Page 22 of Trussed In Hope
Finding water and a Mr. Goodbar, I went back to the bedroom. I unhooked her hands before cuddling up to her. I kissed her lips until she kissed me back. I chuckled and kissed her one last time.
“I need you hydrated, sweet kitten.”
Emberlynn struggled to sit up, and I helped her. She leaned in for another kiss, and I obliged. She drank, and I fed her chocolate from my mouth to give me more reasons to kiss her. She moaned, and I looked at the clock. It was going on noon, and I needed to decide if we were keeping our plans for today or spending the day in bed. I nibbled her chin, and she relaxed into my hold.
“You hurt me,” she whispered.
“Yes, and I fucking loved it,” I responded between kisses to her body.
“I’m glad that you did.” She sighed, and I knew her body was reawakening.
Her hands fisted my shirt, and it pleased me she was ready again. She would be sore for days if she kept this up.
“I’m glad that you did too.” I moaned.
“But I didn’t.” She buried her face in a pillow.
“Oh, but you did.”
“What are you doing to me?” she whined when I kissed her hip.
“You have no fucking idea how much more I am going to do to you.”
“But…”
“Shhhh….” I hushed her, but my smile was even more sadistic than the last time. I didn’t know if there was enough time to scratch my itch. We had days left on this trip, but was it enough time to explore everything we needed for something real to be the result?
Emberlynn was the full package. Beautiful, smart, feminine energy, caring, damn good in bed, and I couldn’t forget that she’d made my breakfast just right. I couldn’t find a single thing wrong with her. Our differences only allowed us to seek the other out, leaning there for support.
Part of me wanted to find the flaws so it wouldn’t hurt so much when this was over. Instead, I kept finding new ways to enjoy Emberlynn. The way she felt when we’d been on the couch together resting was amazing. When she tucked under my chin, her arms wrapped around me like she was meant to be there.
Caressing her soft skin, I wondered, not for the first time, what it would take to make her mine.
HARDISON
The morning sun sat low over the ridge, turning the fields gold and catching in the dust that rose off the dry earth as I walked the fence line. A clipboard rested against my forearm, pencil tucked behind my ear. I’d spent five days settling in. Now it was time to really see what I was working with—learning where the tools were kept, how the barn doors stuck if you didn’t lift them just right, and which lights in the tack room flickered when they hummed on.
The cattle milled lazily in the pasture beyond, hides glossy and their eyes clear. Somebody had cared for them properly before they changed hands. I made notes about the salt block needing to be replaced, the water trough half full. Nothing pressing.
The goats were next, bleating at my presence as though they expected me to come bearing treats. “Don’t start with me,” I muttered before winking in their direction, scribblingcheckfeed orderacross the sheet. Their coats shone, hooves looked trimmed. Easy enough.
But it was the horses that slowed me down. I leaned against the gate, eyes sweeping over the small herd. Good weight on them. Shiny coats. Someone had brushed them regularly. I jotted downworming schedule?and then my gaze snagged on the last one in line.
Tall, dark bay, nearly black in the shade of the barn. His coat gleamed like oiled leather, muscles shifting under his skin with every step. He didn’t crowd the others, didn’t come trotting over for attention, either. Just stood watching me like he was measuring me up.
“Now who the hell are you?” I posed.
I glanced over at the name board posted, not seeing one next to his description. I wondered why, but decided that now was as good a time as any to see what he was about.
I unlatched the gate, slow and steadily, keeping my movements calm as I stepped into the pen. Two other horses nosed toward me, hopeful for grain, but I passed them by. My boots crunched in the straw as I made my way to the bay. The horse flicked an ear, nostrils flaring, but he didn’t back away. A challenge.
I stretched out a hand, letting him snuffle my knuckles. Warm breath ghosted over my skin. “You've got some fire in you, don’t you?”
The clipboard was forgotten on a fence post. I fetched a halter and lead, slipped it over his head with little fuss. His muscles bunched as he shifted his weight, but he didn’t fight. I led him out of the pen, testing his manners at the gate. Good. Patient. Respectful.
In the corral, I cinched a saddle onto his broad back, half expecting a buck or a shy. He rolled his eyes at me, but stoodsteady. I chuckled under my breath. “All right, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I swung up into the saddle, wincing a little when I lifted my injured leg over. He shifted under me, powerful but controlled, moving like a coiled spring waiting to be let loose. We walked, trotted, then pushed into a lope. He stretched out as if he’d been waiting for someone to give him permission, hooves pounding into the packed earth, mane whipping against my hands. The world narrowed to the rhythm of the horse beneath me, the clean air in my lungs, and the wide-open blue sky overhead. When I finally slowed him, bringing him down to a walk, my chest was heaving with more than just exertion.
