Page 17 of Auctioned to Dr. Daddy

When that had failed, she had started trying to get checks signed and things bought.

Emma’s just after my money. As it turns out, she always has been. But Demi— I don’t get that feeling with her. I feel like we’re supposed to be out here together. Like it’s a bit more than just luck that had her stepping up onto that stage.

I can’t resist reaching out and touching her again, even though the turn comes into view, and I have to steer the car down the length of the driveway.

When people think of farms, they think of dirt roads, worn-down barns, and old farmhouses.

Apple Green is nothing like that.

The road leading up to the farm has been paved recently and framed on either side by two luscious pastures. There’s a large, hand-painted sign bearing an apple tree and the farm name, almost marking the end of the drive.

“Not a bad-looking place,” I say as I turn to Demi.

The comment is absent. She shifts a little bit, giving me more room to pet and touch.

How far can I take this?

I want to take it far, to stroke over her panties, fingers to the cotton. I want to know if she’s as achingly turned on as I am, if she’s as wet as I am hard.

But this is the first time that I’ve been out with her, and I also want things to happen—you know, not in the car, in the middle of the driveway.

It’s a hard decision to make. My fingers stop just shy of her pantie line.

I can feel the heat of her skin underneath the stroking of my fingers. Can feel the pulsing of her thigh.

She lets out a shuddering breath. “Fuck.”

“Not quite,” I tease her, fingers stroking back up toward her knee, blunt nails running over her skin. “But I think that we might be able to put something like that on the table.”

It’s late out, the sky painted in hues of twilight. It just gives the farm a more beautiful glint to it.

The red clay dirt of the riding ring is empty and freshly grated. The white signs marking out the distances for the dressage course glint in the late light; the metal of the stand lights around it doing the same.

I can see why Demi likes the place.

It feels different from the city, secluded in a way that I hadn’t been expecting. Like the whole world is condensed into two locations: on the farm, and off of it.

She breathes out hard, and directs me through the bend, around one of the large, well-tended oak trees, and toward what amounts to the guest house on the backside of the property.

Despite not being a main building, the house itself is still pretty amazing.

It’s a one-floor house, with white-painted wood walls on the outside, and a large horse paddock directly across from it.

“Lightning!” she says and points at the horse, explaining that he’s the farm’s breeding stallion.

The big gray Dutch Warmblood comes trotting up to the fence line at the sight of the unfamiliar car pulling in. A row of electric wire is run over the top board, to keep him from coming through it.

His ears prick up, but when he realizes that it’s just Demi in a different vehicle than usual, the stallion loses interest and turns back to finish his late evening grazing.

“He’s big,” I say, eyeing the horse up as I get out of the car. There’s an almost disappointed air clinging to me.

I can’t help it.

Having to stop touching Demi so we could get out of the car should be some sort of a crime. I want to put my hands back on her, right now.

I want to feel her shuddering under my touch.

I want to see her come undone all over again.

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