The Connaghers Series Boxed Set

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  Mal was watching him, though, and it gave him an opportunity to redeem himself a little. He combed his other hand through the long strands. “Nice tail. Feels like real horse hair.”

  “I wouldn’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Patrick would want the best for his stable.”

  He set the tail on the coffee table and reached back into the box. This time he pulled out a mess of leather straps. It took him a moment to recognize it, since the dimensions were all wrong from what he was used to, though the bit on the end confirmed what it was supposed to be. “Bridle.” He sorted out the leather straps so he could hold the bit in one hand and the headpiece in the other, and then held it up for her.

  “The metal goes in the mouth?”

  “It’s called a bit. That’s what the rider uses to control the horse. This one’s smooth and small, so it’d be pretty easy on the mouth.”

  “For a person? Or a horse?”

  “Either I guess. Horses have sensitive mouths. You can train a horse to use a hackamore, which is a bitless bridle, but you don’t have as much control if the horse isn’t cooperative. The bit presses down on the tender tissues of their mouth, getting their attention in a hurry. The problem is that more spirited animals can toughen up their mouths and still fight you. That’s when you need to change up the bit.”

  “Change it how?”

  “More metal, for starters. You can change the shape inside, giving it a heavier, bigger curve that presses more fully on the tongue. That gives you more leverage on the whole jaw. There are some brutal ones I saw years ago in an old junk store that had spiky bumps on the metal. In the wrong hands, a bit like that would have torn a horse’s mouth to shreds. But a snaffle bit is my favorite.” He gripped the bit in the middle. “It has a joint, here, that lets the bit bend in the mouth. That puts more pressure on the sides of the horse’s mouth, not the tongue or jaw. A feisty horse can still build up resistance to it over time, but it’s much gentler and kinder while still getting the job done.”

  “I knew you’d grown up on a ranch, but hearing you talk about this stuff is amazing.”

  “You should hear Jess, then. She’s the real horse-lover in the family. Me, I could ride, but she made it look like she was part of the animal. I never could pull that off.”

  “I had no idea the bridle was so important. I thought it was all for show.”

  “It’s definitely an item of control, which makes it right up your alley, right?”

  She snorted. “Hardly. Though it does make more sense now why a pony sub would want to wear it, and why Patrick would always use one.”

  He sorted through the rest of the items in the box and held them up one by one. “Chest piece, I think, though I’d call this a martingale on a horse. It’s to help keep the saddle in place. I think this is supposed to be a saddle and girth, but I’ve never seen one shaped like this. It’s definitely for show. And these…” He held up one of the boots, letting out a low whistle when he saw how high the heel was underneath. “Fake hooves, but I don’t know if a woman could actually walk in them without breaking an ankle.”

  “They do. I’ve seen it.”

  “Wow.”

  “So most of it’s for show, would you say?”

  “Except for the bridle.”

  “I thought maybe the chest piece was real, so they could pull a fake carriage. I’ve seen that before and thought we might do something like that this season.”

  “For pulling something behind, even light, you’d need a different kind of harness, at least for horses. That martingale won’t distribute the weight for a tow. But I don’t know as much about that kind of harness. Not much of a need for carriage horses out in southwest Texas.”

  She seemed to be mulling things over, unconsciously nibbling on her lip as she watched him. Unsure what she was thinking, he ran his fingers over the leather. Someone had taken good care of it. Soft, supple, no scratch or scruff marks. He tried to remember Patrick from the show, but only had a vague memory of a man dressed like a Victorian riding master. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on much but Mal.

  She blew out a sigh, drawing his attention back to her. “I just can’t picture what it looks like or how it’s used. Not up close and personal.”

  He wasn’t sure what made him open his mouth. Not the wine, because he hadn’t even tasted it yet. “Do you want a model?”

  She arched a brow at him, head tipping to the side. “You wouldn’t mind? After the dog crate incident…”

  Maybe it was his ego after all. His desire to wipe away that ridiculous conclusion and the way he’d reacted. Because it did still bother him. He didn’t like to make mistakes, especially with people he cared about. “I’m open to it. I mean, I don’t want this stuff, but I wouldn’t mind it. Or rather, I wouldn’t mind you doing it.”

  13

  Mal couldn’t answer for a moment, for fear of revealing exactly how much his offer touched her. It was no small thing for a man of his pride and strength to be willing to humble, and even potentially embarrass, himself, just to please her. He might not consider himself a submissive, but it was a very thoughtful way he could serve her needs that had nothing to do with his own sexual gratification.

  “Not the tail,” he clarified, his tone stern though his eyes flashed with amusement. “I’ll blackberry right out of that.”

  “No tail,” she agreed, grateful he’d kept to a light tone. If he’d gone all serious or apologetic about the minor incorrect assumption he’d made before, she might have actually teared up. “I just want to see how the bridle actually goes on, and how a dominant would use it to give the submissive a sense of ownership.”

  He loosened the buckles on either side to stretch out the part that went over his head. When he actually did slip the contraption on, her breath caught in her throat.

  “What? That bad?”

  She shook her head and reached out to cup his face, sliding over the cushion closer to him. “Not at all.”

