“Lesson one,” Xavier says, calm as can be as he tugs me toward him by the rope around my upper arms. “Expect the unexpected when dealing with an animal that can weigh up to two thousand pounds and isn’t afraid to let you know it.”

He walks forward as he coils the rope and reels me in until we meet in the middle, his hand around the knot of the lasso that meets right in between my breasts. “Lesson two. Listen to everything I say today and not just because I’m Master. Every instruction I give you is for your safety. Do you understand?”

For just a second, he seems to drop the dominance act. When he searches my eyes, I feel like it’s a plea that’s made as if we’re on equal footing, not something else he’s trying to manipulate from me.

I nod. And then wait for him to remove the rope from around my body.

Silly me.

Xavier steps closer and while he does slide it down over my arms, he only cinches it tight again around my waist like a belt. He loops the lead rope in his hands and jerks it once to draw me forward.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I balk, stubbornly resisting his pull.

He looks back at me, eyes narrowing. In the bright morning sunshine, the scarring on his face is clear, but it’s not that I’m focusing on. I glare at him, then my eyes drop down to the rope tied firmly around my waist.

He walks the few feet back to where I’m standing and lifts the other end, positioning it right over my backside.

I look over my shoulder, mouth dropping open.

The bastard better not—

With a lift of his eyebrow, he uses the tail end of the rope to give me a solid smack on my ass. “Get moving.”

I yelp and jump forward several steps.

That’s all the start Xavier needs. He moves back in front of me and tugs on the rope again, pulling me forward. He’s not even dragging me. It’s just a steady pressure, taking for granted that I’ll follow.

Path of least resistance. Path of least resistance.

I grit my teeth and trail behind him as far as the three-feet length of rope will allow.

“Just got a delivery this morning,” Xavier offers as we get closer to the closest paddock where a huge brown horse—the only one in a big fenced-in circle that’s separated from all the others by a long gated-off run—trots this way and that. He lets out a loud, angry-sounding squeal as we get closer. Xavier comes close to the wooden fence posts of the paddock but stops several feet away.

“I’m surprised he didn’t wake you up. Samson was raising hell when they brought him in. He didn’t like being trailered one bit.” Xavier’s focus is fully engaged by the horse now, his features a mix of concentration and admiration. I follow his gaze and watch as the great beast stomps back and forth. His eyes seem wild. His ears flick back and forth and he lets out occasional high-pitched snorts, nostrils flaring.

I initially came up to stand beside Xavier, but I quickly take a small step back. Up to two thousand pounds, he said. No, that thing does not look safe.

“Where did you get him from?” Even I can hear the quiver in my voice. Xavier doesn’t expect me to like, ride that, does he?

“The BLM,” he pauses when he looks over and notices my befuddled expression, “the Bureau of Land Management. They do roundups of wild horses sometimes so the mustangs don’t overwhelm grazing resources and water. Then ranchers can adopt the horses so they don’t spend their whole lives stuck in some BLM holding facility somewhere.” His gaze goes back to the paddock. “Or be put down.”

My breath catches as my eyes go back to the huge, snorting animal. “That’s horrible.”

Xavier shrugs and continues calmly, “No worse than hundreds of foals starving to death when there’s not enough food to go ‘round in winter because the population gets too big.”

I jerk my head to look up at Xavier but he’s still just staring out at the paddock, gaze intent on the horse there. I can’t ever imagine understanding this man. He’s entirely incomprehensible.

He taps the top slat of the paddock. “We’ll be back, Samson,” he calls out.

He starts walking, at first leaving slack on the rope, then tugging once when I don’t move quickly enough for his liking. His back is still turned so I permit myself a good roll of the eyes. Then I jog to hurry up and follow at his heels like a good little pet. Ugh.

Next he gives me a tour of the stables and other paddocks. I get to meet the horses, all of whom are far gentler spirits than Samson.

Also, horses are way bigger in person than they look in the movies.

Like, way bigger.

And I’m pretty sure Xavier introduces me to the smallest one first.

“This is Lulu. Raised her up from a foal. She was born right here in this stable. Who’s my good girl?”

Lulu all but breaks down the stall door of the stable in her excitement to get to Xavier. When he lifts up his hand to her, she and nuzzles into him. He leans in close and she buries her muzzle in his neck.

And Xavier?

It’s like a transformation comes over him.

