19. Kade
Chapter 19
Kade
In my dream, I’m warm. I’m content. It smells like fresh berries and a summer breeze. I inhale again and something tickles my nose.
My eyes open at the sensation, and I realize I’m not dreaming. A smile plays at the corner of my lips as I take in the scene.
The upper half of Presley’s body is laying over me, acting as my own heated blanket. Her head is resting in the crook of my neck, putting the top of her blonde head near my nose.
That explains the smell of fresh berries and summer. It must be her shampoo.
I check my watch, careful not to disturb her sleeping form. It’s just about five, which means I have to wake her soon, but I let myself indulge in her presence before I do.
The soft yellow light we left on in the barn allows me to see her even though the sun hasn’t risen yet. She’s gripping the fabric of my shirt in her hand like it’s a rescue rope. My gaze drags up the black and gray flower tattoos on her arms, and if she weren’t asleep, I’d give in to the itch to trace the fine lines of them, each and every petal. They’re beautiful, just like her.
A soft sound escapes her slightly parted lips, and I study her face. Unlike when she’s awake, her features are relaxed now, making her look younger and softer. When I see the bit of mascara smudged under her eyes from her tears last night, my chest aches for her .
Whatever our “game” helped her release, it felt important. And I meant what I said—I was grateful she’d shared it with me. But while I learned more about her last night than I knew before, it did nothing to quench my thirst for getting to know everything about her; it only fueled it. I want to know her past, her present, what makes her smile, blush, and curse…what she released last night that made her cry. I want to know it all.
I gently brush a lock of hair from her cheek and twirl a soft strand of it around my finger. Since my doctor’s appointment, I’ve experienced a whirlwind of emotions. I’ve been hurt, and in turn, I’ve hurt a lot of people I love. But there’s been one consistent thing: Every time I’m around this woman, I feel something other than rage and hurt.
And after what we shared last night…
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to be a gentleman while she’s sleeping, not wanting to make the morning wood situation I’ve already got going on worse. Instead, I think of what I experienced beyond the sexual nature of it.
I’ve done spanking sessions like hers before. When I was starting to explore kink, spanking was one of the first things I discovered outside of rope bondage. I enjoyed it right away. The control I feel, helping the person I’m partnered with explore the pain and giving themselves over to it, and the trust. That’s my favorite part of kink, and it’s been too long since I’ve gotten to really explore that aspect of it. Lately, everything has just been a way to get my own release, to be free of the ache in my heart. To numb the pain.
If I’m being honest with myself, last night was the first time I’ve felt this connected to one of my partners, like what she experienced transferred to me. Because despite the fact I have a hangover from the whiskey we drank, I feel…lighter. Like today may be a little easier than yesterday. The idea has my heart aching in my chest for an entirely different reason.
Presley shifts, snuggling deeper into me like I’m her own personal teddy bear. I grin into her hair and press a kiss to it softly. When she sighs, that contentment in my chest grows. Is it possible to feel this way about someone you haven’t even kissed? That seems irrational.
I’m sure if I would ask Gavin, he’d say I’ve never been good at being rational, but I disagree. He sees my anger as immaturity, but he doesn’t understand, not really. We’ve both lost. We both have insurmountable grief and have been through hard times. But he thinks my age makes me fly off the handle more quickly and make poor decisions. And while I have made poor decisions, so has he. I don’t think he truly gets that, even if he says he does.
Presley sighs and stirs again, her body waking up. I reach for the almost empty water bottle, wishing I had brought more with me. Normally, after what we did last night, I would have taken her to bed and made sure she had a full stomach and lots of water, even given her some ibuprofen. But we’d both been exhausted and fell asleep. I’m sure she’s going to feel a lot of things today, many of which are not pleasant. The thought makes the bit of sadism in me preen. As I told her last night, I like that she’ll feel me all day and be reminded of what happened between us.
I glance at my watch again and decide we do need to get up. I have an idea brewing in my mind—one she’ll probably hate—but I think, in the end, she’ll love it. I know we’ve both got shifts at Night Hawk tonight, too, which means we have a very long day ahead of us.
“Open your eyes, Lemon darlin’.” I smile to myself at the nickname, taking more pleasure in it now that I know she likes it.
Her eyes snap open, and she sits up way too quickly for someone hungover. She groans, pressing her hand to her forehead as her eyes close. I sit up and rest my hand on her shoulder to steady her.
