by Remy Rose
Carlo gets out to stand beside his car, his arms crossed in front of him. The motion-sensor light on the barn roof is shining directly down on him—it’s like he’s some sort of otherworldly, godlike being illuminated by the heavens, and seeing anyone else spotlighted like this would make me want to giggle, but when it’s someone as insanely hot as Carlo Leone, laughing is the last thing I’m thinking of doing.
He has his shirt sleeves pushed up over his elbows, and as I keep staring like a total idiot, I realize my mouth is slightly open. Carlo seems to realize this, too, because he’s grinning at me. I quickly close it.
“Surprised?”
“A little. Why did you want to come here?”
“Because it's one of your favorite places. And because a horse stable at night has to be one of the most peaceful spots in the world.”
He gets this? “I have to agree with that.” I turn to open my car door.
“Leaving so soon?”
“I'm getting the key to the barn.”
Reaching in his pants pocket, he holds up a key. “Already taken care of. I got one from Ingrid.”
“You think of everything, don't you?”
“I try. Especially when it's of importance to me.” Carlo gives me a broad smile, and I feel a crumbling sensation inside me.
“So...shall we?” He gestures toward the barn door.
I nod, following a few steps behind him as he unlocks the door. There’s the sound of a horse pawing the stall floor—Rafsi, undoubtedly, who is simultaneously glad to see you and pissed you’re taking so long to give her a treat.
I hate to disturb the tranquility of the dark barn but flip on one of the light switches. The horses blink as the CFL bulbs slowly brighten. I unlock the door to the office and open the cabinet where I keep my stuff, which includes a tub of Rounders horse snacks and an opened bag of peppermints. I’m very glad to be doing this, because normal things like giving treats to horses will help keep me calm. And right now, I really need to feel calm.
Brownie bobs his head at me and I go to him, running my hand down his white blaze. He lips at my hand and gives me a gentle push with his nose.
Carlo comes to stand beside me. “I'm going to take a wild guess and say that he's your favorite.”
“Shhh. The others are listening. They are all my favorites.” I lower my voice. “But okay, yes—he's extra special.”
“He clearly feels the same way about you.”
“I'd like to think so, but it's probably the peppermints.”
“Do you ride him a lot?”
“God, no—Ingrid definitely wouldn't allow that. I'm just a lowly stablehand. I've only ridden him a few times, mainly to get him warmed up for the trainer on the days she comes.”
“And how is he?”
“Like a dream. He moves so fluidly. I could sit his canter all day.” I pick a flake of shavings from his forelock as I feed him a mint. “He's such a good boy.”
Rafsi, laying her ears back, stomps impatiently in the next stall. “Hey, girlfriend. Mind your manners. You'll get one.” I unwrap the mint and hold it out to Carlo, feeling little sparks as my fingers touch his hand. “Want to give it to her?”
“I'd be honored.” He holds his hand flat, and Rafsi takes the mint eagerly, crunching and tossing her head. “She's quite animated, isn’t she?”
“Yes. She has a big personality. Temperamental at times, but then again, she's a mare.”
“That sounds a bit sexist.”
“It's true. The saying goes: geldings you tell, stallions you ask, and mares...you discuss.”
“Women always want to talk things over.”
“And now you're generalizing.”
“I'm speaking from vast experience.”
Vast experience? What does he mean by that? I both want and don’t want to know.
Carlo holds out his hand so Rafsi can nuzzle it, her eyes softening and ears pricking forward with interest. This girl doesn’t usually care too much for people, but apparently, she’s making an exception for Carlo Leone.
I run my hand down Brownie's sleek, arched neck. He’s in prime shape, his muscles rippling under his polished coat. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Carlo watching me.
“You look like a little girl who's fallen in love for the first time.”
“Horses were my first crush. I love being around them—they have to be the most beautiful creatures on the planet. The way they move...the power and grace. I've always thought it's almost an honor that they allow you to ride them. It's like, I don't know...it's humbling, somehow. They can stand still and be just as breathtaking—their eyes are so expressive, how they can be burning mad one minute and totally serene the next. And I love the contrast between the strength of their jaw and the softness of their nose...” Ughh, listen to me rattle on. Sometimes I forget that people don’t have quite the same equine infatuation that I do. “I'm rambling. Sorry.”
