Page 147 of Saddle and Scent
Her hand slides down her body, disappearing beneath the waistband of her shorts. The first touch makes her gasp, hips jerking up involuntarily. In the mirror, I can see everything—the desperation on her face, the way her body moves, the slick evidence of her arousal.
"That's it. Good girl." The endearment slips out without thought, but she doesn't protest. If anything, she presses harder against her own fingers.
"You look so good like this, Juniper. Do you see it?"
She nods, eyes locked on her reflection. I keep talking, letting my voice guide her.
"Good. Don't stop."
Our eyes meet in the mirror, and something electric passes between us. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted, skin flushed with arousal. She looks debauched. Perfect. Mine.
No. Not mine. Not yet.
But the want is there, clear as day. She wants me to touch her, to take over, to give her what her body is screaming for. I can see it in every line of her frame, smell it in the air between us. And fuck if I don't want the same thing.
"Spread your legs for me," I say, voice dropping to pure gravel.
She obeys instantly, shorts soaked and clinging. The sight nearly breaks my control. She's drenched, swollen, ready. All for me, even if she won't admit it yet.
"Take your shorts off."
Her hands shake as she complies, peeling the wet fabric down and tossing it aside. Now she's bare from the waist down, spread out like a feast. The mirror shows everything—the pink of her cunt, the way she glistens with arousal, the tremor in her thighs.
"Touch yourself. Like before."
This time there's no hesitation. Her fingers find her clit, circling with growing confidence. The shame is still there—I can see it lurking in her eyes—but it's drowned out by pure need. She's close already, body primed and ready.
I watch her in the mirror, drinking in every detail. The way her chest heaves with each breath. The roll of her hips as she chases sensation. The way her free hand clutches at the sheets, seeking anchor.
My own arousal is painful now, cock straining against my jeans, but I ignore it. This is about her. About giving her what she needs without taking anything in return. Even if it kills me.
"Come on, Juniper," I encourage when I see her getting close. "Let go. I've got you."
She comes with a cry that echoes off the walls, body convulsing with the force of it. I watch her ride it out, watch pleasure transform her face, watch her surrender to sensation completely.
When it's over, she's limp and panting, a satisfied sprawl of limbs and sweat-dampened skin. But there's something different in her eyes now. Not just relief, but determination.
"Again?" she asks, and the word is a challenge.
My control finally cracks, just a little. A real grin spreads across my face.
"You sure?"
"Yes." There's heat in that single word. Promise. Threat. Invitation.
Our scents mingle in the air—her sweetness and my earth and rain combining into something intoxicating. It fills the room, fills our lungs, creates a feedback loop of arousal that has her squirming already.
I meet her eyes, let her see the hunger I've been hiding. Let her see what she does to me, how much I want her, how hard it is to hold back.
"You better be able to finish what you started, Bell," I warn, trying for stern but landing somewhere closer to desperate.
For the first time since she arrived at the ranch, Juniper Bell smiles at me. Really smiles, not the tight, polite things she usually offers. This smile is wicked and wanting and absolutely devastating.
"Challenge accepted."
Fuck.
I'm in so much trouble.