“Drink this.” I hold the water bottle to her lips as she opens her eyes. She’s blinking rapidly, her brow furrowed, probably confused after waking up so suddenly. For a second, I think she’s going to refuse or try to grab the bottle from my hand, but she puts her lips to the plastic, letting me tip the liquid into her mouth. Her nose screws up, and she puts her hand over where I’m holding the bottle so I can’t give her more.
“It’s warm.”
I chuckle. “It’s been sitting in this muggy loft all night. If we get moving, we can get a good breakfast and cool water before chores.”
Presley’s eyes move to her hand over mine, then she pulls hers away as if she was burned. I try not to take it personally since she just woke up from a brand-new experience and is hungover. She clamps her eyes shut again, and as if she’s watching a movie, I see her replay last night in her mind. Her skin flushes, and then she grimaces at the movement of her butt on the floor.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
When her soulful blue eyes look into mine, they seem darker than usual in the low light. She purses her lips then takes in a breath. “I feel…” She pauses, looking down at her body then back to my eyes again. “…different.”
I school my expression to appear neutral, happy she’s not just running out of the barn embarrassed. That is what I would’ve expected from the woman I first met in the back alley of Night Hawk. But she’s right, she is different—or maybe she’s just more comfortable.
She rubs the back of her neck and stretches it from side to side then closes her eyes. She processes for another moment before she meets my stare again. “I…I, um…”
I quickly come to her rescue. “You don’t have to say anything right now, Presley—just let yourself have a moment. It’s normal to feel different after a big emotional release. Not to mention, you’re hungover and running on hardly any sleep. You should shower, get some food and water. Then, if you need to, we can talk more about how you’re feeling. ”
She tucks some loose hair behind her ear and nods in agreement, her body easing at the affirmation from me that she doesn’t need to figure everything out right now. She can just be.
I stand first then hold out my hand to help her up. Presley shakes her head, refusing my assistance. Still stubborn, I see. But maybe another session or two will help her realize that she can accept help, even if she doesn’t technically need it. It’s obvious to me that whoever was in her life before didn’t give a rat’s ass about her or her feelings. They tore her down. Her comment about staying fully clothed—and specifically the one about me not touching her stomach—has left a simmering rage in me since she uttered them. I’m surprised it hasn’t burned a hole in my gut.
Once Presley’s standing, she winces again, bringing one of her hands to her butt. She hisses when her palm meets the fabric, and I have the urge to kiss it better.
“I have some balm that will help with the soreness.”
Presley’s head whips around to look at me as if she forgot I was standing there. If I had a wish, I would want to hear what’s going on inside her head right now.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, clasping her hands in front of her body.
I give her a firm nod before I collect the things from the ground with her help. Once everything’s secured in the canvas bag, I turn my focus back to her. “Let’s go before Art or one of the other ranch hands finds us up here, yeah?”
She gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh my gosh. I didn’t even think about that last night. Do you think anyone heard or saw us?” Her voice is high-pitched with worry, and her body goes taut.
I close the small distance between us and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She tracks the movement of my hand, licking her dry lips as if she’s imagining them somewhere else—maybe on her pussy again. The idea of it has the blood returning to my cock. I clear my throat to try to will that image away; we have work to do. Later, we can play if she’ll allow it.
“Don’t worry.” I pull my hand back. “Nobody comes here except me at night. Everyone is usually in bed by nine, anyway.”
She exhales her relief and bites her lower lip.
“Come on. Let’s get going.”
I hold my hand out for her to take, the action surprising not only Presley but myself. I’ve never really been a hand-holder, unless you count the girlfriend I had in my junior year of high school. Presley regards it curiously, as if she’s never held a hand, either, but then, after a short moment, she places hers in mine.
As soon as our skin touches, the ache in my chest that seems to persist most days eases. My shoulders I didn’t know were tense sag, and I squeeze her hand in mine as if it’s a tether to reality. It shouldn’t feel this easy with her, but I don’t want to question it.
I tug her hand and lead her out of the barn.
“I’m not riding a horse,” Presley objects, hands on her jean-clad hips.
We’ve finished morning chores, which took longer now that we have an extra ten stalls to clean and horses to feed. Then I made sure Presley and I had a snack and some water before our next task. This one is more fun—at least for me.
