Page 47 of Brutal Prince

“So you’re not an asshole because your pinkie’s bigger than your penis?” I ask, blinking innocently at him.

Another laugh, but this time he deigns not to answer me. Instead, he glances behind us and then ahead, squinting like a cowboy in one of those spaghetti Westerns.

I must admit, I’m kinda glad I wussed out and came. Initially, it was just to tell Briar off — using my lack of pants as an excuse — but now that I’m here?

That same feeling of strange familiarity flows over me. I lose myself to my gelding’s rhythm, letting my hips melt into the saddle.

The breathtaking scenery helps, of course. Lavish Prep is built on a rise, and as soon as we crest it, the suburbs of Lavish spread out in front of us. Everything is so neat, so tiny and tidy, that it feels like I’m looking at a built-to-scale replica instead of the real thing. There’s a mid-morning haze over the town, and the sun’s warm light suffuses everything with amber.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I purse my lips, pissed that Briar dared to break me out of my blissful moment. But when I turn to him, he’s staring at me, not the view.

Did he…was he talking about me?

“Come on,” he says, before I have time to process the thought. “I’ll race you to the tree line.”

The tree line? I look ahead, narrowing my eyes a second before Briar lets out a loud, “Ha!”

His white mare — Princess Snow — lunges forward and breaks into an astonishingly smooth gallop. For a moment, sunlight washes him in a warm glow as he races down the incline. His shirt whips against his hard body, and he glances at me over his shoulder, a fat grin on his face.

My heart feels like it wants to explode from my chest. He’s a fucking good rider. It’s like he was born on horseback. He’s standing in his stirrups, ass a few inches from the saddle as he urges his horse to pick up speed, his entire body moving in time to the creature’s rocking gait.

My gelding tenses between my legs as if it wants to run after its friend.

“Ha!” I dig my heels into my gelding’s ribs. It whinnies at me and, when I loosen up the reins and urge him forward with my knees, he leaps into action.

Hooves thunder over the grass. The wind runs cool fingers over my skin and tugs at my shirt, flattening it against my breasts and tummy as I lean forward.

“Come on!” I yell. I slap the horse’s rump with my hand. “Ha!”

My gelding snorts, ducks its head, and speeds up. Briar made a good start, but since he obviously thought he was in the lead, he didn’t bother to push his mare. But he must have heard my gelding’s hooves eating up the distance between us because he glances behind him — still wearing that smug grin — and does a double take when he sees how close we are.

I grin to myself, and give my gelding another smack on the rump. “Ha!” Prince Charming flicks his head, and I give him even more rein. He rewards me by gaining another two noses on Briar’s mare.

I can almost reach out and touch Briar’s leg. But instead I give the two horses enough room so they don’t feel crowded, while keeping them close enough that they’d have to be wearing blinkers not to see each other.

And boy does the sight of Prince Charming so close on her heels give Princess Snow a kick up the rear. She tosses her head until Briar gives her some slack and then the little bitch puts a yard between us.

But she’s starting to lather, and I have a feeling Prince Charming’s just about reached the end of his gallop too.

I lean down, my hips sinking and rising with every stretch of the gelding’s legs, and yell out, “Come on, Prince! We can beat them! Faster! Ha!”

Briar glares at me, and I laugh as Prince Charming gains a little.

But then Briar looks ahead, and his face goes blank in shock.

“Indi, stop!” he yells, his reins tightening instantly.

I’m a little slower to react, because I think he’s pulling my fucking leg. So when I do face forward and realize Prince Charming is galloping straight for the fence that surrounds the massive stretch of grassy knolls we’ve been riding around on, jerking back on my reins isn’t good enough.

I dig my knees into his ribs, but even that only seems to encourage him. When I pull on the reins, but he pulls right back.

Fuck! He’s got the bit in his teeth!

How the fuck did I manage to piss off this Prince too?

“Indi, stop!”

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