Well, not completely. But his entire demeanor… I don’t know exactly how to explain it. He… softens. The hard lines of his jaw loosen. His stern brow finally goes soft. His whole body relaxes. It’s as if he’s releasing all the tension he seems to perpetually carry around as he scratches at the mare’s cheek and then strokes down her neck. Like I’ve been missing some key part of him until I saw him in this context with these animals.

“That’s my good, good girl.” Even the quality of his voice is different. It’s pitched softer with a gentle croon to it.

Though I can’t say I’ve never heard it like that before.

No, with a startled shock, I realize it’s the same tone he’s used with me after I’ve complied in the bedroom. Or… the bath.

That revelation’s about as welcome as Lulu seems to find having another female around her favorite man.

When Xavier tries to introduce me to her, her ears constantly flick back and forth. She blows out a loud huff of air through her nostrils, pulling away and turning her head toward Xavier like, who dis bitch?

I yank my hand back since I’m not especially inclined to lose a finger before lunchtime. Or, you know, ever.

Xavier clicks his teeth at her and she ducks her nose, chastened. She butts her head into him again and he soothes her, then attempts the introduction again.

By the end of the introduction, Lulu reluctantly sniffs me, which earns her a carrot from Xavier’s pocket. When did he get those? Looking down, though, I see his pockets are stuffed with them.

Guess he’s anticipating I’m going to be a real hit with his fan club.

Because it’s not just Lulu that he seems to have such a special bond with. He introduces me to a string of other animals, all of whom react almost the exact same way Lulu did. Ok, that’s not fair. Even as a person who doesn’t know a thing about horses, I can already begin to make out little personality differences. Though, by the time we get to the back pasture I’m not sure I’m getting all their names right.

There . Not Caddyshack, I double-checked. No, it’s Paddyshack.

Xavier tells me the stories of some of them. Pioneer threw his owner so hard, he broke his leg. The owner was threatening to put the horse down, so Xavier took him in. Several others are retired racehorses past their prime.

“Is Holy Hellfire one of those?” I ask as we walk past another low building—another set of stables, I’m guessing. As grouchy as I still might be about being led around like a pack animal, I have to say this is all sort of interesting. And Xavier’s spoken more this morning than during the entirety of my time with him so far. That seems like something to encourage.

He shakes his head at my inquiry, the right side of his mouth tilting. “No, he just spent his whole life being ornery.”

That surprises a laugh out of me. “What do you mean?”

“Ever heard of a racehorse called Bierbaum?”

“If he didn’t make Page 6 in the Post, it wasn’t in my sphere.”

He shakes his head at me. “Think Secretariat or Man o’ War.”

At my continued blank stare, he tosses his hand in the air. “Seabiscuit?”

“Oh,” I perk up. “Wasn’t that a movie?”

He draws in a long breath as if searching for patience.

“Okay, well just picture one of the greatest racehorses of the twentieth century. That was Bierbaum. And Holy Hellfire was one of his foals. Everyone in the racing world expected great things of him.”

“And you…” I look out in the direction of the pasture where we met Holy Hellfire, “or your family, bought this foal? Or your parents owned the mare or whatever?”

Xavier shakes his head. “No, I didn’t get him until much later. It was one of the wealthiest and most prominent racing families back east who bred him. They had all the best trainers work with him. But whenever they tried racing him… nada.”

He shrugs, lifting his hands. “He just wouldn’t run. He’s a dreamer. Too interested in his own horse thoughts or staring at the clouds.”

I pull back and look at him. “Really? Even with his dad being some super champion?”

Xavier keeps walking. “The mare had good racing bloodlines, too. No explanation for it. The family that invested so much in it tried everything from expensive trainers to medicine men. Finally sold him off to try to recoup some of their losses.” Xavier’s expression sours, the furrow between his brow deepening, which causes the burned half of his face to take on a menacing appearance. “That’s when things got bad for my boy.”

He comes to another paddock where two horses graze in the distance, a honey-colored one and another that’s a darker brown. He leans his elbows on the fence so that he’s in profile, the good side of his face toward me.

“His owners didn’t pay close enough attention to who they sold him off to. The new owners were bastards who thought they knew better than all the professionals. They tried to force him to race by whipping and abusing him, shooting him full of illegal steroids. They got a few off-circuit races out of him, but he was uncontrollable and more hazard than he was worth. He was found crazed and half-starved when the DEA raided a stable yard in Arizona. They were about to put him down when I offered to pasture him here.”

All of this has just come in a long stream while he stands, arms on the fence, looking out at the pasture and the grazing horses. He’s just suddenly opened up like a font of information. I’m not sure if that’s more shocking or the implications of all he’s saying.

