WINNIE
Riding more than a horse
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"Let me work with my hands / If you wanna saddle up, just the two of us" – brELAND
***
The silence in the ranch house wasn’t peaceful, it was heavy, pressing down like a physical weight.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock ticked a slow, rhythmic heartbeat, the only sound other than the settling of the old timber beams. Pops was long gone, snoring faintly in the master suite, and Elise’s room was dark, the silence there feeling hollow now that she was halfway out the door.
It was just me, the oppressive humidity of a storm that refused to break, and the kind of restless, skin-prickling heat that had nothing to do with the weather.
I was sprawled across my bed, the sheets kicked into a tangled nest at the foot of the mattress.
The bedside lamp cast a low, amber pool of light, highlighting the sheen of perspiration on my collarbone.
I was wearing a pair of cotton sleep shorts that had been washed so many times they were practically translucent, and a ribbed white tank top that clung to me like a second skin.
No bra. The air was too thick for layers.
My legs were restless, knees falling open as I held the Kindle above my face, eyes devouring the words while my free hand drifted idly, subconsciously, over the curve of my hip.
The book was trash. Glorious, filth-filled trash. I was at the climax—literally—of The Duke’s Forbidden Governess.
‘Lord Sterling pinned her against the velvet divan, his cravat undone, his eyes burning with a primal fire. "You undo me, Miss Clara," he rasped, his hand sliding up the silk of her stocking to find the damp heat of her desire. "I shall ravage you until you cannot remember your own name."’
My breath hitched. My nipples were painfully hard, rubbing against the ribbed cotton with every shallow breath I took.
A heavy, liquid ache throbbed low in my belly, a persistent pulse that demanded attention.
I squeezed my thighs together, seeking friction, feeling the slick wetness dampen my panties.
The door handle turned.
I didn't hear footsteps. I didn't hear a knock. Just the sudden, terrifying squeak of the hinge.
I gasped, the Kindle slipping from my sweaty fingers and smacking me right in the forehead before cluttering onto the mattress. "Ow! Shit!"
"Graceful."
The voice was low, dark, and amused. I scrambled up, clutching the sheet to my chest, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Beau filled the doorway. And God, he was a vision designed specifically to wreck me.
He was shirtless, his skin glowing with a faint sheen of sweat and shower water.
His hair was messy, damp blond strands falling over his forehead, making his blue eyes look darker, piercing.
But it was the sweatpants that killed me.
They were gray, soft, and hung obscenely low on his hips, clinging to his thighs and draping heavily over the bulge between his legs.
The V-lines of his Adonis belt cut deep grooves into his lower stomach, disappearing into the waistband like arrows pointing to paradise.
He smelled like Irish Spring soap, rain, and raw, masculine musk.
"Beau," I breathed, my voice trembling. "You scared the hell out of me."
"Did I?" He stepped inside, pushing the door shut with a slow, deliberate click of the lock.
He didn't look sorry. He looked hungry. His gaze raked over me—from the messy bun on my head, down the flushed column of my neck, lingering on the hard points of my nipples pressing against the white tank, and finally landing on the bare expanse of my legs. "You look... busy."
"I was reading," I defended, though I knew my face was bright red.
He moved toward the bed, prowling like a large cat. The mattress dipped significantly as he sat down, not on the edge, but right next to my hip. He leaned in, invading my space, his body heat radiating off him in waves.
"Reading?" He plucked the Kindle from the sheets. "Let's see what literature has you sweating like a sinner in church."
"Beau, give it—"
"Ah, ah." He held it out of reach with one long arm, his other hand settling heavy and warm on my knee. His thumb began to rub idle circles against my inner thigh, sending sparks shooting straight to my core. "Let's see."
He looked at the screen, and a slow, devilish smirk curled his lips.
"Oh, this is gold," he murmured. He cleared his throat, pitching his voice into a ridiculous, breathy, high-society accent. "'Oh, my Lord,' Clara gasped, her bosom heaving with repressed longing. 'Your member... it is so prodigious.'"
I buried my face in my hands, laughing despite the mortification. "Stop! You're ruining it!"
"Ruining it? I'm enhancing it." He scrolled down, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"'He growled, his manhood throbbing against his breeches.
'" Beau paused, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Manhood? Breeches? Why is it so polite?
If I had you against a velvet divan, Winnie, I wouldn't be thinking about my 'manhood. '"
"Oh yeah?" I challenged, my breath catching as his hand slid higher up my thigh, his calloused palm rough against my soft skin. "What would you be thinking about?"
The humor vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a dark, intense hunger.
"I'd be thinking about how wet you are," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble. "I'd be thinking about how good you'd taste."
He looked back at the screen, but the game had changed. He wasn't mocking it anymore; he was using it.
"'He traced the curve of her bodice,'" Beau read softly, his own hand leaving my thigh to glide up my stomach. His fingers were hot, trailing fire over my ribs. "'His fingers seeking the rosy peaks of her desire.'"
He looked me in the eye. "Rosy peaks. Jesus."
He didn't break eye contact as his hand moved to cover my breast. He didn't just touch it; he claimed it.
His large hand engulfed me, squeezing the soft flesh through the thin fabric.
I gasped, my head falling back. He used his thumb to flick my nipple, hard, and a jolt of pleasure zipped down my spine.
"That's better," he whispered. "Real. Responsive."
He glanced at the text again. "'He lowered his head to lave her neck...' Lave? Like a dog?" He snorted, then leaned in close, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below my ear. "I'm not going to lave you, Winnie. I'm going to mark you."