The warmth and brightness in his beautiful blue eyes causes a thrill to skate up my spine. “Don't apologize. I like to listen to you talk. But I have to take issue with something you said.”
“Oh, really?”
“You mentioned the horse as being the most beautiful creature on the planet. I have to disagree. As far as I'm concerned, I'm looking at it.”
O...kaayy. My God. Cheeks burning, I struggle to think of something to say as Carlo moves closer. He bends down to kiss my cheek, my neck, my bare shoulder, and I’m tingling at the feel of his lips, the sandpapery stubble on his jaw heightening the sensation. I can feel his breath in my ear as he speaks softly. “I like your skin. Especially kissing it.”
“I can't stay long,” I say weakly. “I have to be here early tomorrow.”
“Then let's not waste any more time.” He pulls me into his arms, and I am one big sigh, melting, melding into him. Since I’m wearing flats, my head only comes up to his chest. I feel small—and somewhere in between protected and intimidated.
Carlo's lips brush my hair as his hands slide up my back. My fingers are splayed against his broad chest, and I tip my head back to look up at him. He takes my face in his hands and bends down, his mouth hovering over mine. “There are so many things I want to do with you, and to you.”
His eyes are blue flames—his gaze so fiercely intense, it’s like staring at the sun. What I’m feeling is so overwhelming, I can’t look for long. And then, his mouth.
He kisses me deeply, roughly, his tongue probing and insistent as I ignite. The taste of this man...warm, sweet, delicious.
I begin to return his kiss, tentatively at first, and then I’m aware of something inside me just letting go. It’s easier this time, knowing him better now, knowing the cadence of his kiss. The combination of soft lips and hard tongue is pushing me toward the brink...the brink of what, I can’t be sure. But right now, I’m more than willing to fall.
Carlo must know this, because his breathing quickens. One of his hands comes up to the base of my ponytail, gripping it hard, while the other travels up my blouse and inside my bra to cup my breast. His fingers are cool and gentle on my skin.
He breaks our kiss to whisper. “Lounge or hayloft?”
With the way I’m feeling, he can lay me right down on the concrete. “Hayloft,” I gasp. It will be comfortably warm and sweet-smelling, like perpetual summer.
“Wait right here,” I tell him. “I'm going to get something for us to lay on.”
“Don't make me wait long, Cassandra.”
God, that tone—firm, commanding—intensifies the pulsing between my legs. I don’t want to make us wait, either. I hurry into the tack room and push the door open to the rich, pungent scent of leather and saddle soap. There are clean horse blankets hanging up on one wall. I scan them quickly and spy a fleece cooler. Perfect—it’s extra-large and will be soft and comfortable with no hard buckles to worry about.
Carlo follows me to the hayloft stairs. This whole scene is so different than last time at his house. Maybe it’s because this is my happy
place, my “turf,” and I feel more secure...which may have been the real reason Carlo decided to come here. Or maybe it’s because I’ve had a taste of him and want more. Either way, I’m climbing the creaky loft stairs with more excitement than apprehension.
The hayloft runs a close second to the main floor of the stable as my favorite place. The loft roof is high and airy, with delicate strands of old cobwebs and abandoned swallows' nests in the rafters. The big windows at both ends stay open all summer so fresh air keeps the loft temperature comfortable, like it is right now—but I know things are going to heat up very, very quickly.
Clutching the fleece cooler to my chest, I watch Carlo dismantle part of the haystack and arrange eight of the bales into a one-level, bed-sized square.
He looks up at me and winks. “Instant mattress.”
I manage to smile in return, my heart thumping wildly.
We're going. To do this.
“We could use some mood lighting. Am I right?” Eyes dancing, he takes his phone out of his back pocket, swiping his finger across the screen and then turning the phone around to reveal a single flickering candle.