“So…” I put together the bits and pieces he’s told me as I look over my shoulder and then scan the few outbuildings and paddocks all around us. Apart from the first separated paddock where Samson was isolated, they all create a loose hexagon shape. “You basically run this place to take care of old or abused horses. This is a horse rescue.”

I have to blink a couple times as the concept sinks in.

He doesn’t so much as twitch at my pronouncement. “Close your mouth,” he finally murmurs. “You’ll catch a fly.”

Then he starts forward again, delivering one sharp jerk on the rope to signal me to follow, as always.

Like I could frigging forget.

Yeah, he’s really got a heart of gold. The rescuer of all the poor, needy animals who also just happens to like keeping women tied on a leash like a dog. Right. Pardon while I go get a hanky for the touching scene.

I’m surprised when he actually opens the gate to the pasture. We haven’t gone up close to any of the horses except those in the stable who were securely closed up behind stall doors. But he’s just heading straight in, no buffer at all between us and the horses.

Um, hello? Doesn’t he remember lesson one? Two thousand pounds and all that?

“These are two of my gentlest, both mares,” he says, apparently not worried in the slightest. He explained earlier the difference between mares—females, geldings, and stallions. Geldings and stallions are males, but geldings have been castrated. I’ve been learning all kinds of fun facts like that all morning.

Xavier pauses to close the gate behind us. “Hot Lips is pregnant, though, so if she shies away from you, we won’t press it. But Sugar is the gentlest on the ranch. Some more basics. Always approach a horse from the front left shoulder and make sure to let them get a look at you before coming close. Never come at a horse from behind or when he’s agitated.” This last part he says sharply, looking me in the eye.

I raise my hands. “Got it. Don’t come up behind a horse.”

“Which side do you approach from?” he quizzes.

“Left shoulder.” Geez, he just told me two seconds ago.

“Good, and only after you’re sure they’ve seen you. Above all, horses can sense your mood. If you’re tense, they go tense. Breathe and be calm. The more you project calm and serene, the more the horse will respond to you.”

With that, he turns on his heel and starts across the field. Not wanting him to tug on the damn rope, I hurry on his heels. He locks the gate behind us and then we’re off across the uneven ground of the paddock. It’s full of divots and—oh yep, that’s a giant horse pie. I dodge out of the way and then jog to keep up before the line between us pulls taut.

He approaches the two mares with a carrot extended in each hand. We only go halfway through the paddock before the interested horses amble toward us.

These two aren’t frenzied like Lulu, though they too nuzzle Xavier first thing. Their huge, sloppy muzzles come for his carrots, exposing large horsey teeth.

Holy crap those are big teeth.

I can’t help taking a step back. Isn’t he afraid he’s going to lose a finger?

But no, he just keeps his hands out for them to nibble and lick at far after the carrots are gobbled up. A serene smile tugs at his lips. I take the opportunity to look the horses over. And wow, sure enough, the honey-colored one does look extra fat in the belly.

Pregnant.

Even as I think it, Xavier rubs down her left side and down to her belly, where he strokes her engorged stomach.

“How far along is she?” I ask, watching the gentle, almost reverent way his hand moves with the grain of her thick, coarse hair. Then I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Is it nine months for horses, too?”

“A normal, healthy equine pregnancy will be eleven months long. Hot Lips is six months in. And she’s doing beautifully. Isn’t that right, my lovely lady?” He scratches and rubs her some more, up and down her long body, from shoulder to flank. She turns into his touch, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He bows his head and cradles her long neck so that for a moment, it looks like he’s having some sort of spiritual communion or praying with the horse. I can just barely hear him muttering little noises of praise to her.

I can’t help staring on in fascination. It’s so bizarre to see this side of Xavier. I imagine him being as gentle with a little newborn colt.

Or holding his own baby in his arms.

The thought is a jarring one.

Because while I usually cringe at all things babies, the idea of Xavier holding a small baby is only… charming. Thinking of the giant man cradling a tiny baby? My heart goes all gooey in my chest at the thought.

I blink several times. I am not a woman who goes gooey over babies. Or men. So the combination should produce zero goo.

Luckily a huge snout headbutts the back of my hair, distracting the disturbing turn of thought. I turn to see Sugar has come up behind me. She nickers and snorts a big puff of air that blows my hair away from my face. I can’t help laughing in surprise as she noses toward me again, bumping into my cheek.

Holy crap, this is a huge animal. She towers over me and my first instinct is to back away. But when her big, wet tongue slips out to lick my cheek, I’m startled into another laugh.