  “You’re not turned on by this, are you?”

  He didn’t say it as an accusation, or with alarm, just more curious. “Not in the way you think.” The metal bit hung down below his chin, but now he couldn’t see to do the buckles. She worked the left side tighter, drawing the bit up to lie against his chin but not in his mouth.

  “You are. I can see it,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a rumble that made her eyelashes flutter. “You’re holding your breath. You like this.”

  “It’s not the pony gear. It’s you. That you were willing to even try this. For me.”

  His eyes widened. “I’d do just about anything for you, Mal.”

  “Don’t say that, not yet. You don’t know what I’ll ask of you.”

  “I mean it, and I don’t say it lightly. I even had a man-to-man talk today with Elias.”

  She laughed, reaching toward the other side of his head. He turned in toward her to make it easier. “How’d that go?”

  “About as good as you’d expect.”

  “What man problems is he having? Or would it break some cop code of silence to tell me?”

  “He didn’t go into details, but mentioned that Vicki had given him an ultimatum. One that his brain knew was a good idea, but—”

  “Because she told him, he didn’t want to do it. Typical.” Mal thought the straps were pretty even. Sitting back, she looked him over. “How does that feel?”

  “Fine.” He shrugged. “Not a problem, but not a turn on.”

  “Would it bother you if I tug a bit on these straps, to see what kind of limitations you have?”

  “They’re called reins, and no, I wouldn’t mind. You won’t have much leverage other than pulling my head around, because the bit isn’t in my mouth.”

  She picked up the reins and stood before him. Giving an experimental tug, she watched his body carefully. She could lift his head a bit, but the bridle almost slipped off his head. “Not tight enough.”

  He cupped the metal bit in his palm and lifted it closer to
his mouth. “Go ahead and tighten it. You won’t be able to try much until you do.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think I like the idea of that thing in your mouth. Won’t it taste bad? And you won’t be able to talk.”

  “Pretend I’m gagged. I’ve probably had worse things in my mouth.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Don’t go giving me ideas, detective.” Ah, there was that cocky grin she loved so much. Since he wasn’t bothered in the slightest, she stepped back and tightened each buckle, so the bit fit comfortably into his mouth. He clanged his teeth on the metal, which made her cringe. “It just seems so… barbaric.”

  He laughed, that much she could understand, but when he tried to talk, it was so garbled she couldn’t understand anything. He shook his head and made a sound like a whinny instead, and she ended up laughing so hard that she held on to her stomach.

  “Blackberry,” she groaned, making him set off another round of horse-like laughs. He stood, and with his eyes gleaming and shining with mischief, he was probably going to prance around like a horse. Before he could set off another round of laughter, she gave a tug on the reins. Maybe a bit too hard, because his eyes widened and his head came down toward her, an arch in his back.

  Ah. She liked that stunned look on a man’s face. The look he got when he realized she had the upper hand. “Not so funny now, is it, sugar.”

  He watched her, eyes dark and intense. She stood, letting him straighten back up.Without looking at him, she started to walk about the room, the reins in her hand. He followed, trying to anticipate where she’d go. Evidently he didn’t like the small tugs at all. The reminder that he didn’t go where he chose, that it was her will. So naturally she had to do it some more.

  Turning sharply, she pulled his head around and heard the catch in his breath. Felt the moment of resistance before he followed. Again, a turn for no reason. Catching him off guard. Making him listen and follow by body language and instinct more than his eyes. He was quick enough on his feet that she couldn’t catch him unawares again, but she actually liked that. She liked knowing that he had adjusted to listen and watch so closely.

  She turned and faced him. The bit kept him from shutting his mouth entirely, so he was starting to slobber. Some Mistresses really got off on that. It’d never been her thing—just another natural part of the body that happened when you took a small thing away from a sub. Like the ability to shut his own mouth. Now it affected her, in a huge way.

  “I’m starting to see some of Patrick’s fascination with this,” she said softly, letting her gaze travel slowly across his shoulders, down his chest. Letting her appreciation gleam. He unconsciously widened his stance, tipping his head up as if he didn’t wear anything on his head that might make him uncomfortable. “I like being able to keep you on your toes. To make you listen to my will without saying a word. That’s what true domination is all about.”

  His eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing. Yeah, his ego was starting to rise up a bit. Good. That gave her something to play with.

  Slowly, she walked back toward him, letting the reins dangle between them. He stayed because he wanted to. Not because she told him. She stepped around him and pressed against his back. Letting her fingers trail up his arms, around his stomach, up his pecs. She lay her cheek against his back, listening to him breathe.

  “You never once reached up to take the bridle off,” she whispered. “Why is that, do you think?”

  He grunted softly, not trying to talk. He knew.

  She separated the reins, drawing them back gently so he’d feel the slightest pressure on his mouth and head. Widening her thighs, she let him feel the press of her legs against his. She tightened up her grip on the reins slightly. Pressed against him, the line of her thighs on the outside of his legs, the reins in her fist. “We’re naked. In bed. And I’m on your back, like this.” She tugged on the bridle, drawing his chin back. “I’d be able to give you one hell of a ride, sugar.”

