by Geneva Lee
I turn, expecting to find that Clara very much minds, but her attention is pinned on the latest arrival to the dining room. I don’t bother sparing Pepper more than a passing glance.
Rather, I hook my arm around Clara’s waist and lean to kiss the delicate spot behind her ear. “I will see you soon, poppet.”
I leave before the urge to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to bed can take hold.
Edward catches me at the door. “David’s going with you. Try to keep him from getting shot.”
“Clara’s staying here,” I mutter. “Keep the vultures at bay.”
We clap hands on each other’s shoulders in silent promise before I continue outside. It makes me feel better to know he’s there with her, even if she slipped through his fingers the last time I left her in his care.
“I thought you were going to make us wait,” my father greets me with an icy glare. “I sent Manfred to wake you this morning, but he said you were already gone. I had no idea the walk from the North Wing took that long.”
I hook my foot in a stirrup and swing my leg over. Once seated, I urge the Arabian into a steady trot before answering him. “I didn’t sleep in the North Wing.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled in a low voice, leading his horse into step beside me, “there are expectations—”
“Fuck your expectations,” I shot back, pressing my heel slightly into the stallion’s side to increase my speed.
My father matches me. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re going to destroy that girl like you destroyed—“
But I’m already leaning forward, guiding my horse into a full gallop, and leaving him behind. I need to put some distance between my father and me, especially with a hunting rifle at my side.
By the time the hunt winds down, I’m sore and impatient. I guide my horse to a trot alongside Norris, who I suspect came along simply to ensure I didn’t shoot my father.
“Ride ahead and tell her to meet me outside? I’m going to take her out to show her the grounds.” It’s half question, half command. I’ve used up too much of my patience to offer more.
He responds with a bemused smile. “I’ll tell her to change.”
I think of her filmy skirt and shake my head. “Don’t.”
He cocks an eyebrow but keeps his opinions to himself. Pressing his own horse forward, he shoots ahead of us. Unfortunately, his absence leaves space for Jonathan to ride up beside me.
“So, tell me, man to man,” he begins.
I refrain from commenting on his use of the term man to man. It’s not that I hate Jonathan. I nothing him, which makes it impossible to take him seriously—especially when he says shit like that.
“An American?”
“She’s half British,” I say in a clipped tone. Jonathan doesn’t know what dangerous ground he’s treading. I consider warning him.
Before I can, he continues, “I mean, I don’t blame you. She’s hot, and I bet knowing your father hates it makes it hotter.”
“My father has no influence over my feelings.” I grip my unused riding crop in my hand, wishing it were his neck.
“Feelings?” he repeats. “You’re not actually serious about this girl?”
“Of course, he isn’t,” my father’s icy voice interrupts.
“Let me know when I might have an opinion on my own life.” My blood heats inside me as I feel a familiar rage take hold.
“When you accept who you are,” he says.
Or rather who he wants me to be—who they all want me to be.
“Excuse me, I have a date.” I press my horse into a faster canter before either can respond then to a full gallop. I need to see Clara and remind myself they’re wrong about her and me. But no matter how fast I ride, I can’t seem to outrun the truth behind their words.
I said it myself when Norris implied things were serious between us. I’m not sure why everyone thinks they are—half of bloody Britain is planning our wedding already. Clara and I have an arrangement. Yes, some of the terms have changed. Yes, we’re no longer fucking but dating. Yes, I met her parents and brought her to the country.
But that’s not a ring on her finger.
I won’t do that to her because a ring like that isn’t a promise. It’s a shackle. I will not clip her wings. I will not tether her in a cage.
As the house comes into view, I spot her moving across the veranda. It’s as though an invisible rope tugs me toward her.
I might not bind her to this life, but, my God, I am bound to her. I slow as I approach, giving time for some of the others to catch up with me while I wrestle with this realization.
Clara continues down to the lawn as I approach. I smile to see she’s still wearing the light blouse and short skirt but that she’s tugged on a pair of riding boots. Pushing away all the serious concerns, I concentrate on the shapely lines of her legs.
She raises an eyebrow as I approach, and I realize she’s looking at the riding crop still clutched in my hand.
“Father insisted. Of course, if you know what you’re doing, you don’t need one.” I shrug.
“I could have used one this morning,” she says dryly, and I nearly grin.
I guess brunch went well.
“I suppose it would have its uses.” She might be on to something. Maybe I should bring it to dinner. I keep this thought to myself and extend a hand. “Come.”
A knowing expression—half relief, half desire—takes hold of her face, but she gestures to her ensemble. “I’m wearing a skirt.”
The wind catches it, lifting it high enough to show more of her bare thighs and a slight glimpse of the apex between them before she shoves it down.
“Believe me, I noticed.” I dismount, ready to throw her over the saddle if necessary—no matter how barbaric the gesture. Pulling on my helmet, I toss it to a waiting servant. “I need to get you away from these bloody people. I want you all to myself.”
“Where are you taking me?” She takes my hand, and I know I have her. Blessed relief washes over me.
But we’re still on display. I need to get her away from the prying eyes all around us. They were all asking that question, too. “You’re asking the wrong question.”
