready for more, I flex my hips to rub my aching clit against her hard abdomen. Her arm encircling my ass tightens.

  “Open.” The earlier gentle request is now a curt command.

  A buttery cracker laden with something thick and salty, like how I know she’ll taste. “Caviar. The expensive type.”

  “Drink the rest.”

  I drain the bottle as she rises and carries me from the pool to lay me on what I surmise is the massage table. Then she’s drying me, a thick, heated towel caressing my skin, rubbing across my swollen nipples. She’s careful to dry every inch of me—the plane of my collarbone, my armpits, every finger on my hand, inside my navel. She skips my crotch and diverts to my feet, where she dries both feet and each toe in a gentle massage. Then she sucks each toe into her mouth while I squirm and then dries them again. She rubs the towel up one leg, then down the other. I’m a boiling volcano aching to erupt.

  “Marsh.”

  “You are so beautiful, Lauren. I could spend an entire night just touching you and worshipping your body.”

  “Please, I need you.” I move my hand toward my crotch to indicate where I need her, but she grabs my hand and closes it around the table’s edge.

  “Don’t let go of the table. And do not climax. You will come only when I give my permission.”

  That command alone is enough to make me come, and I squeeze my legs together to hold my climax off. I hear the small sound of something popping open, and then her hands are massaging something warm and oily into my calves. My focus narrows to her hands as they travel farther up my legs. Her probing fingers are past my knees now, and the pounding between my legs is excruciating. She digs into the quads of one leg, then the other. When she picks up each leg to flex my knees and then extend my hamstring, I wonder if she can see my arousal dripping onto the sheet under me. I can’t bear it any longer.