“We need to start testing out the horses and evaluate them for guests.”
“You’re going to use me as a test dummy?”
I chuckle. “Of course not.”
The sound of hooves and footsteps approaching reach my ears, and I glance toward the barn to see Art with a tacked-up bay gelding .
I turn back to Presley. “I’m going to ride him first, and you can watch. But all the horses we bought are seasoned trail horses, so they’re safe. Some might have a little more spunk than others, and we’ll try to save them for the more experienced riders, but even that level of spice isn’t very spicy.”
“Howdy,” Art says, tipping his hat to us both. “This is Big John.”
Presley eyes the horse up and down. “You want me to get on a horse named Big John ?” The squeal in her voice has Art and I stifling a laugh. “This isn’t funny! What if Big John gets mad and I die?”
“Lemon.” I step toward her, not caring that Art is here, and place my hands on her shoulders. “Take a breath.”
She does as I ask, and it makes me feel great. Before yesterday, she probably would’ve ignored me and said she was fine.
“You’re not going to die,” I assure her. “We were told this horse is great for kids. I’ll ride first, and then you can get on him. Think you’d be willing to try?”
Her blue eyes close for a moment, and she sucks in another breath. When she opens them, she seems calmer. There’s even a small glint in her eye.
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she chuffs.
Art laughs, and I shake my head at her, clicking my tongue against the back of my teeth.
“Such a smart mouth.” Then I lean in closer to her ear and whisper, “But we’ll work on that.”
I wink and step back to face a very curious Art. He’s got an eyebrow raised at me that says, What the hell was that?
I ignore it, taking the split reins from his hand and thanking him. “Can you bring another one of the horses out for me in forty minutes? Maybe that palomino they said was for experienced riders?”
Art, still eyeing me, nods. “Sure thing, boss.”
I roll my eyes at him. He knows I hate when he calls me that—especially since I hardly have any pull around here. The only reason I know anything about the new horse is because this is one of the tasks I was given by Gavin during a short conversation that was only about work and lasted all of five minutes. He’d handed me a packet of papers with a profile of each horse and the information we were given on them from their previous owner, then he told me to ride them and get a feel for each one.
Once Art’s gone, I turn back to Presley. She’s staring at Big John like he’s going to eat her. The horse is just standing there, his tail swishing at flies and ears twitching.
“Come over here, darlin’.”
Presley’s eyes snap to mine at her nickname, and one of the hands on her hips shifts to reflexively rub at her butt through her black jeans. I can’t help the sly grin that appears on my face because I know she’s thinking about the first time I called her darlin’.
“You feeling okay?” I ask.
Presley glances at her hand on her ass, her gaze sheepish when she focuses on me again. Her hand moves back to her hip, and she blushes. “I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm. Do you need more balm?”
She shakes her head, cheeks turning pinker. “I’m good. It doesn’t hurt.”
“That’s good to hear.” I look around to make sure nobody is in earshot before I murmur, “That just means next time, I’ll have to go harder.”
Presley’s mouth drops open, but I don’t say anything else. I step back and throw the reins over Big John’s head, looping them over the saddle horn before I mount. He’s a big boy, probably over sixteen hands, but he’s gentle. I don’t have to be told that to see it.
The gelding hasn’t moved a centimeter since Art brought him out, and I didn’t see any crazy in his eyes, something I always look for. It’s easy to tell sometimes, like a twinkle in their soulful gaze that says, If you screw with me, I’ll buck your ass off . Big John has none of that.
The Texas sun beats down on my back as I stare at Presley from beneath the brim of my cowboy hat. She’s wearing her typical T-shirt and jeans with the borrowed pair of boots, ones I’ve noticed she keeps pulling at around her calves, signaling they’re too tight. I make a mental note to try to find her a different pair. She’s also got on one of my Texas Longhorn ball caps to protect her eyes from the sun. I really like seeing her wear something of mine, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t already dream up images of her in the cap, naked and on my lap with her head thrown back as she rides me.
I clear my throat and shift in the saddle. If I think about her naked any longer, this will be an uncomfortable and embarrassing ride.
“I’m just going to do a little warm up and test him out. Then I’ll get you on.”
“Kade,” she whines. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Just watch me, okay? Then you can decide.” I mean it, too, because at the end of the day, I’m not going to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.
“Okay, but I’m not making any promises.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, Lemon. Now watch me ride.”