“I am?” She bats her lashes at me, and the innocent gesture fans the primal instinct I’m trying to keep under control.
At least until I have her alone. “You should be asking what I’m going to do to you.”
That gets her full attention. Her mouth drops open, giving me even more wicked ideas.
“Ever heard of the term saddle sore?” I continue. “If I don’t ride off with you right now in front of all these people, tonight they’re going to wonder why you’re walking so strangely.”
She blinks as if she’s processing what I mean. I watch as it becomes clear. “So the ride is an alibi?”
“It’s all part of what I plan to do to you.” I yank her to me before she can concoct another question and silence any further objections with a kiss. There’s no further resistance when I lift her onto the saddle. She carefully arranges herself, pushing her skirt under her sumptuous ass—as if that will do her a bit of good. The truth is that I want her to be sore and raw. I want to see her delicate skin red and tender because then I can make her feel things she never imagined, even in her wildest fantasies. A gamekeeper appears to collect my gear. I think better of giving him the riding crop. I’m not certain how Clara might respond, but today, after everything, I can’t help considering its use. My balls ache as I consider what it feels like to take it to her. I pass the rifle to the waiting gamekeeper before mounting the horse behind her. Wrapping one hand over the reins, I coil my other arm around her waist. She settles against me, and it’s as though a missing piece locks into place.
“Alexander!” My father’s sharp voice slices through the moment. “We have guests.”
“Clara is my guest,” I say, uninterested in pursuing another fight with him. “I’m taking her to see the grounds. We’ll be back for d
inner.”
He scans her with disapproval. “I expect you to be properly dressed at the table.”
“C’mon,” I say gruffly, hating him more for making her feel inferior. He’d done the same to me my whole life, but it’s different somehow when he does it to Clara. I needed to get her away from him, from all of it. I press the horse faster until it’s behind us: the house, the expectations, the family. I don’t slow until we reach a valley that dips low, obscuring the estate. It was June, but the country air held the remnants of spring this afternoon. The skies overhead were grey, even though there was no other sign of an impending rain shower. Then again, out here, a storm could strike at any moment with even less warning.
“Beautiful,” Clara whispers, and I wish I could see the world through her eyes.
I can see her, however. In my arms, she’s all I see, and I have to agree. “Yes.”
“You have me all alone,” she says, settling into my embrace. “What are you going to do to me?”
I allow a breathy laugh as I move to kiss the freckles on her neck. “Not yet, poppet.”
Instead of relaxing, though, she goes rigid. I tighten my hold on her, assessing where things have gone wrong. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I nearly forgot that she spent the morning in a den of vipers.
“You’re unhappy,” I finally realize.
There’s a pause before she nods. “I don’t belong here.”
“Oh poppet.” It’s a feeling I know all too well. “Neither do I.”
There’s no escaping it for me, though. If I can stop being so selfish, she might still escape. Except I am selfish, and no part of me wants her to break free. “But you are wrong about one thing. You do belong here with me.”
Clara spins in the saddle, twisting her body so she can claim my lips. Does she sense that I belong to her as much as she belongs to me? Judging from the reckless hunger in her kiss, she must.
“So are you going to take me for a roll in the hay?” she asks when we break apart.
“I’m planning much more depraved things. And I’ll start by…” I slide my hands from her waist under her skirt, stopping on the elastic lace of her knickers. “You are such a tease in this little skirt. I’ve had blue balls all morning thinking about your barely covered thighs. Do you know what it’s like to spend the whole day hiding an erection from half the monarchy?”
“I can’t say that I do,” she says breathlessly.
“Exactly.” I rip them off her, sliding the ruins lace roughly from her and shoving it in my pocket. It feels like a trophy, but she’s the true prize. I lift the back of her skirt and examine my reward appreciatively. “This gives a whole new meaning to bareback.”
Her body softens in submission, waiting for me to take her. But I’m not ready for this to end. I want to tease her. I want to torture her. I want to make every nerve in her body sing with hopeful arousal.
Pressing my heel into the horse’s side, I urge us forward slowly. Her bare skin slaps against the leather. There’s a slightly wet smack with each beat of the hooves beneath us. I resist the urge to stop and bury myself inside her slick heat. It’s harder to resist the temptation when she starts to squirm. Her hips trying to signal that she wants my hand to move from its place on her belly to the want between her legs.
I grind my cock into her backside instead, knowing this will both drive her wilder but also let her know she’s not alone in her desperation.
After a while, her head lolls back, and she gazes up at me with pleading eyes. I slow to a trot and lift my hand to brush her cheek. “Yes, poppet?”
I want to hear her say it.
“Please.”
“Please what?” I could come just listening to her beg.
“Please, stop. I…need…you.” She struggles to ask. After meeting her parents, I can see why. She’s been taught to take her place and take what’s given. I want her to learn to ask for what she wants. I want her to ask for every filthy pleasure she’s ever denied herself.
And then I want to give them all to her.
“Say it, Clara,” I coax.
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispers, the words sounding hesitant on her lips, even though truth coats them.
I wait for a moment. “Want or need?”