  His muscles quivered against her. Tensed. Then relaxed. And he still didn’t make a move to rid himself of the contraption on his head. In fact, he pressed back against her, meeting the pressure of her body with his. A hint of strength, the flex of his back, tensing of his thighs. He didn’t have to be able to speak.

  No, Mal, I’d give you one hell of a ride.

  He’d never admit it, but when she slipped the bridle off his head, he was almost sorry.

  Having her against his back like that, the smell of leather in his head, her gentle touch on the reins. It’d been… nice. Bringing back good memories of his childhood, while also making him remember their one night together. How she’d sat on him, taking control of his every move, but still satisfying him more than he’d ever imagined. Even now, she held him, pressed against his back, and he wanted to sink into that feeling. Just be. He’d never felt so… Steady. Calm. At peace.

  Was that what being submissive meant? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything any more, other than he wanted to keep feeling this calm and peaceful. The soft thud of his erection startled him, and he felt Mal smile against his back.

  “I think someone is ready for some attention now.”

  He didn’t have to think before replying, “Yes, ma’am.”

  The ma’am rolled off his tongue without him thinking about it. It just felt right. Natural. And that did alarm him. She was burrowing deeper into his skin every time she touched him, subtly changing the way he reacted, without even knowing it. But her hands soothed, stroking circles on his chest, her face still pressed against his back. Her right hand slid lower to palm his dick and he couldn’t hold back the groan of appreciation.

  “Remember the rules. Remember how to stop me.”

  He’d let her put a fucking bridle on him, for Christ’s sake. Would he really want to stop her? Ever? His brain insisted yes, but he couldn’t be sure. Not any longer.

  She worked his fly open with agonizingly slow strokes and pauses, a deliberate caress that just happened to open his pants. When she pulled away from his back, he opened his mouth to ask her not to leave, but bit back the request at the last moment. She hadn’t invited his opinions on what should happen next. Besides, when she tugged his shirt up over his head to bare his skin for her mouth, he no longer wanted to complain that she wasn’t pressed against him. She managed to slide his pants and boxers down while keeping her mouth on his back. Tender brushes of her lips, the warmth of her breath, but no teeth. Not yet. Her mouth paused in the hollow of his back, her hands gliding down to his knees, and he wanted to protest. The Mistress shouldn’t be pleasing him so tenderly. Should she? She had to be on her knees, and that just seemed wrong. So wrong. He should be on his knees for her.

  Without words, she told him when to lift each foot, tugging his boots, pants and socks off until he was nude. Standing in her living room. He checked the windows to be sure the curtains were drawn. Though would he have been able to stop her, even if her entire neighborhood had gathered around to stare at him through the windows? He couldn’t say with any certainty, not with her mouth on his buttock. She pressed her teeth into that muscle, not hard, not in a bite, just the promise, the graze of teeth to remind him of the pain she’d brought before.

  His dick ached, his balls drawn up tight. She fisted him, her touch sure and confident, a hard grip that knew he could take a firm touch. Her teeth gripped his ass harder, her hand working. So strange, to have her behind him, jacking him off, on her knees, biting his ass. Weird, but hot. Too hot. His head fell back and he gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the surge of desire flooding his body. She’d reminded him of the rules on purpose. No coming. Not until she told him to. No touching. He fisted his hands, fighting the urge to reach behind him, find her head, her hair. Maybe that’s why she stayed behind him. It would have been next to impossible for him to keep his hands off her head if she’d gone to her knees in front of him.

  As if she’d heard that indirect challenge, she pulled back. “Turn around, sugar. Let me give that cock
the attention he deserves.”

  Torn between eagerness and dread, he turned around stiffly. Don’t touch her. Don’t come. The words a litany in his head.

  Fuck.

  She licked the tip of his dick and the top of his head tried to blow off. His heart pounded so hard and loud he couldn’t hear anything but the thundering pulse in his head. One brush of her lips shouldn’t feel so good. A simple stroke of her tongue. She didn’t even take him into her mouth and suck him. She didn’t have to. And it was over. Climax rolled through him, uncontrolled.

  Shaken, he peeled open his eyes. With mounting horror, he found his hands on her head. His fingers tangled in her hair. His come dribbling down his thigh. At least he hadn’t come on her face. Had he? Her tongue swiped across her lips suggestively, her eyes gleaming like a jaguar, stalking him through a jungle at night.

  “Someone has been a very bad, bad boy.”

  He flushed, his cheeks catching on fire. Not because she called him boy—but because he’d broken every single one of the rules. Worse, he suspected she’d set him up on purpose. She’d wanted him to break her rules, because Mistresses didn’t go to their knees and give blow jobs to their submissives. Unless she’d had a very good reason.

  She wants me to fail. So she can punish me.

  14

  Caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, Colby stared down at her. His fingers tightened in her hair, rather than jerking away with shock. As if he’d decided he might as well make the most out of his infraction and touch her as long as he could. Maybe he was starting to understand how these games unfolded. Cat and mouse, luring him in, punishment—all, ultimately, to give them both what they wanted.

  Extreme satisfaction. Even for the man who claimed nothing could satisfy him any longer.