by Penny Lam
He stared at her. For a long, long time. The car cooled quickly with no heat, and soon her breath was puffing out in quick spurts.
“I don’t want to ruin you,” he ground out. “And I don’t want to make you feel like shit.”
Her chest ached, and she wanted it to be true. But she knew about abusive cycles because she’d lived through one. “I don’t believe you, J.B. I can’t. It hurts so much to be around you that I can’t breathe without wanting to die a little. And hope? It’s a joke. I try not to hope, but then you’ll do these things to me. Touch me. What am I supposed to think?”
He dragged his hand through his hair. He looked tired. Maple felt the urge to apologize. To grovel. But that’s how she knew she was right, so instead she remained silent.
“What are we doing, J.B.? Why didn’t you just let me leave?”
“Because I am an asshole.”
This depleted her. His admission stole any remaining anger or fight she had in her. Confrontation wasn’t Maple. Each time she did it, it left her feeling doubtful and empty. Doubtful that she’d been right, which usually led to her skewing the memories until she was assuredly wrong. Empty because if she was wrong, why did she keep trying?
J.B. admitting that she was right was worse.
She had to end this conversation. J.B. didn’t talk this much. Raúl had said it, and everyone else echoed it. J.B. didn’t talk, he definitely didn’t share feelings, and Maple usually respected that. When she didn’t, it always ended up like this.
“You push me to make decisions, J.B. To be definitive. When I’m doubtful or unsure you correct me. But this? This thing between us? You’re in charge. You always have been, and I want that. But you need to make a decision. Either we start admitting that--” she took a deep breath, fearful of saying it out loud, “--that we have something going on between us. That we want each other, and we accept all the things that come with that. Or you decide we’re not doing it. And please,” her voice cracked, “if that’s what you decide, let me go. Because what we’re doing, what you’re doing, is killing me.”
Guilt flashed over his face. It was quick and then erased, but it had been there. Knowing that he could feel guilty healed one of the many cracks in Maple.
“Step outside.” He didn’t wait for a reply, opening his door and exiting. It slammed shut, rocking the old Chevy.
Maple’s own door creaked as she opened it, unsure of what was about to happen. Fear slowed her movements. Was he going to hurt her? Leave her? She’d said to make a decision. What if the choice was to strand her near the New Mexico border?
Maple had said to let her go. She hadn’t meant right then.
He was on her side of the truck. It’s large metal frame shielded them from passers-by and the wind. There was a little bit of shuffling from the ponies in the trailer. J.B. hit it with his hand once, the ringing loud in the open Texas space. “Quiet down now, we’re fine.”
In their fight, Maple had forgotten there were five women along for this ride.
Then he approached her. Slow gait, but sure. His mouth was caught in a frown, and his blue and green eyes never moved from her face. Biting her lip, Maple backed away slowly. The truck stopped her. Before she could slide away from him, J.B. was on her.
His hand fisted in her hair and yanked her head back. J.B. brought his mouth, still frowning, centimeters from Maple’s. The heat of his breath brushed her lips, and she inhaled, drinking it in like water. His thigh pressed between her legs, lifting a bit. She was practically riding his leg. The friction of the movement ignited her core, and her body responded in kind. It didn’t matter that it was cold outside, or that she wasn’t wearing a coat. Her body burned for him.
She rocked her hips a little, grinding into him, her pussy weeping with joy, her limbs shaking in trepidation.
J.B. rested his forehead on hers, his eyes squeezed shut. “Forgive me,” he whispered next to her lips. Then he kissed her. His mouth was like fire. When their tongues met it was searing, and she moaned, melting into him.
Unable to not touch him any longer, Maple wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingertips clawing at his chambray shirt.
J.B. sucked in a breath as she scored his back with her nails. He deepened their kiss, his body moving as if possessed. It bruised her lips, and she hungered for more. His hand released her hair, trailing down her cheek, clawing at her jaw. He gripped her there, holding her face immobile as his other hand grasped her breast. It squeezed, fingers digging in until she gasped into his mouth. He thumbed her aching nipple through her bra and shirt. Her hips squirmed on his thigh, grinding.
Maple felt like she was falling. If not for the strength of his grip on her face and the support of his leg, she was certain she’d have crumbled by now. Of all the ways she’d envisioned this trip going, or the outcome of the accusations she’d made in the car, this was not one of them. No, she’d imagined the pain of separation and a lot of his wrath. Certainly not her body ramping up into an explosive orgasm.
J.B. eased his leg from between hers. Maple whined her protest, but a squeeze of his fingers on her face silenced her. His other hand left her breast and slid into the front of her jeans. The chill from his fingers against her hot pussy made her gasp and wriggle. She wasn’t sure if it was to get away from them… or closer.
When he stroked her clit, though, she knew. Closer. Much, much closer. She reached between their bodies and unbuttoned her jeans. She didn’t care that they were on the side of the road. Knowing there were five women who could hear everything in the trailer next to her didn’t slow her a bit. She needed him.