“A candlelight app?” This makes me smile.
Carlo takes the blanket from my hands and spreads it out over the bales. Just watching him move is a total turn-on—the flexing of his arms, the way his ass looks when he bends over. I take a few deep, shuddery breaths, knowing I’ll be laying down with him in seconds.
The lighting in the loft is dim and enhances the almost surreal feeling of this scene. Carlo walks toward me, and I surprise both of us by taking a step back.
He laughs softly. “Playing shy, are we?” He moves closer till he’s standing a foot away.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “No, it's just that—”
“It's just that you're being a tease. Two can play that game, sweetheart. In fact,” he says, reaching out and running his finger from the base of my throat to between my breasts, “it would be my immense pleasure to tease you.”
More throbbing. And wetness. My body is so ready for him, but my mind, my heart—God, I don’t know.
I have no idea what to say, but I open my mouth to say it anyway. Carlo crushes it with his own. I’m trying not to moan, trying like hell to seem like a big girl, like I can totally handle this. Only I’m not sure I can.
He interrupts our kiss, takes my hand and leads me to our improvised bed. His eyes are holding mine with fierce desire. “Your hair.”
Dropping my gaze, I begin to slide the elastic from my ponytail.
He puts his hand beneath my chin. “No. Look at me when you do it.”
This is unexpected and a little disconcerting, but I’m aching for him so badly that I quickly obey. I’ve never been that comfortable with eye contact, and with someone like Carlo...I don’t know if I can do it. But I’m going to try.
Willing myself not to tremble, I look steadily in his eyes, his chest rising and falling as he watches me shake out my hair.
“Good girl,” he says huskily, sending a fresh thrill coursing through me. “Now, unbutton my shirt.”
So this sounds a little more serious—almost cold. I feel myself sink into doubt and try to lighten things up a bit. “You're not asking very nicely.”
“I'm not asking, Cassandra.” He pauses for a few seconds, staring down at me, and his face softens just enough for me to get a glimpse of the gentler Carlo.
I bring my hands to his shirt and begin to hesitantly unbutton, my fingers fumbling and awkward. Carlo stands absolutely still, breathing slowly and evenly. The scent of him is making me weak.
“Take off my shirt, Cassandra.”
Why is he doing this? I’ve only been with a few men, but no one who would give me commands like this. The others found ways to manipulate me; Carlo, at least, is straightforward in his requests. Correction: his orders.
I’m aching to touch his skin. I slide my hands under his open shirt and push it off his shoulders. He’s making no move to help me, so I keep sliding it off his arms with a series of jerky tugs until it falls to the floor.
He is absolutely magnificent. His outlined pecs and chiseled abs...I marvel again at the shape he’s in. To stand here inches from his partially-naked body and imagine what’s below his waist is close to torture.
I have an almost insatiable urge to start unbuckling his belt, but it’s become crystal clear that Carlo Leone is in charge here. So I find myself looking up at him, waiting for further instructions from a man who simultaneously terrifies and arouses me, desperately hoping that he’s going to let me touch him soon.
chapter twenty-two ~ Carlo
I’ve once again underestimated the effect Cassandra Larsen has on me.
She’s looking up at me so plaintively, those beautiful seaglass-colored eyes practically pleading me to take her, that I have to mentally coach myself through this weak moment. I want to fuck her. I want to show her right now, right here, how it would feel to be taken by someone who knows how to enhance pleasure with dashes of pain. Someone who knows how to go agonizingly slowly, bringing a woman to the brink of climax and then backing off until she begs to come—and even then, taking my sweet time so that her orgasm is on my terms: I say when, and how.
But that isn’t what tonight is about. Tonight will be more than last time, but less than either of us want.
It’s all in the strategizing.
I put my hands at the stretchy waistband of her blouse and pull it up over her head. She makes no move to stop me. Very nice—a white satin bra, which contrasts with her golden skin. As illogical this sounds, I can’t help but feel like this is her first time. But actually, in many ways, it is—her reactions have proven she's never had this type of experience, and I’m betting that the others she’s been with were more boys than men.
