by ANDREA SMITH
"Is that understood?" His voice had a steely edge.
I nodded, taking a step back from him. "Yes," I squeaked. "Perfectly."
"Good," he said, bending down to grab Derringer's reins from the ground. He looped them around his hand and with one swift, lithe movement Trey swung himself up and onto the horse's bare back, turning to peer down at me, as Derringer did a side-step. "Because, Ms. Preston, if this happens again, your ass will be fired."
He pressed his calves into the horse's sides taking off, presumably for the stables leaving me standing there feeling humiliated, chastised and idiotic if front of Jenna.
Pompous ass!
I seethed in anger the whole way back through the woods to the stables. I hoped like hell he was gone by the time I got there. I'd no desire to be at the receiving end of his wrath again.
Once I reached the stables I peeked in the window to make sure he was gone. I saw that Derringer had been untacked and was back in his stall. I went inside and made sure to fill the water trough for the horses and then called it a day. What a fucked-up end of the day! I'm sure Jenna would broadcast to everyone that I'd had my ass ripped by Trey Sinclair. What an uptight snob! Probably been spoiled all his life!
Jenna had done her share of gossiping about him the few weeks I'd been here. Something about him being a high-powered attorney somewhere else, owning shares of the family business, a scandalous broken engagement in his past, and oh yeah, Jenna dreamed of 'doing him' one day soon. Probably what she'd been arranging on the front porch of the mansion over at the Belle earlier. I tried to put it all out of my mind as I crossed the pasture heading toward the bank of cottages and the cold shower that awaited me. Suddenly, the loud roar of tires caught my attention as I spotted a black Lamborghini Gallardo convertible speeding down the Sinclair estate driveway. The driver wore sunglasses. There was no mistaking the burnished brown hair flying back from that sinfully handsome face. As the car passed the pasture to my right, the driver glanced over. For a split second, I thought I could actually make out his smile. Despite his assholiness with me there was no denying Trey Sinclair was smokin' hot.
Ah yes, that shower's going to cool me off nicely.
CHAPTER 2
The bank of eight identical cottages was spread across two acres of land on the estate. Two of the eight housed full-time year-round hands who’ve been employed by the Sinclair family for years.
Cottage One was Ray Gillespie’s. I liked Ray a lot. He was in his late 50s and had been with the Sinclairs for more than 30 years. Ray was gray-haired, with soft green eyes, a bushy moustache, and a kind smile. He had a girlfriend in town named Denise.
Cottage Two belonged to Charlie Roberts, also in his late 50s, and the other full-time hand. A quiet man who kept mostly to himself, no one knew much about his past. Charlie was thin, with close-set small eyes, graying auburn hair, and a weak chin.
The college help inhabited the rest of the cottages. There was Clint who helped Luke and me at the stables at the main estate where the Sinclair's lived, and also at the Belle. Clint was tall, blond, and lean. He had a great sense of humor, and was sort of protective of me. He was actually my first friend here. He was 22 and a senior year at Virginia Tech. Clint was assigned to show me the ropes during my initial training. He was very patient and not hesitant to share his knowledge.
My cottage was the fifth one down. Like the others, it was made of cedar wood, with a small, railed front porch. I loved to sit out in the evenings after sunset watching the stars lace the summer sky. The nights were black in the country, the cottage porch lights were all we had to guide us if we got back late.
Jenna's cottage was next to mine and I laughed to myself as I passed it seeing a clothesline strung across her front porch with all of her fine delicates dancing in the summer breeze. Friday was her day to hang her thong underwear out on the line to display. She claimed she'd never dream of machine washing such fine silk.
Skank.
I entered my cottage, hooking the screen door behind me to allow some air inside. The ceiling fan was on but did little to dissipate the heat and humidity within the cottage. The main room was L-shaped, combining a small living area with a kitchenette and breakfast bar. The breakfast bar was on the other side of the countertop and had three stools. The small bedroom was off of the kitchen, and thankfully, the one window in the bedroom held an air conditioner. If I closed the door from the kitchen and turned on the unit, the room cooled fairly quickly, even reaching the bathroom that was directly off of the bedroom.
