The Breaker (Erotic Country #1.)

by Lucy Watt

  He reached up and ran a thumb over her tears. ‘Stop it.’ He still sounded angry. But his touch was gentle.

  ‘I want you to wake up every day and think of me,’ she whispered through her tears. ‘Not him.’ She reached to the side table and took what was left on the little roll of silk thread. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and with shaky fingers reeled off another length.

  She reached for the hand that was on her cheek, took his pinky finger, and began wrapping the thread around it. She tied it off, brought his hand back to the bed head and tied it to the rail, taking the small scissors and snipping the end of the thread.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Restraining you.’

  ‘I could break that by breathing hard,’ he said, watching her hands work on his.

  ‘But you won’t,’ she whispered, taking the other one and doing the same. In moments he was tied, by his huge pinkies, with little more than a thread of silk, to the bed rails.

  She crossed her hands over her hips, took her shirt and lifted it over her head, letting her breasts fall into their own weight. She dropped the shirt on the floor and ran her hands over his chest. It was beautiful, strong and contoured. She bent down and kissed him.

  His bemused smile told her to keep going.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ she said.

  He frowned.

  She leapt off and rummaged in the kit for some elastoplasts. When she straddled him again, she quickly snipped a bit off and stuck it over his heart. ‘This won’t be suitable viewing for kids,’ she said, sticking it over Sam’s name. ‘She can join us again later.’

  Brett’s eyes flashed.

  ‘Now, where was I? Who was I? That’s right, I was Nurse Sophie!’ She grinned down at him. ‘Will you be needing something for the pain?’

  ‘No. I’d like full sensation, thanks.’

  She leaned over him, draping her nipples over his lips and reached for the iodine and swabs that still sat by the bowl on the bedside table. Then she set to work cleaning up the cut. He was, of course, totally distracted. She wiped the dried blood from his cheek and then dabbed more carefully around the wound. ‘How’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘I think you need a fresh swab,’ he answered.

  She grinned, leaned across him for a new swab and squealed when he bit her on the boob. ‘Don’t be naughty,’ she scolded, pulling away from him and getting back to his cheek. Something slapped against the back of her bum. She stopped. ‘Not again?’

  He nodded.

  She sighed dramatically. ‘What do you say?’

  He frowned.

  She cocked her chin to the side and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Please,’ he breathed through a sigh. Then he ran his eyes to the bedside table.

  She reached over, opened the drawer and found an Excitamax pleasure box. She took one out and inspected it carefully. ‘Industrial size,’ she said. ‘Natural colour. Excellent.’

  She moved back, took his cock from his jeans and slowly rolled it onto him. He closed his eyes and moaned. His fists clenched but didn’t move from the bed head.

  She took a one litre bottle with a squirty nozzle from the horse kit, held it up and read the label out loud. ‘A sterile lubricant for veterinary use, particularly obstetrical work and rectal examinations in large animals.’ She stared down at him. ‘Are you a large animal?’

  His mouth opened and closed a few times without speaking as he searched for the right answer.

  She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Hmmm?’

  He still looked lost for words. This was fun. She noticed his hands twitching at the silk thread, itching to break free.

  ‘Relax,’ she said, tipping it over and squeezing what was left in it over his tummy and cock with two hands. ‘Pain can be good.’

  She swirled the contents over him like Mr Whippy. Everything was a total mess anyway. And then she lowered herself down over him and sat still, stretching with the fullness of him. She took a suture and threaded it through the curved needle. Then she carefully pierced his skin. He winced and at the same time she felt his cock twist inside her.

  ‘Now,’ she said, as she pulled it through, tied it off and snipped it with the scissors. ‘This is going to leave a tiny scar. When you look in the mirror each day I want you to remember who stitched it up for you.’

  ‘I can’t even look at a bathtub without thinking of you,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’

  He lifted his pelvis into her and she pushed him back down. ‘Not yet, I haven’t finished.’

  ‘You’re cruel,’ he said.

  She pierced him with the needle again. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘Don’t ever forget it.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sophie was horrified when she woke in the middle of the next day, in a pool of sticky, half-dried lubricant. It was everywhere – in her hair, on the bed, all over the floor. She looked around. The room was like a war zone. The sheets were twisted in knots on the floor and the small lamp was on its side. A stool was also upturned on the floor. And what was all that white stuff?

  Baby powder. She looked down at herself. She looked like a rissole ready to be thrown onto a barbie.

  She sat up and groaned. Then she licked her lips. She was parched. She twisted around and peered out the window. Holy hell, it was, like, midday! She was supposed to be working. Outside Brett and Mick stood staring at a crumpled black ute with their hands in their back pockets. Mick was shaking his head slowly.

  Her eyes lingered on Brett’s arse, his legs, his everything. He was the whole package. She could gaze out the window at him all day. If he had a mobile phone, which he didn’t, she would ring him and tell him to get his totally fuckable self straight back inside for some more Smurf Daddy action.

  Instead, she leapt out of bed and looked for some clothes to wear. She searched everywhere but could not find her skirt. Or her shirt. Or even her shoes. Bizarre. She took one of the sheets off the floor, wrapped it around herself and made her way to the bathroom. It was small and doubled as a laundry. She looked at the mirror above the wash basin and her heart lifted. She went gooey all over.

