“Yes, I want to help.”
I start to wipe over the leather, my eyes dancing between the saddle and Josh, who is roaming the room with his hands buried in his chino pockets, casually looking around. “What do you know about horses and their care?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he admits, turning his eyes onto me. They’re bright blue today. I could melt under that gaze. Quite easily. “But you can teach me.”
I laugh, looking away from him before I do actually melt, and concentrate on cleaning Spearmint’s saddle. “You want me to teach you about horses?”
“Yes. Seems fair, since I gave you a few lessons last night.”
My working hands pause, and I look at him. Don’t ask! “Lessons?”
His smile is smug and victorious. “In submission, Your Highness.”
“Excuse me?” I choke.
“You heard.”
“I think I heard.”
“Oh, you heard.” He meanders over to me, placing himself on the other side of the saddle horse. There is a huge wooden stand between us, but it still feels like he could be touching me, and my skin erupts in tingles. He smiles, like he is aware of my condition. “The notoriously headstrong Princess of England is submissive,” Josh whispers. “Who would’ve thought?”
“I am not submissive,” I argue weakly, remembering how I succumbed to his every demand, how I took everything he dished out to me, and how I willed him on, begged for it.
Loved it.
The sense of freedom, the weightlessness, the relief of surrendering control. Of not having to think, just do. Of being at someone’s mercy, and most significantly, wanting to be. The whole time I was lost in Josh Jameson, bending to his will, I didn’t feel the stifling containment of my everyday existence. I was free. I want to feel free again.
I swallow and glance down, disturbed by my revelation. I have never once considered submitting power to a man in the bedroom. Why would I when I fight so hard to keep it in my life? But I guess, now I am enlightened, I should ask myself if it is built into me, or whether my apparent subservient nature is reserved only for Josh Jameson. “What do you want to know about horses?” I ask quietly, my mind sprinting.
“Everything you can tell me.” He fondles with the bridle hanging from the ceiling hook, and I just know he is imagining tying me up with it, maybe even whipping my arse with it. I swallow and shift in my stance, feeling my tight jodhpurs rubbing at my sensitive bottom. “What’s this?” he asks.
“That is a brow band.”
“And this?”
“A throat lash.”
Josh’s eyes widen, and I hear the thrash of my belt connecting with my upper thigh. “Lash,” he whispers.
I make a hasty getaway from his suggestive gaze, tossing my sponge in the sink, grabbing the pot of saddle soap, and swiping a clean sponge around the inside of the container. “Anything else?” I rub at the leather of the saddle like a madwoman.
“What’s this?” he asks, fingering a metal piece of the tack.
“A bit. It goes in the horse’s mouth.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Oiling the leather.”
“With?”
“Glycerin.”
“Oh,” he says, drawing out the word on a long exhale as he swipes a fingertip across the seat of the saddle. “Like lubricant, right?”
I stop and inhale, straightening and facing his cheeky smile. He’s adorable in the most annoying fashion. “Yes, like lubricant.”
“Wow. Throat lashes, mouth bits, lubricants.” He gazes around the tack room languidly, before dropping those starry eyes onto me. “A sexy princess, too. I think I might like it around here.”
I breathe out on a laugh, astounded by his front. “You are a cocky American arsehole, Josh Jameson.”
He’s around the saddle horse in a flash, seizing me and pinning me against the nearest wall. I don’t get a moment to gather my bearings, or to warn him off. Not that I want to. His hard body is flush with mine—touching everywhere—and it feels amazing.
Nose to nose with me, lips almost touching, he breathes in my face. “Actually, I’m a cocky American asshole. But whatever. To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
My smile is unstoppable, and so is the want flooding me.
“Kiss me, Your Highness,” he whispers, and that’s all it takes. One order, and I am his. I push my lips to his and drop the sponge in my hand so I can hold his shoulders. Soft lips roam mine, a soft tongue swirls through my mouth, and his body softens against me, molding to my every curve, fitting perfectly. He smiles around my mouth—happy he has me—and nibbles gently on my bottom lip. It is worlds away from the command he had over me last night, but commanding nonetheless. And the sense of freedom that sweeps through my body with the pleasure indicates I really am in trouble here. His soft touch caresses my cheek as his eyes wander across my face. “How’s your ass?” he asks, sliding a palm down to my bottom and stroking gently. “Sore?”