Switching it on to full blast, I stripped to my bra and panties and sprawled out on the bed. Grabbing a Cosmo from my nightstand, I flipped the pages while the cool air washed over me. Cosmo was reporting on yet another type of female orgasm. How many types did that make now? Three? Four? Hell, I'd be happy just to know what one (non-self induced) one felt like! I was so curious about sex, and especially about good sex, yet my experience with guys had amounted to nothing more than making out and some "non-risk" petting.
I liked guys. I loved the way they walked. I loved the way their muscles moved. Today even, I'd had to force myself not to allow my eyes to drift to Trey’s crotch while he was ripping into me! So why had I never had a man?
Maybe being around my mom and the array of boyfriends that had come and gone over the years had turned me into some frigid bitch. She'd certainly learned to hate men as a result, telling me over and over again none of them could be trusted and they wanted one and only one thing from a woman.
I remembered something that had happened around the time I was ten or eleven. Something had startled me from my sleep one night. There were strange noises coming from my mom’s room. It sounded like she was in pain. She was moaning and it scared me. As I approached her bedroom door, I heard her bed creaking rhythmically and a man’s voice. At the time, I thought someone was hurting her until I heard his voice.
There was no mistaking it! It was my best friend Jenny Marcotti's dad!
“Maggie, baby, that's one hungry pussy you have. It was made for my cock,” he rasped loudly. I heard the bed squeaking again and my mother moaning. Even from the hallway I could hear Mr. Marcotti panting and groaning.
“Do you like that, Maggie? I wish you'd teach Patty how to do this, baby. She's always asking me why I don’t touch her anymore. You’ve spoiled me Maggie, that’s for damn sure." There was more shifting and creaking bed sounds coming from behind Mom’s bedroom door.
“Gently now, Herb,” my mom murmured, “I’m a little tender still.”
“You got it, baby, we’ll take this slow and easy,” Mr. Marcotti’s voice was low and hoarse. “Oooh yeah, that's good, Maggie, you're so fucking wet. Does it feel good Maggie?”
“Umm hmm,” my mom’s voice purred, “this is the way I like it…oh yeah…” The bed started slowly creaking again. Soon, I could hear soft moans and whimpers coming from Mom. The springs in the bed were squeaking in rhythm with her moans. The headboard banged against her wall, then stopped suddenly.
“Maggie,” Mr. Marcotti whispered hoarsely, “we better take it down a notch; we’re going to wake Tylar with this noise.”
“Don’t stop now, Herb,” Mom pleaded. “I don’t give a damn who hears us! I’m ready, baby, I’m on the edge,” she cried.
“Ahh—” Mr. Marcotti, gasped, and the bed creaking was now one solid noise. “Unnnarrghhh” his voice growled as if in pain. Mom’s moans were coming in short, rapid succession.
“That’s it, that’s it, oh God, oh God, yes!” she screamed.
I'd covered my ears and ran back to my room. That night I wet the bed and Mom had spanked me for it the next morning.
In the weeks following that night, I'd see Mr. and Mrs. Marcotti around town. In fact, Mrs. Marcotti had complimented my mom on her new leather coat and matching boots.
“Maggie,” she'd called out as Mom and I were on our way out of the Piggly Wiggly one evening, “I love your coat. Did you get that at Macy’s?”
“Thank
s, Patty,” Mom replied, smiling. Mr. Marcotti had joined us from the parking lot. “Actually, I’m not sure where it came from. It was a gift from a friend.”
“Wow, some friend I guess. That color is perfect on you. You know, I saw one very similar to that at Macy’s in Louisville last month. I begged Herb to get it for me, but noooo, he said, ‘that’s too extravagant Patty’,” mimicking her husband’s voice. “Remember, Herb? Remember when I practically begged you for that leather coat?”
“Vaguely,” Herb replied, fidgeting with his keys.
“Well, Maggie, I envy you,” Patty had sighed, lightly rubbing her finger on the sleeve of Mom’s coat. “It must be nice to have someone who isn’t shy about shooting his wad for something like this.” Mom and Herb had exchanged quick glances.
“Well, c’mon Herb,” Patty instructed, “let’s find a cart and get in there. Nice seeing you, Maggie. You too, honey,” she smiled.