  It was smeared with lube and baby powder and his paw prints. With his finger he had written, SOPHIE.

  She lifted her finger and wrote, underneath it, IS HOT!

  She had a short shower, smiling like a lunatic while she removed the glutinous dumplings that were forming in her hair and then set about finding her clothes again. She went through every room in the house, under the couch, in his laundry. What had he done with them? She peered out the window again, back to her own place and saw them hanging on her clothes line, neatly, teasingly, with red clothes pegs.

  She shook her head. Honestly. That was just so childish.

  Right now, she had to get to work.

  She rummaged around for some jeans of his, pulled them on, rolled up the cuffs and held them up with a belt. Then she found a t-shirt and pulled it over her head, simultaneously loving the smell of him and cursing the fact that she had no bra. As she pulled her head through the neck, she noticed the two tiny broken threads of silk hanging from the bed head and shook her head again. He needed more training.

  By the time she got herself outside, everyone was eating lunch at the table under the flame tree by the main house. Brett sat between Pete and Paul with a twisted strand of bailing twine in his teeth, showing them how to make a new cracker for the end of a stock whip. His face looked like a squashed eggplant and her stitches, like tiny black spider legs, just made it look all the more gnarly. The young guys watched and listened as he mumbled instructions through bailing twine and twisted with his huge fingers. With it completed, he began showing them how to attach the small twist of nylon string to the end of the red hide thong with a special knot. ‘That’ll make a good sharp noise when you crack the whip,’ he explained to them.

  Sophie took a seat opposite and Pete and Paul instinctively moved to a pair of chairs closer to the tree. They set to work, making their own
crackers.

  Sophie took the fall of the whip and ran it through her hands. The rope of greasy, plaited red hide ran over her arm like a snake and she liked the slithery but knobbly feeling of it. She moved her eyes to Brett’s.

  ‘Still having trouble with that filly?’ she remarked casually.

  ‘She’s trouble,’ he answered.

  ‘So is this colt I’ve got in work.’

  ‘Big trouble?’

  ‘Huge trouble.’ She let the end slide over the table as she stood up. With the whip still coiled around one arm, she walked towards the horse shed. She felt his eyes smouldering after her.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Writing erotic fiction under the pen name Lucy Watt is my devious night time job. In the day, I am a published author with a respected Australian publisher. I have published several rural romance novels in Australia and overseas.

  If Brett was your kind of man, please leave some a positive review on Amazon.com or Goodreads.com so others can enjoy him too. Yes, you must share him; in fact, he likes to be shared ;-)

  Book 2 – The Breaker’s Ex, is available on Kindle now. A sample chapter is included below.

  If you would like me to notify you when Book 3 is released, please drop me a line at lucywattef@gmail.com. I like hearing from my readers. Your email won’t be used for any other nasty spamming schemes.

  Download #2.The Breaker’s Ex by clicking on the link below:

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CG6W5UE

  THE BREAKER’S EX - SAMPLE CHAPTER ONE

  Sophie slung a rope over the neck of a bay filly and sent it up the loading ramp. Brett stood in the doorway of the stock truck ready to catch it. He wore faded jeans and a cobalt blue shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves and set off his olive skin. He had lost a lot of bulk in the three months he had worked at Stoneleigh, Sophie noticed. Working long hours on the station in the hot sun had stripped off the prison gym muscle he had arrived with and replaced it with lean sinew. He squinted into the harsh sunlight, took the rope from the filly’s neck and disappeared into the livestock crate, leading it behind him.

  She heard steel on steel as he dropped a pin into a dividing rail and secured it alongside the filly. It was the last of six to load, bound for the livestock depot in Brisbane. From there a transport company would take them to their new home in New South Wales.

  Brett hopped down the loading ramp and Sophie hit the button on the electric winch to lift the ramp. They simultaneously secured the door bolts and then turned to look at each other.

  They’d barely spoken all morning. Both competent horse trainers, it was usual for them to work quietly and intuitively alongside each other. But this morning, questions hung heavily in the air between them. Unspoken. Unanswered.

  ‘So, I’ll see you when I get back,’ he said. His mouth was set firmly and she could see his mind searching for something in her face, though what, she couldn’t tell.

  A limp smile was all she could manage. ‘Yep.’ She looked away, unable to hide the betrayal she felt. She couldn’t speak of it either. She didn’t know if she even had the right to feel like this. They had never really defined their relationship. Never set down any boundaries.

  He took her chin in his large hand and through it she felt the calm strength that she loved about him. She raised her eyes to meet his.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly.

  ‘Hey, yourself.’ She reached her hand up to his face and with her thumb, touched the inch long scar ran under his right eye. She had stitched it up for him one messed-up night not long ago and the mark that it left had become her stamp on him. It was a reminder of a wild night, one in which she had claimed him as her own. It had healed well but the neat line where the skin had knitted back together was still purple. It would fade, but never completely disappear.