“Yes.”
“Regret it?”
“No.”
He grins and smacks me lightly on my bottom. “Me neither.”
“You hardly suffered.” I laugh, pushing him off my body to free myself. We’re at the stables. Anyone could walk right in at any second.
“I assure you, I suffered.”
“How?”
“When I left,” he answers candidly, and I shoot him a surprised look. His shoulders shrug under his shirt, his smile shy and boyish. “Don’t make a big deal of it.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t want to leave?”
“It was the last thing I wanted to do, actually.”
I don’t know what to do with that information. Or even know what to say, and I think Josh must sense that because he jumps in with a quick subject change. “So, you gonna teach me how to ride, or what?”
“Yes,” I answer without thought, because—and maybe I should be worried about this—I want to spend more time with him. More time when he is not whipping me into submission, that is.
Josh smiles, a knowing smile, one that I mirror on a shake of my head. What has this man got me doing? “We’ll call it our first date,” he declares, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Where do we start?”
“We need to saddle up.”
His rubbing hands cease to rub, his eyebrow hitching in interest. “I like the sound of that.”
“Of course you do.” I laugh, fetching Stan’s saddle.
“Stan?” Josh questions, looking at his name above the wooden peg. “What about Spearmint?”
“He’s in training. He has already been over exercised today.” I dump Stan’s saddle in Josh’s arms and grab his bridle. “And I don’t know him well enough to trust him with a beginner. Stan’s reliable. I know him best after riding him for the past seven years.”
“Lucky Stan,” Josh quips, following me back through the stables. “What do I have to do to earn those privileges?”
“What, me riding you every day?” I ask over my shoulder, laughing when Josh moves the saddle down over his groin area, giving me a warning look. The thrilling feeling of knowing I can have the same effect on him as he does on me satisfies me deeply. “Okay?” I ask.
His jaw tenses from his clenched teeth. “Ever got the feeling you might regret something?”
I laugh on the inside, hysterical laughter, because there is a potentially huge regret following me. “As a matter of fact, yes.” I offload Stan’s bridle and relieve Josh of the saddle. “You need to change.”
Josh looks down his front. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Those trousers don’t look like they have much stretch.”
He bends at the knees until they pull taut. “Sure they have.”
“Suit yourself.” I continue saddling Stan, quick and efficient after years of practice.
“What’s that you’re doing?” Josh asks, making me smile. He’s like an inquisitive child.
“Making sure Stan’s girth strap is not too tight.” I slip two fingers between the leather and his ribs. “Always two fingers.”
“Two fingers? This gets better.”
“You are incorrigible.” I chuckle, nodding to the stable door for Josh to open, which he does speedily on a charming smile.
“Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” I say as I pass him, tugging Stan’s side reins until he clip-clops after me. “Sir.”
“Adeline.” My name is a warning, delivered slow and clearly, and I secretly smile, playing Josh Jameson’s game with way too much ease. “If you’re lucky”—Josh falls into stride beside me, dipping to get his mouth close to my ear—“for letting me ride your horse, I might let you ride me later.”
“Very lucky me,” I whisper back, every nerve ending in my body sizzling electrifyingly. I am struggling so badly to repel the effect he has on me. His game is too easy to play, too much fun, and the sense of abandon is all too addictive. I pull Stan to a stop where the hats are stored, grabbing mine from the hook before selecting a suitable one for Josh. “I’m really not sure if we have a hat that’ll fit your big head,” I say seriously, scanning the rows.
He grabs me around the waist and sinks his face into my neck, mauling me, making me shriek with a mixture of shock and undeniable enjoyment. “Very funny.”
