Chapter Three
PUCK
or
A Disgruntled Paddock Pony
I FOLLOWED ADAM over the grass to the paddock, where a diminutive, brown-haired woman in jeans and a green-flecked blouse led a tall ponyboy by his leather harness. The man’s sweat-slicked skin gleamed like oil-soaked leather, and his features seemed modelled after ancient Egyptian gods.
The unexpected let-down I’d felt after getting a close look at Andrew faded, now I was presented with this ponyboy in his gear.
That’s more like it.
I heard the jingle of metal and turned toward the other ponyboy in the paddock. In a moment, all thoughts of Andrew and the majestic, brown-skinned man left me.
Tied to the fence of the paddock by a rough rope looped into the ring of his wide leather collar, this ponyboy regarded me with a disdain. His vivid green eyes pinned me with animosity, as if he owned the ranch and I was an annoying interloper.
“Looks like Puck needs another attitude adjustment,” Adam said. “Oh look, here comes Kamal.”
Puck seemed to start at this information, his demeanor changing.
He tore his aggressive gaze off me and stared at the ground, where his scuffed boots were planted a shoulder length apart in the dirt.
I took a moment to scan Puck’s restrained form and found my mouth pooling with saliva.
He was delicious and exactly to my tastes.
“Adam. Who’s this?” The baritone voice came from behind me.
As Adam replied with my name and the reason I was here, I examined the swarthy older man. Ruggedly attractive, with salt-and-pepper hair and olive skin, what struck me most was the man’s absolute authority in this paddock.
He assessed me, then held out his hand. “Oliver. Glad to have you at the ranch. I see Adam’s already got you decked out in official BCR merchandise.”
“Oliver forgot to bring a hat,” Adam said.
“You’re not wearing a hat,” Kamal pointed out. “And neither am I.”
Adam raised his brows. “You’re just as oppositional as Puck. Maybe Oliver doesn’t want to end up with a sunburn on his first day.”
Kamal smiled, his face the picture of affability. “I dabble in photography myself.”
“Do you?” I said politely, although the number of times I’d had people say this to me and then shown me some very amateurish photos was considerable. I felt I should give this charismatic man the benefit of the doubt.
“Well, it’s a hobby. I might want to bend your ear once or twice.”
“Sure.”
“How has Puck been this morning?” Adam asked. “He seemed a bit peeved when we arrived.”
“He’s annoyed because I decided to pay attention to Justin instead of him,” Lorraine said. The other trainer had come close with the majestic dark ponyboy. She was stunning at this range, with a diamond stud in her pert nostril and a composure almost as authoritative as Kamal’s.
“Lorraine, this is Oliver Lambert. Our resident photographer for the summer.”
Lorraine offered her delicate hand. “Oliver, welcome.”
She turned to Kamal. “That hotblood is begging for a punishment of some kind. He’s been nothing but saucy all morning. I thought tying him to the fence might help, but he can’t seem to settle.”
Kamal gazed at where the black-haired ponyboy stood stiffly by the fence.
“He looks all right now.”
Adam chuckled. “Only because you’re here. You should have seen the look he threw poor Oliver!”
Puck’s shoulders stiffened, and his hands became fists as he stared at the ground like he wanted to murder it.
What had made him so angry? Surely, he was here for the pony play. Did he not like his trainer?
“Hotblood?” I asked. “Is that a horse term?”
Lorraine nodded. “Yes. It refers to the smaller, more high-strung breeds, like Arabians and Thoroughbreds. Gorgeous creatures but they can wear you out a bit.”
Kamal chuckled. “Puck’s a bit of a drama queen. And he likes to back talk. See how quiet he is now? He knows what I’ve brought for him.”
Kamal held up an item that made my knees go weak when I thought about what he was about to do with it.
It was a ponytail plug, like the ones I’d seen in the website photos.
Thick and solid, with waves of black horsehair cascading down from the flange, the object at once utilitarian and intimidating.
“Ah,” Adam said. “I see.”
Puck’s head swivelled and his gaze locked on the tail. He shook his head and tried to move away, but the rope attaching him to the fence prevented his escape.
“Calm down,” Kamal said, moving toward him.
“You don’t want an audience? You should have thought of that when you cursed at me earlier, when all I did was criticize your gait.
You want to be a pony at the BCR, Puck? You need to watch your tongue when you’re with me.
I don’t abide rude behaviour, and I told you that on your first day.
” Kamal’s voice, though stern, didn’t carry any aggression, simply imparting the cold facts to the recalcitrant young man.
Kamal gazed at Puck, then me, then Adam. “Can I borrow Oliver?”