J.B.’s hand slid in more easily. He pushed two fingers into her. Her thighs kept his palm practically glued to her clit. Maple moaned. It felt so good. There wasn’t pain. There wasn’t torture. There was just the press of his body against hers and his fingers deep in her pussy.
He pumped her wet channel, finger fucking her with sure, deliberately slow strokes. Maple simpered. She wanted more. Rough.
J.B. was in charge, though. The hand holding her jaw slid down to her throat. her pulse leapt under the pressure of his fingers. They clamped around the soft skin, tightening their grip. Her inhales became wheezes.
Her pussy clamped down, ready to detonate. Sensing this, J.B. smiled at her. It was cruel, but his eyes sparkled with delight. Keeping her anchored by her throat and still mercilessly stroking her, he bent head and licked her neck. The air immediately hit his hot saliva trail, chilling it, making her shiver. Her core was so hot, but he kept licking her exposed skin in slow, sensuous swipes, leaving frigid prickling in his wake.
Maple’s nipples were so tight from the cold and her arousal that they screamed in pain. She was shivering uncontrollably. Those shudders ran all the way down to her core, where J.B. worked her deep, stroking the spot inside her that made her cry out. That cry was strangled by the hand on her throat. It was an ever-present warning that he was in control. He had all the power.
She was okay with it.
This was his answer. He’d chosen her. She didn’t know what it meant for them. There was just so much of J.B. that was still secret to her. She didn’t know how this would affect life at the ranch, her job, any new ponies--
None of that mattered. What mattered was that he’d chosen her, and he was proving it in the only way he knew how.
His fingers sped up, rocketing her pleasure. She was so close to coming.
J.B. bit her nipple. His teeth snagged it through the fabric, and he bit down. Hard. The pain sliced through her, and she came, her body jerking and fingers clawing at him as the orgasm rippled through her. She felt the gush of her release on his hand.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Take off your pants.”
It was thirty fucking degrees outside. The metal of the truck was nipping at her skin. I-85 wasn’t busy, but it wasn’t deserted, either. Maple still kicked her boots off and dragged her jeans down her legs. Goosebumps rose on her skin. Her soaking pussy was instantly freezing.
>
“Turn around and place your hands on the truck.”
She did.
He spanked her ass. It stung so badly in the cold that tears leapt into her eyes on the first strike. “What is that for?” She screamed.
“For disrespecting me.” She moaned. Unbelievable. But he wasn’t through. “Touch yourself. Now.”
She kept herself braced on one hand while the other slid between her legs. Her pussy was sopping wet, her clit still sensitive from coming hard.
“Good. Rub yourself and count the spanks. I’ll stop when you come again.”
She peered over her shoulder, eyes pleading. J.B. shook his head. He meant it. Her fingers began to rub furious circles over a clit not ready to be rubbed. J.B.’s hand swatted her ass again, the biting sting fresh.
“O-one,” she counted in a shaky voice. Shutting her eyes, she tried to concentrate on coming. There would be no faking it with J.B. He’d know. Her fingers labored, trying to prime herself.
J.B. didn’t wait. Another spank. “Two!” she gasped.
It didn’t take long. Until the count of six, actually. She felt she should have at least made it to ten. Her ass cheeks stung like they had freezer burn. But her fingers knew what to do, and J.B. knew her. Too well. Pain beget pleasure.
He spun her around and unbuttoned his pants, letting his hard dick spring out. It was swollen, so hard it pointed up, the veins prominent. She wanted to fall to her knees and suck him deep into her throat.
Before she could, he reached around, gripping her ass, his finger brushing her tender sex. Maple knew what he wanted, and she hopped up, wrapping her legs around him. J.B. impaled her in one thrust, pinning her against the truck.
His cock was deep inside, stretching her. Maple quivered at the fullness. His fingers dug in, and she locked her arms around his neck, her ankles behind his back. J.B. pumped into her. He fucked her hard, each thrust making the tires squeak and the truck shudder and groan in protest.
Maple let her cries of ecstasy be carried into the desert. As J.B. ravaged her body, she screamed. Her hot pussy welcomed the abuse from his cock. He fucked her faster. She couldn’t even cry out anymore, just grunted as each thrust pounded into her, nailing her to the side of the truck.
Belatedly, she realized she needed to say something quick. “J.B.--” she huffed as he refused to slow his pace, “--I’m not--” fuck, he was so good with her body, “--I’m not on birth control!”
This triggered J.B.’s orgasm. He pulled out quickly, his come hitting the truck and the ground. His teeth caught her shoulder and he groaned, biting down. Relief washed over Maple. Her body slid off his. She could feel his semen smearing into her backside as she struggled to find her balance.
“Thanks,” she sighed.
“Was that definitive enough for you?” He growled, but he was smiling. “Get dressed, we need to book it.”
A horn honked at her as she danced in the dirt, hopping up and down to pull her pants up fast. Maple didn’t care.
There was a new feeling in her. Not just the post-orgasmic bliss, although she certainly had that as well. This was something more than hope, even.
It felt like… happiness.
She didn’t know what to do with it.
Chapter Eleven
“The 2014 Annual Pony Bazaar and Expo!”
