Page 28 of Bucked By Love

His eyes flick from the horse, to me, to the horse again. I let the wheels spin out in his head and watch as a confused grin slides up his mouth. “Huh?”

I pick up the hefty book on my desk and turn it around so he can see the title. “Geoffrey Chaucer. Chaucer’s name sake.”

I watch as Ransom settles into his spot, leaning his back against the fence. “Read me some of it.”

I open the first page. I only plan on reading a few lines, but we stay on the phone for the better part of the night.

24

CLAIRE

Claire’s diary, September 8th, 2015.

Is there something between friend and boyfriend?

Friends who fall asleep talking on the phone?

Friends who think about each other all day?

Friends who sometimes kiss?

Claire’s diary, September 12th, 2015.

I had a dream last night.

In my dream, I’m riding Calypso in full dressage. Tight slacks, button up shirt, blazer on top. I’m performing for the Summer Fair. Calypso and I ride around the track, performing for a faceless crowd. They never once clap or cheer. They just watch as I perform endless tricks, unable to stop.

Suddenly, Ransom is there. He appears in the saddle behind me, his body tight against mine.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says in my ear. “Just listen to my voice.”

I close my eyes. I can feel his breath on my back of my neck.

With the two of us in the saddle, I’m forced forward in the seat. I’m trapped between him and the saddle horn. The thick, leather knob fits itself between my legs. Every time Calypso trots, the horn rubs devilishly against my pussy.

I squirm, dropping my heels, trying to get away from it. But Ransom’s body closes in tighter, pressing me harder against it.

I moan. The erotic friction is too much.

“That’s it, princess.” His breath hits my ear. “You’re doing so good.”

“There are people watching,” I whisper.

“Then show them how perfect you are.”

I’m burning hot. My dressage outfit feels like a corset holding me together. Ransom’s hands open my blazer. He grabs my shirt and rips the buttons off. My breasts fall free, naked and bouncing in the saddle. And I…

I like being on display.

His prize. His princess. His perfect, good girl to ruin.

I’m wet. So wet as I mash my cunt against the horn, openly rutting on the saddle now, not caring who is watching.

This feels too good. I’m dizzy with the pleasure of it, a slave to my own desire. My thighs quiver and everything in me focuses in on that horn. I grip his thigh. I dig my nails in. It’s too good, and when I realize I’m close I panic and tell him, “Please, I can’t take any more…”

He growls in my ear. “Yes. You can. Show everyone you’re mine.”

His strong hands grip my thighs, holding them apart. Now, I can’t escape. I’m forced to enjoy this erotic friction, to unravel…in front of an audience.

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