My hands rise and I’m not sure if I mean to ward her off or pet her. She’s too busy nosing against the other side of my neck and making the decision for me. My fingers come into contact with her wet, snuffling nose. Then her tongue sneaks out again and licks my fingers. I squeal a little and laugh more.

I’m worried for a second that my shrill giggle will scare her off, but nope, she just keeps nosing at me, bumping me with her huge head, sniffing, and licking. I stumble a few times. She’s so big and obviously has no sense of personal boundaries, but I’m finally brave enough to follow Xavier’s example and gently scratch at the short, finer patch of fur between her nose and eyes and touch her mane. She seems to delight in the attention and bucks even more into my touch.

I don’t know how long I’ve spent just getting acquainted with her before Xavier’s pressing a carrot into my hands. Sugar immediately zeroes in on the carrot and there’s no time to really second-guess it before she’s chomping away at the vegetable. Within two bites, the huge teeth I was so freaked out by earlier tug the carrot out of my hand. Her wet horse lips slobber all over my fingers. I can’t help grinning at the feel of it and I go back to scratching at her.

“You’re a silly girl, aren’t you?” I murmur affectionately. “Such a silly girl.”

She finishes chomping the carrot and then goes back to headbutting me and generally trying to get my attention in any way possible

Careful to stand at her left shoulder, I finally loop an arm up as far as I can around her neck and hug her. She seems more than happy to welcome the affection. I marvel at the huge warm animal body tucked so close to mine. I press my ear against her shiny coat.

I had no idea… I mean, I was never one of those little girls who was horse crazy growing up. But I had no idea they were so… well, amazing is the only word I can think of to describe them.

I look to Xavier, only to find him standing with his arms crossed, watching me with an intensity that’s discomfiting. Hot Lips has wandered off and is munching on grass near the fence.

I straighten up and let go of Sugar. Whoa. How did I just let myself get so totally absorbed in her? And how long has Xavier been staring at me like that?

I swallow and give Sugar one last pat. “She’s amazing. A real sweetheart. What’s her story?”

“She’s a mustang like Samson. BLM rounded her up from the wild and I adopted her about a year and a half ago.”

“What?” I exclaim as she lands an especially sloppy lick all the way up my cheek. She was a wild horse? As recently as a couple years ago? I wipe my cheek and look at Xavier to see if he’s messing with me. But he looks completely serious as he steps up and pets her muzzle.

“Did they,” I wave a hand, “tame her or something before you adopted her?”

He actually gives a half roll of his eyes—my statement is apparently that ludicrous. “I’m the only one I’d trust to train any horse on this property. Besides, that’s not what the BLM does. No, she came here just as wild as Samson.” He nods in the direction of the stable and the front pasture beyond it.

Then he looks back at her and his face softens like it did earlier when he was with Lulu. “She just needed someone to show her she didn’t have to be afraid anymore. She was always a sweet girl underneath.” He runs a hand up her long nose, his voice gentling. so that I’m not sure if he’s talking to me anymore, or the horse. “She had to learn how to trust. It took a while for me to break through, didn’t it, girl? But we got there in the end.”

He bows his forehead to her nose like he did with Lulu, doing that strange communing thing where both animal and man are still and quiet for a long moment.

When he speaks again, his voice is still just above a whisper.  “But once I did, it was the most beautiful thing. You’re my beautiful girl, aren’t you, sweet Sugar?” Then his voice drops and he starts whispering things to her that I can’t hear at all. She nuzzles into him and makes little delighted horsey noises.

I swallow hard, uncomfortable all of the sudden. Does he look at me the same way he did when he first got Sugar? As another animal he just has to train?

Finally, he steps back. “All right, now that you’ve met everybody, let’s get started on the day’s work. Lulu and Pioneer still need to be let out for the day. Then I want to get started with Samson.”

Samson. The wild one. “You mean training him? So you just start straight off?”

He nods as we start walking back to the barn. I guess it’s obvious, but I don’t know. I thought maybe he’d leave the stallion alone for a day and let him just get used to the paddock.

You know, kind of how he did for me.

I cringe a little at the thought. God. I am not a freaking horse! Thankfully there’s not much time to think about it anymore because we’re soon back in the stable.

Xavier keeps encouraging me to interact with the animals. Pioneer allows me to approach him and touch his shoulder. Hesitantly, I rub down his left side to his flank. He steps and licks his lips and Xavier reminds me to breathe.

