Page 45 of Brim Over Boot
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my mind flitting rapidly through the events of last night. Is he talking about me stomping on his foot?
“All I wanted to know is if you’re all right,” he grits out. “But clearly, you’re the same Colton Darling as ever.”
Except I’m not the same as I was before. But I won’t give Noah the satisfaction of admitting he’s the reason why.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, forcing myself to believe the words. “So leave me be.”
“Fine,” he spits.
“Fine.”
Noah hangs up, and I puff out a breath, nearly slamming my phone back onto my nightstand. I hope no one can hear me screaming into my pillow.
After I punch the fluffy rectangle back into shape, I plop my head down and stare up at the moonlit ceiling above, trying not to remember the feel of Noah’s hand wrapped around my cock. Trying not to recall the sound of his voice or the sheer relief I felt when he trapped me against that table, taking away my option to flee.
I try my best to put Noah fucking King out of my mind.
And I hate that I fail.
Chapter 14
Noah
MyarmburnsasI hammer the last of the horseshoes into shape, the ringing of metal on metal feeling appropriately jarring considering the back and forth of my thoughts.
Colton Darling.
The man I’ve hated for years.
The look on his face when he came.
How exasperating he is. Always.
The way he went pliant when I tugged his hair and palmed his cock.
How fast he ran away.
The sounds he made when I sank my teeth into his neck. Did I leave a mark?
Shit.
I wince at the glancing blow to my thumb and refocus my attention, checking the shape of the shoe to make sure it’s level. Hefting a sigh that’s more mental than physical, I grab the rest of the set and head back to Brownie, the sweet-as-can-be mare I’m shoeing.
“Needed new ones?” a voice asks off to my right.
I glance that way and give Henrietta Brooke a nod. “She did. Her old shoes were worn enough I thought it best to do a full replacement.”
She purses her lips slightly, although she doesn’t look surprised nor upset. “I’ll add some goat butter to your basket. Made fresh just yesterday.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Let me add the butter, Noah,” Henrietta says firmly. “You’re doing us a favor here. At least let me make sure you’re paid your due.”
“Fair enough,” I concede. “Thank you.”
“Mhm. I’ll leave you to it. Come on up to the house when you’re done.”
Henrietta walks off, her light cardigan pulled tight around her shoulders, and I get back to outfitting Brownie with a fresh set of shoes. Although the Brookes are new clients, Brownie has quickly become one of my favorite horses. She’s incredibly gentle and far more intuitive than most humans.