I smile like mad, turning my face to his, being blinded by the sparkle that greets me. Eyes locked, breaths suddenly strained, we stare at each other, my smile slowly falling away. It’s a game, Adeline. Josh plays games. But my thoughts wobble when Josh starts to lower his mouth to mine, and suddenly, the only thought running rampant in my mind is how amazing it is going to feel with his lips on mine again, to taste him, savor him. His flesh has barely brushed mine when a loud clatter sounds, snapping me from my carelessness. I withdraw and scan our surroundings for peeking eyes. We’re alone.
Goodness, how stupid of me. But Josh makes being stupid easy. Almost . . . right. Grabbing a hat, I hand it to him, but he doesn’t take it. “This looks like it will fit.”
“I want you to put it on,” he declares quietly, closing the distance I’ve put between us.
I try not to let his request faze me, handing him my own hat to hold so I can follow his request. He takes it and dips a fraction, allowing me to rest the hat on his head. “Lift your chin,” I order softly, having to bat down my admiration when his throat stretches, presenting me with the challenge of not licking his taut, stubbled skin. My fingers work fast adjusting the straps, that wretched tremble returning and making my task trickier than it should be. My eyes jump up to his, finding him watching me closely.
“Concentrate,” he commands on a small smile. “It’ll hurt like a motherfucker if you pinch my skin in that clip.”
“Please, do not tempt me,” I warn, pursing my lips playfully. It will be a small price for him to pay for the torture he put me through last night. And I don’t mean the pain.
“Does it suit me?” he asks.
“Very much so.”
“How come your hat has a fancy red cover with a gold emblem, and mine’s plain, boring black?”
“Because I am a princess.” I step back and take my hat from his hands, putting it on. “The emblem is the British Monarchy’s coat of arms. The cloth is a silk.”
“Silk, leather . . .”
I grin and reclaim Stan’s reins. “Come on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I lead Stan on, bringing him to a stop by the giant mounting block, while Josh tails me, faffing with the strap under his chin, constantly stretching his neck, as if realizing my battle not to stare. Or touch. Or lick. “Climb up,” I order, shaking my thoughts away.
“Onto that?” he asks, eyeing the huge lump of concrete.
“Yes.”
“I see something better I’d like to climb,” he mumbles, going around the back of Stan.
It is terribly hard, especially after that almost smoldering kiss, but I disregard his cheeky wit. “Always give a horse a wide berth if you are behind them.”
Josh moves away speedily, eyeballing Stan with caution. “He’s a big dude, isn’t he?” He plods up the steps to the top of the mounting block.
“Seventeen hands.”
“You’re enjoying all this talking in code, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. Slip your foot into the stirrup,” I say, pointing to it.
“I know what that is.”
“Then do it.”
“Are you telling me what to do?”
“Yes, and I’m enjoying it. Don’t spoil my fun and do as you are told.” I smile a sweet smile. “Please, sir.”
His eyes narrow to warning slits, and I can literally see him mentally plotting his revenge. A revenge I will no doubt enjoy. Slipping the toe of his shoe into the stirrup, he searches for somewhere to hold.
“Here.” I take his left hand and place it on the pommel. “Use that to pull yourself up and throw your leg over the saddle.”
Josh does it with surprising grace. “Okay?” he asks.
“Okay. Just keep hold of the pommel.” I walk Stan a few steps away from the block so I can access both sides.
“Pommel?”
“Yes, and there is no sexual spin you can put on that.” I flip him a small smirk.
“Oh, I don’t know. Let me think about that one.”
I find myself laughing again. He’s just too cheeky for his own good. And handsome. And talented. “Drop your legs.”
“What?” Josh gives me surprised look. It is so totally false.
“Take your feet out of the stirrups and drop your legs. Your knees are too high. I need to adjust the stirrup leathers.”
Josh follows my order, and I push his leg back so I can flip the saddle flap. “Are you trying to spread my legs, Your Highness?”
I smile as I work, unbuckling the leathers to release them a few notches before taking his foot and placing it back in the stirrup. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Good.” I walk around to the other side and match it, and then stand at the front of Stan to make sure Josh’s legs are even. “Perfect.” Claiming the reins, I look up. “Ready?”
Josh smiles down at me. “Are you?”