And he did. His mouth latched onto my neck, teeth grazing the skin before he sucked, hard. It was a possession. A claiming. I moaned, my hands tangling in his damp hair, pulling him closer. He smelled intoxicating—clean skin and arousal.
"'Her center wept for him,'" he read against my skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers through me. He pulled back, tossing the Kindle onto the floor with a loud clatter. "Wept. Tragically vague."
He pushed me back onto the pillows, looming over me. His shoulders were broad, blocking out the light, his muscles bunching as he braced himself on either side of my head.
"Let's see if we can improve the vocabulary," he growled.
He moved down my body, his hands running down my sides, mapping every curve. He pushed my tank top up, bunching it under my arms, exposing my breasts to the cool air. He stared at them for a long moment, his pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue.
"Perfect," he breathed. "So fucking beautiful."
He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth.
The sensation was blinding. He sucked with a rhythm that matched the pulsing between my legs—wet, hot, and demanding.
His tongue swirled around the areola while his hand kneaded the other breast, pinching the nipple until I was writhing, my hips bucking off the mattress.
"Beau... please..."
"Please what?" He murmured against my skin, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down my sternum, over my stomach. "Please stop? Please read more about the Duke?"
"Please touch me," I begged, my voice ragged. "Touch me... down there."
"Patience, sweetheart. The Duke took three chapters to get to the good part. I'm just taking a few minutes."
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and panties. "Lift."
I obeyed instantly. He stripped them down my legs, tossing them aside. He didn't look away. He knelt between my legs, spreading them wide, his eyes fixed on me.
"So wet," he observed, his voice thick. " glistening. See? That’s better than 'weeping.'"
He leaned down, gripping my thighs with hands that felt like iron bands. He blew a soft breath against my clit, and I shivered violently.
"I'm going to worship you," he promised. "Every part. Until you can't remember the damn book."
His tongue hit me—broad, flat, and confident.
I screamed, the sound muffled by my own hand. He groaned in response, the vibration against my most sensitive flesh nearly undoing me right there. He didn't tease. He devoured. He licked long, slow strokes from my opening up to my clit, savoring the taste of me.
"Taste like honey," he mumbled, not stopping. "Like mine."
He settled into a rhythm that was pure torture. His tongue flicked against my clit—fast, light, precise—while his thumbs rubbed circles into my inner thighs. My hips lifted, seeking more pressure.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Grind on me."
He slid one finger inside me. It felt huge, stretching me, sliding into the slick heat. Then two. He curled them up, hitting that rough patch of nerves that made my vision blur.
"Beau—I'm close—I'm so close—"
"Not yet." He withdrew his hand and stopped his tongue.
I whined, a pathetic, needy sound. "Why?"
"Because I want to watch you fall apart." He looked up, his chin wet with me, his lips swollen. "I want to be deep inside you when you come. I want to feel it."
He sat back on his heels and shoved his sweatpants down.
My breath caught. He was magnificent. Thick, angry-hard, darker than the rest of his skin, veins spiraling up the shaft. A drop of clear fluid beaded at the tip. He was so big I wondered if I could take him, even as my body screamed for him.
He fumbled a condom on with shaking hands—a moment of desperate reality that made it even hotter.
Then he crawled over me, interlacing his fingers with mine and pinning my hands above my head.
"Look at me, Winnie."
I opened my heavy lids. His eyes were black holes of desire.
He lined himself up and pushed in.
It wasn't a slide; it was an invasion. He was so thick it stretched me to my absolute limit. I gasped, my body feeling full, consumed. He pushed slow, inch by agonizing inch, until his hips bumped against mine with a solid thud.
"Fuck," he gritted out, his head falling forward onto my shoulder. "You are so tight. It clamps around me like a vice."
He stayed still for a moment, letting us adjust, letting the sensation of being connected sear into our brains. Then, he withdrew almost all the way, and slammed back in.
The sound was obscene—the slap of skin, the wet squelch of our bodies, the creak of the bed frame.
"Better than the Duke?" he growled in my ear, biting the lobe.
"Yes," I sobbed, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Yes, God, yes."
He found a rhythm that was punishing and perfect. Fast, deep thrusts that hit my cervix and rubbed my clit simultaneously. He released my hands to slide his hand down between our sweating bodies.
"Come for me," he ordered, his thumb finding my swollen nub and grinding down.
That was the catalyst. The combination of his thick cock stretching me and his thumb rubbing me sent me over the edge.
My vision went white. I screamed his name, my body convulsing, my inner muscles milking him hard. I felt him stiffen, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he slammed into me one, two, three more times, spilling himself deep inside the protection.
We collapsed together, a tangled mess of sweat, heavy limbs, and racing hearts. The air in the room felt even hotter, heavier, but infinitely better.
Beau lay heavily on top of me for a long time, his face buried in the crook of my neck, his breathing ragged. I traced the damp muscles of his back, my mind completely blank of everything but him.
Eventually, he rolled to the side, pulling me into the curve of his body. He reached down to the floor, blindly searching until he found the Kindle. He tossed it onto the nightstand with a definitive thump.
"One star," he rasped, kissing my temple. "Plot was weak. Dialogue was terrible. But the interactive experience..." He squeezed my hip. "Five stars."
I laughed weakly, snuggling into his chest. "You're an idiot."
"Yeah, but I'm your idiot. And I'm much better than a Duke ?.