  They stood staring like that without speaking and the questions gained weight as they remained unspoken. He had never really claimed her back; never given her anything to seal the deal between them, given her something on which to set any expectations.

  He leaned down now and kissed the corner of her mouth, pulling at her lower lip briefly and letting it go. It robbed her of the chance to kiss him back. ‘Be good.’ He turned to the cabin and opened the driver’s side door.

  She pushed her hands into her back pockets and watched him climb in. This was all wrong. Normally he would grab the closest piece of leather strapping and flick it across her arse playfully. He would put a welt on her that would sting all day and make her long for him to come home and play some more.

  The engine turned over and she watched him rummage around in the cabin through the side mirror while the engine chugged and warmed. What was she being so pissy for? She should go hug him. Kiss him back.

  But the foreman, Jim appeared by the door and talked to him through the window before she could.

  ‘You know where you’re going?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Rest up before you drive back, hey? You got somewhere to stay?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Brett, leaning an elbow on the edge of the open window.

  Sophie turned away and walked to the horse shed. Yep. He had somewhere to stay. With Suzie. His ex. The mother of his child. He always stayed there when he went to Brisbane. This was the third time this month. Boss Carney had a contract to supply twenty stockhorses to a station down south. As fast as Sophie and Brett could break them in, they loaded them up and Brett drove them to Brisbane. He would catch up with Suzie and then drive home.

  Suzie. All Brett had ever told her about Sam’s mum was, ‘She was hot. I seduced her. We had a kid.’ Oh and that she was a lawyer. So she was smart too. Sophie hadn’t minded at first. But then it had become regular. And then the phone calls started. Sometimes they went on for hours.

  Sophie knew she was being jealous. But she couldn’t help it. She became aloof instead of just asking him what was going on. If Brett spent too long on the phone with Suzie, she got up and left. Her small bungalow was just across the yard from his house.

  That’s how it was between them. Nothing was defined. There were no rules. And for the most part, she liked it like that. Theirs was not a relationship clogged with superfluous words. They worked and lived alongside each other. And they fucked. Hard. It was uncomplicated.

  But as Sophie walked into the shed she knew it was time to talk. Her insecurities were becoming a constant presence between them. It was stupid and it needed to be sorted out. When he got back, she would go over to his place and tell him she wanted to talk. Simple.

  She heard the truck roll out of the driveway and she set her mind on work. She had twelve horses to work. If she spent twenty minutes on each and worked without a break, she would get through them all before sunset. Then she would be worn out and sleep well, instead of tossing and turning all night wondering what Brett was doing at Suzie’s place.

  Well, that was the plan anyway. It seemed every single horse gave her trouble that day. They argued and shied and jumped out of their halters. They galloped away and refused to be caught. One bucked her off and as she pulled herself out of the dirt and charged after it, it swung its hind quarters and lashed out at her, narrowly missing her face. As she fought for the next hour to win its trust she knew it was her own fault. She was wound up and angry and the horses knew it.

  No doubt Brett felt it too. Sophie ended up in the harness room sitting on a molasses drum with her elbows on her knees and her hands in her face. Thankfully no one else was around to witness her screw up of a day. The shed was large and open and the breeze whispered through the room, touching the leather and sweat and earthen floor, mixing it into secrets and carrying them away. In the distance a road train groaned through its gears. Nance’s kids squealed with their friends in the gardens of the main house. A flock of black cockatoos screeched through the air. Cattle crooned. It was a good place to just sit and be; to let the sounds and smells soothe the tumultuous undercurrents of her heart.

  She got to dinner at the main hous
e late that evening and found that Nance had put a large plate of roast beef and veggies aside for her. She devoured it and then joined the other staff around the pool table for a beer and a quick game.

  She teamed up with Liz against Pete and Paul, the two young station hands. Liz was nanny and school teacher to the boss’s two children. She was also Sophie’s house mate and friend.

  ‘Has Brett gone to Brissie again?’ Liz asked.

  Sophie nodded and leaned across the table to sink the black. As she slid the end of the stick between her thumb and forefinger, she caught Pete staring down the front of her shirt.

  Well, at least someone was still interested in her. She arched her back and raised her arse more than she needed to. Little pervert. Give him something to wank about. Give her something to wank about. Fuck Brett. She slid the cue stick slowly back and forth, letting it brush along her breast, and then slammed the white ball into the black, potting it with a loud clack.

  ‘Nice shot.’ Pete grinned at her.

  ‘Thank you.’ The cheeky shit was flirting right back. She glanced at the top button of his shirt and wondered what his chest looked like. He was all angular and sinewy, not fully filled out, but his bone structure was there. His biceps were small but taut and shaped. His hands were large – he was like a puppy with huge paws, not yet grown into. She sighed appreciatively. Lucky Brett wasn’t around.

  Or was it? Would Brett even care?

  ‘Another game?’ Pete pulled the balls from the pockets and dropped them into the triangle.

  ‘Sure,’ said Sophie, letting her grip slide down the cue stick a few inches. His eyes caught it and she smirked and turned away. She liked games.

  Liz caught the gesture too and she rolled her eyes. ‘I’m gonna hit the sack.’