She writhed beneath him, almost as beautiful as when she was furious. As he pumped, pleasuring himself in her slick flesh, he pinched her ass and then ni**les, looking for a reaction. She only panted and moaned, enjoying his touch any way he chose to give it.
He lost focus for one second, distracted by the scent of horses on her skin, and other people on the bed linens, and he came. He bucked and groaned as he released for the first time inside a woman. The orgasm was over too soon, and then he was done.
He pulled away, feeling sheepish. Had she…? She hadn't.
Brynn made eye contact, then glanced down at that sweet place where her thighs met. “David?”
He leaned down on his elbows and got low, kissing that part of her she'd so generously shared. She tasted of sweat, and as he pressed into his work, kissing and licking, the faintly musky scent of her intoxicated him until he was high, so high, and only Brynn calling his name as her muscles pulsed brought him back to the cottage.
He didn't usually smoke, but when Brynn offered a cigarette, he took it. As she smoothed out the rumpled linens on the bed, he smoked, enjoying the lightness the tobacco gave his head.
From the moment they'd sat upright, he'd felt himself falling down, down, down. Not into love. Not yet. Down into something else. Emptiness.
He'd wanted this, but like a child wants a toy, with no concept of the ripples his desire made around him.
Brynn had a life. A fiance. She had plans, and he'd disrupted them. For what? For two seconds of pleasurable squirting he could have accomplished on his own.
Disgusted, he stood in the tiny bathroom of the cottage, ashing the cigarette into the sink, the way he'd seen his father do it countless times.
He took another long drag, the cherry crackling with his inhalation, the smoke hot in the bottom of his lungs.
Brynn came to stand in the doorway behind him, meeting his gaze in the mirror. She had her shirt back on, and her matching blue eyes seemed brighter now.
While David's eyes looked hollow, his brow furrowed with regret, Brynn looked victorious. Magnificent. The winner.
It was at that moment David experienced a different sensation of falling—falling in love.
She grinned. “Such a shame this is just a one-time deal.”
He crushed the cigarette in the sink, glancing down to avoid her eyes.
“Was I that bad?” he asked, her taste still on his lips.
She laughed. “You think I'm going to believe I was your first? Oh, honey, you don't think I'm stupid, do you? Silly rich boy. Tsk tsk.”
He turned around, anger on his face and in his voice. “Brynn, you can be a real cunt sometimes.”
She slapped him, her fingernails stinging his cheek.
“I'm not stupid,” she said, her cheeks flushed red.
He wanted to take her clothes off again. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, be inside her. All of these feelings confused him.
He growled, “I never said you were stupid, just mean. You act like you're a real tough bitch, but you want the exact same things everyone else wants. That's how goddamn special you really are.”
She patted down her pockets, looking for her cigarettes, which were actually over on the bedside table. With her eyes pointed down at the floor, and so quietly he could barely hear her words, she said, “It's sure nice to hear that what I want is so obvious. Maybe you'll do me the favor one day of explaining it to me, so we can both know.”
Unable to locate a cigarette, her hands got busy twisting the tacky engagement ring on her finger.
“Brynn, you don't have to marry that guy. Not if he doesn't make you happy.”
She snapped, “What's happy got to do with anything?”
“Well…” He rewound the conversation in his head. What were they even talking about? What unmarked detour had they taken to be bottoming out on these washed-out roads?
When he met her blue eyes again, they were twinkling. Mood changed.
She laughed, which made him laugh.
He rubbed his hands over his face, as though just waking up. “I should be getting home,” he said.
“Just like a man,” she said, her tone light yet gently chiding. “You got the strawberry pie and you're done.”
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Gently, he pulled her to him and kissed her forehead then lips.
“I'll never be done with you,” he said. “You're in me now, a part of me. Brynn, I close my eyes and feel you in my blood.”
She melted against him, the swirling emotions around them both lifting like fog in the dawn.
“Oh, David,” she said, smattering him with tiny kisses. “You should write poetry.”
“I do.”
“Can I read it?”
“Don't ask me that.”
She pulled back. “This really was a one-time thing. Don't tell anyone, or I could lose my job, and I'll make you sorry if I lose my job.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” She turned and headed for the cottage door.
Like hell that was their last time.
The next week, David Smith Wittingham chased Brynn to a spare stall filled with hay. As she kissed him, both of them breathless, he pushed his hand down the front of her tight riding pants and found the crux of her, where he slid his finger back and forth between those plump furrows of flesh.
She squirmed on his fingers, telling him they shouldn't, they ought not to, but she never said no.
When she sought his cock, fumbling with his belt, he turned her around and pushed her ahead onto a raised bit of wood on the floor. With her riding pants down at her knees, gathered over her brown leather boots, he bent her forward and took her from behind, his own trousers barely loosened.
At first, the only sound was the buckle on his belt clattering as he pumped against her round bu**ocks, pale like moons. As his breathing grew ragged and audible, she began to moan and gasp. He clutched at her body, deep inside her, but not fully immersed enough.
He withdrew. “Take off your boots.”
“My boots are so tight. They're impossible. Just f**k me already. Don't be a f**king pu**y, David.” She leaned over, grabbing her knees, and peeked around the side of her legs, a twisted smile on her lips to soften her words.
He thought he heard someone outside the stall—another instructor or rider inside the barn. He thought about walking away, of saying he'd had enough as of now.
“I'm cooling down,” she said, sounding annoyed.
He glanced back toward the doorway, then down at that lovely body. Pale, creamy, lightly freckled. The center of her was deep pink and inviting. He fingered the frilly skin and spread her wetness back and forth. With a mind of its own, his c**k followed, and he plunged in. He wanted more, but he grabbed onto her h*ps and took what he could.