Her throat slides, and something changes in her face. She gives in.
She submits—not to me but to herself.
“I need your cock. I need you to fuck me until I can’t take any more. Please.”
I can’t give her all of me. I won’t burden her with that curse, but I can give her this—and I will.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dismounting the horse, I turn to find her swinging her leg over to follow. I catch her, stopping her from sliding from the saddle. Clara doesn’t protest as I guide her legs open and slide my palms along her bare thighs. Her cunt is a dark, rosy pink, aggravated and aroused by our ride. It’s nearly as beautiful as she is.
I want all of her. I need all of her. I help her to her feet but only so I can lay claim to her. Clara seems to have the same idea as she rips at my clothing. She manages to get my jacket off before I grab her arm. Pinning her wrists together with one hand, I lift them. She’s an innocent caught in my snare. I lash out, forcing off her skirt before tearing off her blouse. Buttons scatter around us, but Clara only relaxes more with each predatory move. I slide my fingers into her bra, popping her breasts free from its constraints but leaving the lingerie to lift her nipples.
I take one and suck it like I could swallow her whole. Then the other. I continue until her breath comes in shallow pants, and she sways on buckling knees. I catch her before she crumbles—and more importantly before she comes. “Not yet, poppet.”
She moans but doesn’t fight me, so I push it farther. Dropping her arms, I order her. “Take off your bra.”
Clara obeys, her eyes locked with mine as she shrugs out of her ruined shirt. Her bra follows. Then she waits as though she understands the game we’re playing. I run my eyes along her bare skin as she stands before me in nothing but a pair of leather riding boots.
A thousand ideas war in my head for attention. “I have half a mind to set you back on that horse and watch your tits and ass bounce across the countryside.”
“I have something else I’d rather ride,” she says with well-deserved annoyance.
I try and fail to keep a smirk off my face. I love when she submits, but I don’t mind a little sass mixed in.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” she asks when she sees my grin.“Nearly driving me half-crazy until you fuck me?”
I’ve never pushed her this far before giving her what she wants, and part of me longs to savor her desperation longer. “I do, poppet, which is why I should take you over my knee and smack that sass right out of you.”
A tremble of pleasure races through her, so intense that she shivers. She wants it, too. But she won’t ask for that.
But I think she might give it.
“In fact…” My eyes skirt to the saddle where the riding crop’s been abandoned. I brace myself for a crush of disappointment as I lift her hand to kiss it. “I need to know that you trust me.”
“I thought I had proven that already. I’ve never been with anyone like I’ve been with you.”
“I assumed that much.” I try to sound casual. If she knows how strong my urge to dominate her is, I fear she’ll give in just to please me. I want her to want the domination. I want her to crave it. It’s the only way I can be truly satisfied. “That doesn’t mean you trust me.”
“Do you trust me?” she hits back, to my surprise.
For a second, I wonder how she can even ask that. How can’t she see the truth? “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever trusted.”
“Yes,” she whispers, as though she finally understands why we’re here. “I trust you.”
It’s the last part of her I’d left unclaimed. At least, I couldn’t be certain until now it was mine. She’s given me her body over and ov
er again. This is something more, something deeper than I’ve asked or she’s offered.
I will not take the gift lightly. “Do you remember your safe word?”
She nods and murmurs it once as proof, “Brimstone.”
Hearing her say it unlocks the final shackle caging the man within. I allow him out with hesitation. A weight lifts from me even as I remind myself to take this slowly.
“Turn around and face the tree,” I order in a strained voice.
Clara does it, and I step toward her. Guiding her arms over her head, I help her brace against its trunk, pleased the bark is not terribly rough. I allow my hands to explore her: the flat, soft plane of her abdomen, the plump fullness of her hips, the rounded curve of her ass. Every delicious inch of her belongs to me.
“Close your eyes,” I say in a low voice.
She waits, not daring to move, as I retrieve the riding crop. I drink in the sight of her, her creamy skin smooth and elegant, contrasted with the dark trunk of the tree. Overhead the cloudy sky casts filtered light on her figure, posed and waiting for me to deliver whatever dark pleasures I wish.
“Spread your legs,” I demand as I move closer. “That is a fucking beautiful sight.”
I want her to know how perfect she is. I wish I could show her how I see her—how much I want her. I press my body to hers so she can feel the proof of it in her soft backside and smother her sex with my palm.
Fuck. “Your cunt is so wet for me. Feel how wet you are.”
She lowers one arm from her braced position, and I guide it to her swollen sex. There’s a breathy groan of satisfaction as she feels her own arousal. But then she slips a searching finger between her folds. I push it away. “None of that.”
She whimpers, and I wonder how much longer she can last. I wonder if I can make her come without my hands or fingers or mouth. I step back and test the theory, hesitating for just a moment before handing control to my other-self. I loose a single well-aimed lash. It bites against her clit, and she cries out in surprise. I slide the leather bit along her singing flesh, waiting for an objection. None comes. I pull back, pause, and then spank her ass with it. An angry red line appears on her pale skin. I close my eyes, memorizing the sight, as I reach out and rub away any lingering effect. Two lashes. I want it to be enough.