Adam raised his eyebrows at me and shrugged. “If it’s okay with him.”
I gave Kamal a half smile, wondering what he wanted me to do.
“Perfect,” Kamal said. “Come over here.”
I moved forward and stopped where Kamal indicated. He walked to where Puck’s rope wrapped around the fence pole and untied him, speaking softly to him while he did it. Puck gave a pert nod, then a shake of his head, as Kamal held onto the rope at his collar and led him to me.
Those eyes shot lightning bolts, as if all Puck wanted was to smite me into the dirt. He frowned, his lips in a scowl, as Kamal brought him over and passed me the rope.
“Hold him.”
I froze. “Um…”
“Just hold the rope, Oliver.”
I exchanged a glance with Kamal and took the rope, grabbing it lower down. Puck was free to move if he wanted to. But he stayed where he was and burned lasers into me as I stood, confused and aroused before him.
We were a similar height. He was fucking glorious.
Sleek muscles coated with sweat, his fair skin spattered here-and-there with dark-brown moles that only proved how unblemished and perfect he was otherwise. His sweat-damp hair curled against his head with casual abandon, framing a Grecian face—full lips, aristocratic nose, and high cheek bones.
He had a barbell in his left eyebrow and right nipple, and a silver ring circling his bottom lip. He looked like one of the club kids from home, captured in this rural environment and out-of-his-depth. I’d lay wages Puck was an out-and-out city boy.
I tried to focus on anything but how ethereal this young man looked in his pony gear, because my heart was fucking breaking, and I’d only been here an hour. And Kamal was speaking.
“He’ll have to bend over. Can you support his shoulders, Oliver?”
What?
“Pardon?”
Kamal stared at me and smiled slowly, like he knew exactly why I was distracted in this moment. He put a hand on my shoulder.
“Oliver.”
“Yes?”
“I know he’s fucking pretty. And I know you haven’t been on the ranch very long.
But I think it will help you with your photography if you get used to being up close and personal with Puck here.
And I want Puck to have to suffer the indignity of having the resident professional photographer watch closely as he receives his ponytail for the very first time. ”
My mouth went dry, and I nodded, not daring to defy Kamal, and also understanding that I might as well wade into the deep end. I was here for the experience and to learn everything I could about being a ponyboy at the BCR, so I could capture it with my lens.
“Yes. Of course,” I said, finding myself the object of Kamal’s firm gaze after this unusual request.
Puck’s chest rose and fell as he absorbed our conversation and seemed to become even more agitated. I think he hated me, but I couldn’t worry about that right now, except to contemplate how unfair it was.
“Put your hands on his shoulders, so he can lean into you,” Kamal said.
I faced Puck head-on and reached for his quivering shoulders. As I placed my open palms gently but firmly on him, he sighed and shook his head back and forth with exaggerated movements.
“Prospero,” he said gruffly, turning to Kamal. “Prospero.”
“Drop your hands, Oliver,” Kamal said and moved in close, gazing at Puck’s bent head as Puck licked his lips over and over.
“What’s happening?” I asked Adam, stepping back as Kamal whispered something into Puck’s ear. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, but I think Puck just used his safeword,” Adam said.
“Oh,” I said. Because of me?
Adam shrugged, watching Kamal and Puck speaking in hushed tones. “It happens. We don’t really want them upset. They’re able to back out at any point. They don’t, usually. But sometimes they feel overwhelmed, and that’s fair.”
We watched as Kamal said a few more words, then went behind Puck and began to unbuckle the ponyboy’s armbands.
“He’s done for the day,” Kamal said, with no animosity in his tone, only mild disappointment. He finished his task and let Puck bring his arms down.
The ponyboy was still frowning. He didn’t seem any happier. He flexed his fingers and stretched his arms.
“You all right, Puck?” Kamal asked him.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m sorry,” the man mumbled.
“Sorry for using your safeword, or sorry for being a pain in the ass?”
Puck glanced at me, and he seemed to think something over. “Sorry for everything. I’m not ready to be done. Not yet.”
“Puck, it’s fine. You safeworded. You’re off the hook,” Kamal assured him. “The stable hands will look after you.”
“No. I’m fine!” He glared at Kamal. “I want you to”—his gaze flicked to me briefly as he spoke between clenched teeth—“give me the tail.”
Kamal stared at Puck for several tense moments.
So long, in fact, that Adam, who had been careful to stay out of things, intervened. “Puck, it’s all right. You’re not a failure for using your safeword. You can start fresh tomorrow.”
Kamal held up his hand. “No. If Puck wants to start fresh right now, that’s his choice. We still have an hour.”
Puck nodded, his face the picture of relief.