“Take care, Patty, Herb,” Mom had replied, hurrying me to our car.
I'd nearly convinced myself that I'd dreamt the whole scene with my mom and Mr. Marcotti, until that day and the subject of the leather coat came up. I knew then Mr. Marcotti had bought mom the coat. After that, I didn’t hang around with Jenny Marcotti. They moved away a year later.
Shaking the thought out of my head, I tried to focus on the present. What had made me think about Jenny Marcotti’s dad and my mom? My thoughts scattered when I heard a knock at the door.
Jumping from my bed, I grabbed the robe that hung on my bathroom door and shrugged it on, tying the belt around my waist. I padded through the bedroom and saw Clint standing at the front door with his boyish grin,
“Hey, sorry,” he apologized, “didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”
“No worries,” I responded, smiling. “What’s up?”
Clint turned momentarily shy then quickly shrugged it off. “Just wondered if you're going down for a beer with us at Luke’s? If you feel like going…we can walk down together, I mean, that's if you really want to go.” He was starting to stumble over his words. That was kind of cute; kind of Clint.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I smiled. “What time?”
“I’m going to clean up and grab a sandwich. Be back around seven?”
“That works for me. Thanks, Clint. See you in a bit.”
I finally got my nice, cool shower. Afterward, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I analyzed my face. My eyes were tawny brown. I didn’t wear a lot of eye make-up, but tonight for some reason, I wanted to look more sophisticated so I went for it.
I decided to wear my favorite jean skirt and a white cotton tank. I glanced at the clock on my microwave and saw that it was about ten til seven. Opening the fridge, I grabbed a handful of seedless grapes to hold me over since I'd skipped lunch.
There was a knock on my front door as I finished the grapes, and tugged at my short jean skirt, trying to make it cover more than it was supposed to cover. I opened my door to a smiling Clint.
CHAPTER 3
“Wow!” Clint’s eyes lit up as he gave me the once-over. “You’ve got some legs on you, babe,” he winked at me playfully.
“Stop!” I laughed. “This skirt must’ve shrunk. Should I put something else on?”
“No way,” he said
When we arrived at Luke’s, the last cottage before the woods, the party was well under way. There were lawn chairs set up around in the side yard, and a fire pit ready to go as soon as the sun went down. There was a keg on ice, and a couple of coolers sitting side-by-side stocked with other kinds of booze.
I waved to Ray and his girlfriend Denise who were sitting together on a log. I'd met Denise earlier in the week when Ray brought her by the stables. She was in her 40s and she owned a salon in town. She had very soft features, wispy dark blond hair and a full figure. She was warm and friendly. I really liked her.
“Hey, Denise,” I grinned, glad she was here.
“Hey, sweetie,” she called out. “Well, look at you, girl! You're finally showing off those great legs! I best not find out you're dressing like that at work and turning my man's head!"
I laughed knowing quite well that nobody could distract Ray from Denise. It was obvious that he was crazy about her. Ray chuckled as he pulled Denise closer to him and gave her a swift kiss on the mouth. “You know, Tylar’s like one of my own, Neecie. You're all I can handle,” Ray said.
“You best remember that, stud,” she replied, wiping her own lipstick off of his mouth and squeezing his chin.
Clint was talking with Luke and Rodney over by the keg. He caught my eye and came over to offer me a wine cooler. I wasn't a drinker. I'd relatively little experience with alcohol.
“I thought maybe you'd prefer this to a beer,” he said, twisting the cap off and handing it to me.
“Thank you, Clint,” I replied, accepting the cold bottle. I tipped it to my lips and, because I was parched, drank the whole thing down at once.
“Easy, girl,” Clint warned, “I know it’s not whiskey, but if you don’t drink alcohol very often, anything can have a kick to it.”
“Tasted like punch to me, Clint,” I remarked. “May I have another?” I smiled coquettishly up at him. He shook his head, making his way over to the ice chest for another wine cooler. He handed me the ice-cold bottle, with a stern comment.
“Slower this time, and I mean it, okay?” He raised his bottle of Bud and took a lengthy swallow. Just then, Jenna’s shrill voice filled the air. I quickly downed half of the wine cooler, grateful that Clint had turned to watch her approach us.