The sign whipped by as J.B. pulled onto an off road a few hours before Albuquerque. Anyone passing it wouldn’t know what it meant. It looked like a normal horse show, complete with the picture of an elegant mare striking a bold pose on the front.
When the truck made the turn off, it was a surprise. There had been no more signs, no ‘this way!’ or ‘turn right for show!’ Just a long gravel road. The last time she’d been driven down a long, gravel road her entire world had been irrevocably altered.
This felt the same. The trepidation built as the windows of the Chevy shook and rattled, and the trailer they were pulling whined and groaned down the gravel path. Around them the Sandia mountain range made a stunning backdrop. Sandy and red mountains jutted from the earth like angry fists, their age lines marking time in a way Maple would never experience. Their tops were capped with white, and J.B. had mentioned it was popular for skiing.
Maple had never been skiing. West Texas, at least near Silt Springs, was flat. Wide, open, and flat. She’d seen snow, and all snow meant for her was trouble. It’d meant going out to help shelter the cattle as a girl, and now it meant giving J.B.’s horses extra care. Skiing was for people with money and time. She had neither.
They pulled up in front of a mansion. That was the only word appropriate for the freaking castle built on the monstrous piece of property. This was more of what she’d expected when she’d first been plucked from her parents’ house and carted to Deyton Ranch.
It was three stories of opulent stone. There were towers. More windows than Maple could count at a glance. Even the front door was larger-than-life, a massive ten foot tall set of double doors made from carved wood.
“Holy smokes,” she whispered.
“Peyton’s home is a little grand for my tastes.” J.B. sounded like he was trying too hard to be nice. When she stole a look at him, his mouth was grim and his brow furrowed.
There were men in tuxedos out front directing traffic. J.B. pulled up when he was waved over by one of them. His window squeaked as it rolled down, and the attendant frowned at the glass.
“Ticket, sir?” The request was issued in an unbelievably snooty tone. Maple wondered if this was actually a movie set or a prank T.V. show. It was that over the top.
J.B. reached across her lap to the glove compartment. When his arm brushed her legs, her scalp tingled in pleasure. She was still trying to process what had happened on I-85. They didn’t talk about it after, and she knew that if she tried to bring it up, it would ruin, well, whatever it was that they had.
So she was trying to stay calm and just be happy. Confused by his change of heart. Horny as she considered what this could mean for them. Fearful of all the unknowns, like his past with Rachel and the future of the pony girls. Horrified that if he let her get close, she’d forget to be careful, and he’d discover her secret.
That could not happen.
The ticket was in the glove box. It was printed on heavy, expensive stationary. Maple peeked at it as J.B. pulled it out and caught the looping, hand-drawn calligraphy. Peyton Meyers, Esq., cordially invites you to attend his Annual Pony Bazaar and Auction…
The rest was written too small to read, and it wasn’t as if J.B. was holding it still for her. He handed it to the attendant. One look and he handed it back, his shoulders pulling straight and a smile finding its way to his face. “Are you here to purchase or sell?”
“Sellin’.” J.B. looked irritated. He tossed the invitation to Maple.
“Please pull around--” Maple tuned out as J.B. received instructions on where to go. She wondered how difficult it was for him to not be in charge. At Deyton Ranch, J.B. had the final say on everything. He left everyone to their own devices, but only because he’d already given strong and clear ground rules. The precision with which he ran his ranch and business was impressive.
The truck started to rattle forward, and Maple couldn’t peel herself away from her window. As they rambled along, she saw cars that cost more than a college education. Men in suits, their hair slicked back and their shoes shining. Women in long dresses and wrapped in furs, their hair meticulous and lips blazing red.
Maple looked at her own flannel and jeans, then at J.B., wearing an almost identical outfit. It wasn’t to be cute, just standard uniform for dirty work. Seeing the ritzy cars and glamorous people made her feel intensely uncomfortable.
She hadn’t had time to learn how to show the ponies before they left, and now she saw how much she already stood out. This wasn’t fish out of water; it was chum being thrown to sharks. “J.B., was I supposed to bring something nice to wear? Because I don’t have anything nice at all.”
“Don’t worry ab
out it.” His soothing, raspy voice put her at ease. When other people said ‘don’t worry about it,’ they were being kind. When J.B. said it, it was an order. So she didn’t worry. “Besides,” he let his drawl in a little, playful, “check the glove compartment. There’s somethin’ in there I reckon you’ll be wantin’.”
She pursed her lips as she opened the compartment. J.B. wasn’t coy, and he didn’t play games, so this felt out of her comfort zone. Inside were a bunch of papers, his registration, a first aid kit and… a small box.
Her fingers gripped it delicately, as if afraid it would disintegrate at her touch. It was feather-light and something slid inside. “What is it?” Maple whispered.
J.B. didn’t answer. He didn’t slow the truck or even look.
She slid the top off.
Inside was the pearl necklace that she’d lost. It was on a new chain. This chain was much finer than the one before. It was gold, the links delicate and muted. The pearl pendant was the same. So small, yet meaning the whole world to Maple.