I prepare to fire some smart counter, I’m not sure what, just something that will shut him up, but I am interrupted mid-thought when I hear the clip-clop of hooves from behind. I turn and find Senator Jameson leading Bob, one of our resident horses, out to the field by his reins.
“Hey, y’all,” he croons, his strong southern accent drawling, and so very different to Josh’s smooth, almost dulcet tone.
“Pops.” Josh definitely sighs through his greeting.
“Good morning, Senator Jameson,” I say politely.
“Your Highness.” He bows his head. “What a pleasure. I didn’t get the opportunity to speak with you at your garden party.” He eyes his son atop Stan with interest, and I look to Josh to find he is no longer looking cocky, and his lips are firmly shut.
“Heading out for a hack?” I ask Senator Jameson, wondering what has made Josh so quiet all of a sudden.
“Yes.” Josh’s father mounts Bob and gets himself comfortably and expertly into position. “I don’t ride nearly as much as I want to these days.”
All that’s missing from him is his cowboy hat, but then, as if by magic, it appears from a saddlebag and he pops it on his head. “Back to my roots on the ranch.” He winks, nodding to his son. “What’s my lovely boy roped you into?”
Roped? I flick Josh a nervous look, and, of course, he’s now sporting a devilish smirk. “A few riding lessons,” I reply.
“Lessons?” Senator Jameson belly laughs, looking at Josh with a shake of his head. “You ass.”
I frown and look at Josh, getting a sheepish disposition in return. And then it hits me. “You bugger,” I exclaim, smacking his leg. “You know perfectly well how to ride a horse.”
“Thanks, Pops,” Josh mutters,
flipping off Stan in a swift, acrobatic move. “I thought you were already out in the fields.”
“On my way now, son.” He directs a warning glare Josh’s way before he clicks Bob on. “Have fun.”
I turn my narrowed eyes onto Josh. “You fraud.”
He laughs through a shrug. “I can’t help it. I like playing with you.”
“Lesson over,” I declare indignantly, marching on my way with Stan in tow.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Josh claims my arm and pulls me to a stop. “I’m not finished playing yet.”
“Well, I am.”
“C’mon, Adeline. Stop being so stuffy. Let’s ride together.” He lowers his chin when I deepen my scowl. “On Stan, I mean, of course.”
When he says ride together, I sense he does not mean him on one horse, me on another. I’m just about to declare it impossible for us to ride double due to Stan’s size, but, of course, I can’t now that I know Josh has an expansive equestrian knowledge. Any horse enthusiast would look at Stan’s sturdy frame and know he will carry both of us with ease. “I don’t think so.”
“I do.” He starts to unfasten Stan’s saddle, his motions quick and confident.
“You are surely not suggesting that we ride bareback?”
Josh bursts out laughing, and I cringe, wanting to grab the words and stuff them back into my stupid mouth. I know what is coming as he continues to strip Stan of his saddle, chuckling his way through his task. “I hope one day we can.” All this horse business is making being around Josh Jameson even harder. “You offering to take care of birth control?”
I balk at him. I honestly don’t think I have ever met such an arrogant male in my life. “You are assuming there will be another encounter.”
“Oh, I know there’ll be another encounter.” He unhooks Stan’s side reins from the D-rings and pulls his saddle off, pushing it into my hands. “We’re going for a romantic ride together, Your Highness. Go get a pillion saddle.”
I pout. Romantic? I would say it’d be impossible for Josh Jameson to be romantic, but I remember him cuddling into me last night after he had screwed me mindless, and I remember him wanting to fetch me water. Silly, but still. It was nice. And then I remember everything that came before that small window of affection. The dominance. The control he took with such ease. How much I loved surrendering to him. My heart flutters and those flutters work their way down to my tummy. “I think I’ll pass,” I say, stepping back. Josh Jameson is about as far from grace as I could fall. And, worse, I want to fall. Or throw myself off the edge. It is obscene for me to think that way, because I know it will result in an agonizing crash to the ground. I like him. Way too much for a princess to like a man like him. Because I will never be able to have him.
The Controversial Princess Page 12