“Well, well, well, what’s goin’ on with you two, huh? Looking awful cozy there like two snug bugs in a rug. Tylar, hey girl, look at you! I really like your skirt. Generally, short girls can’t pull that off.”
Jenna was probably three inches taller than me. I was 5′4′′ and she was no more than 5′7′′ at best. I did not consider myself short. She was just being her normal catty self. Clint shifted uneasily beside me.
“You here alone?” I asked.
Jenna smirked and glanced over to where a tall, black-haired man that looked as if he may have had some American Indian heritage came down over the hill toward her. He was lean, nice-looking, and obviously fond of tats. He had a white wife-beater shirt that highlighted his muscular shoulders, tight black jeans, and pointy boots. He was at least 6′4′′, with dark, almost black eyes, and long sideburns.
“There you are, darlin',” Jenna squealed. “I was beginning to think you got lost.” She grabbed his tanned arm and pulled it close. It was practically lying across her breasts as she raised it so that it looped over her shoulders. He seemed a bit embarrassed. “I want y’all to meet my friend, Stuart. Stuart, this is Clint, and this is Tylar,” she said, throwing her free arm out as if displaying prizes on a game show. Stuart nodded to each of us, and finally noticed that Clint had his right hand extended for a handshake. Stuart reluctantly took it as if he wasn’t used to being introduced. I gave him a quick wave, saying “Hey.” He nodded in return.
“Baby,” Jenna gushed, “why don’t you go on over there and get us both a couple of beers, okay? Keg is fine.” Stuart nodded, again, and went off to do as instructed.
“Is he not a gorgeous god?” she mused, whether to Clint or me I wasn’t sure.
“Uh, yeah, quite the package, Jenna,” I responded, trying to sound sincere.
“He manages the best body shop in town, yeah, I know, and what am I doing with a guy with so little aspirations. But I gotta tell you, what that man can do with his tongue and with his dick is something else! I guess you wouldn’t understand, Tylar.”
I was pissed. How'd she presume to know my experience with men? I started to interrupt her but thought better of it. Instead, I drained the rest of my wine cooler and sweetly asked Clint if he'd get me another one. Clint raised an eyebrow, shook his head again, and was off.
“So, Jenna, why do you think I wouldn’t understand your attraction to such a hot guy?” I
tried to pull flippant off, but I hiccupped at the end, which took some of the sting out of it.
“Well, honey, it’s just that you're still kinda young, you know? I just think you may not have had the experience that some of the others have. You see, Tylar, in a few years you'll see that there are men you fuck, and then there are men you marry. Generally, the two types don’t intermix.”
“Is that right?” I asked. “Well, does that mean you marry someone that you don’t like fucking?”
“Not at all, hon. You have to understand that guys you meet and immediately know there's no future potential, those are guys you ‘sport fuck;’ you've no pretenses; it’s just plain old fun. And you enjoy it as long as you care to. Bottom line though is that you don't quit looking for the guy you want to land as a keeper.”
Stuart appeared with two large plastic cups brimming with the draft beer. “Thanks, baby,” she crooned, accepting one and taking a deep swallow of the foamy beer.
I contemplated her words for a moment, looking over at her as she turned to Stuart and licked his ear. I noticed that Jenna was wearing a dark green tank top that evidently had a built-in push-up bra and light khaki shorts. Her eyes were made up as if she were going on stage. Something about Jenna appealed to men who had a penchant for taking a walk on the wild side. She likely rocked their world. I was envious of her in a way.
Clint returned with my third wine cooler. “Hey,” he said, “they’re grilling some hot dogs over there. Are you hungry?” He was worried that I'd get plastered and perhaps show myself.
“I could eat," I smiled.
I saw him visibly relax as we walked over to where Luke was rolling hot dogs around on the grill, making sure that all sides were equally charred. I grabbed a bun out of the bag and a paper plate.
“Hey Tylar,” Luke grinned, “having fun, girl?”
“Luke—” I started, and then hiccupped yet again. I giggled, “This is the best damned party I’ve been to in a very, very, very long time!”