I slide a finger inside the cup of her bra, stroking in a swirling motion around her nipple which becomes erect in seconds. Unhooking her bra, I ease the straps over her shoulders. She’s breathing harder, eyes now closed.
I need to correct her. Eye contact for some women is challenging, but it’s an indicator of trust and intimacy, so I need her to get there. I’ll stop touching her for now and give a low-key reminder, since this is all unfamiliar territory for her. “Cassandra, I need you to look at me. Look at me while I touch you.”
“I don't think I can.” Her voice is almost a whisper. She’s still looking down, her lashes dark and full against the creamy hue of her skin. “Eye contact isn't something I do.”
“You need to try.” A little more authoritative this time. “If you want me to touch you, then I want you looking at me.”
After a few seconds, she fixes her gaze on me. There’s just a hint of defiance in her eyes. I’ll accept that for now because she’s doing what I asked, even though it’s obviously uncomfortable for her.
“And now, your reward.” I begin to stroke and tweak her other nipple until it’s fully erect. “That's a very good girl. Keep looking at me, and I'll keep touching you.” I trail my index finger slowly, slowly down the front of her in a long, curving line, down to her flat stomach, circling her navel, and then trace a horizontal line just above the waistband of her jeans. She’s still looking into my eyes, so I dip my fingers just inside her panties. Christ—I can feel her heat. My cock hardens. She gasps and closes her eyes for a split second, so I remove my hand. Blinking and breathing hard, she fixes her eyes on mine once again.
“Very good, sweetheart,” I praise. “You're learning. The eye contact will get easier; I promise you.” Unbuttoning her jeans, I go back to touching her, my fingers sliding down a bit more, both of us inhaling sharply as I feel the smooth, velvety folds of her pussy. Ah, fuck—this is getting to me. I stroke her full lips with a feather-soft touch as I stare deep into her glazed-looking eyes.
“I'm going to see how you feel inside, Cassandra. Are you wet for me?”
She’s trembling, her cheeks flushed with arousal.
“Answer my question. Are you wet fo
r me?”
Her voice is barely audible. “Yes.”
I lean down to kiss her, nibbling on her lips and filling her mouth with my tongue. She returns my kiss hungrily, gasping as my hand creeps lower. I slide two fingers smoothly inside her, steeling myself not to groan out loud when I feel how wet she is. I’ve got to get a release now, or I won’t be able to stop myself. Taking care of her afterwards is the rest of tonight’s plan.
I put my hands on Cassandra’s bare shoulders and guide her to sit down on the hay bales. Putting a hand at the back of her head, I ease her down and lay beside her, my dick straining against the fabric of my jeans. She’s now looking at me for direction—a very good sign. I pull her next to me and kiss her forehead and cheeks before parting her lips with my tongue. Moving my mouth to her ear, I give her another command. My pulse begins to pound with the rush of being in control. “Unzip my pants.”
Cool fingers brush against my skin, just above my waistband. She fumbles with the button and zipper. I lift my hips and prop myself up while she eases my jeans down.
“Take out my cock, Cassandra.” Her chest is heaving as she tentatively reaches out to the tented front of my boxers. God, I want to grope her breasts, thrust my fingers inside her again, but I’ll wait to touch her...right now, I’m going to show her that this needs to be about me.
I again fight the urge to groan as I feel her fingers wrap around the base of my shaft and bring forth my cock. She sucks in her breath. Just the reaction I was going for.
“Stroke me,” I tell her, my voice thick with want. “Make me come.”
A long, shaky sigh escapes from her. She starts slowly, with long, even strokes. I watch her face. So fucking beautiful. And there’s raw hunger in her expression, too—more than I’ve ever seen in her. Locks of her thick auburn hair slip off her shoulders as she works me, her perfect mouth open slightly with her heavy breathing. She’s using just the right amount of pressure, reaching down to lightly touch and cup my balls, then sliding back up to my head to use shorter, faster strokes.