Yeah, I try that, but I’m relieved when Xavier takes the huge gelding’s lead and guides him out into the center of three paddocks that branch off from the stable. Except for the fact that Xavier’s also got my lead line in his hand, so, you know, again I get that feeling that I’m just another of the horses he’s letting out of the stable for the day. Because that’s not degrading or anything.

When he goes in to work with Samson, he ties me to a fence post.

“Stay,” he says unnecessarily after looping the rope around the post. He ignores my furious huff and pulls a baseball cap out of his back pocket, which he settles on my head. I guess so I don’t get too much sun? It’s always such a weird mix of caretaking and humiliation with this guy, I don’t know how to make heads or tails of him.

That goes double for the ‘training’ he spends the afternoon doing with Samson. I was expecting to at least get a little spectacle out of the whole thing. You know, like getting to see a real live cowboy break a horse. Isn’t that what they call it? Sounds a bit barbaric, but hey, I didn’t make up the term.

Instead, the afternoon just goes on and on and on endlessly. And all Xavier does is walk up to Samson. Samson starts stamping his feet and backing away and then Xavier walks back. Sometimes Xavier will snort and throw his head around like a horse. He walks back and forth in a manner a little reminiscent of Samson himself.

Is it odd to watch a grown man pretend to be a horse all afternoon? No more than anything else that’s happened to me since I got here. I take it in stride fairly quickly.

What really surprises me is that Xavier doesn’t even try to touch Samson or corral him with a rope or make him run in a circle—none of the stuff I feel like I’ve seen cowboys do in TV shows or movies.

He just spends ALL afternoon approaching and then stepping away from the horse. Oh, and I can’t forget the really long stretches where he and the horse just stand still and stare at each other. Xavier’s stance is never aggressive like I might expect—he just… stands there.

It’s mind-numbing to watch. I sit in the grass and make daisy chains out of the long grass, think of all the thousands of things I could be busy doing if I were in New York right now, and dream of how I’ll start my comeback once I’m done with this godforsaken place.

Maybe I’m already pregnant and we can get this show on the road.

My hand goes to my stomach and my heart jumps to my throat at the thought. Holy God, how could I even—no, just no. I can’t even contemplate that whole thing until it’s a reality. If it ever becomes a reality, considering he hasn’t even slept with me aside from those first two times.

I look back at Xavier where he’s locked in another stare down with the horse and shake my head. I can’t make up my mind if I want to hurry up and get pregnant so this can all just be over or if… my mind flashes back to the pregnant mare. Growing a life… inside my body? For God’s sake, that sounds more insane than anything that’s happened yet, and being locked outside in a dog kennel feels pretty damn crazy.

What’s Xavier’s deal anyway? He just up and decided he wanted a kid one day? So then he watches the news and saw my dad and figured I was an easy target, or what? From the little Mr. Owens told me, they’d obviously done their research into me and my family history. But why me out of everyone he could have chosen? Was there really no one who would have willingly had his child? How the hell did that whole thing play out? I haven’t given it much thought because frankly, thinking about it all freaks me the hell out.

But the more I get to know him… it’s impossible not to wonder why? Why does he want a child? For some horse farm legacy? Theoretically he’s got a lot of money to be able to afford the big resort and do what he did for my dad, but the man is certainly not flaunting it if he’s got it. And as far as I’ve seen today, these horses are the rejects, abused, and losers that no one else wanted. Not exactly a racing legacy to pass on.

Maybe he was just lonely out here all by himself with no one but the horses to keep him company? Or he has a terminal illness and he wants to pass on a family name before he dies?

My gaze shoots up to Xavier where he stands, tall, broad-chested, and confident in the bright light of the blazing sun. No, I can’t imagine such a larger than life man ill. Not just that, but I can’t see him as the kind of man who would bring a life into the world only to then abandon it. He’s just too damn controlling for that.

I breathe out and close my eyes. I’m just the oven. Whatever he does with the bun is not really my concern. I mean, I would be worried if I thought he’d like, abuse it. I’m not a monster. But seeing how gentle he is with the horses and even with me sometimes… Anyway, I’m sure the kid will be fine.

And I can go back to living my own life. Right?

I just… this was all a lot easier when it was in the abstract.

I fiddle with the grass and try not to give in to my more anxious thoughts. And Xavier just keeps at his inanities with Samson. After at least four more hours, which I can only guess at because I start mapping the sun’s progress across the sky since I don’t have access to a phone with a clock, Xavier finally says something I can’t hear to the horse. Then he backs up and eventually starts walking toward the gate where I’m tied up.

Right in time because I’ve got to pee like nobody’s business.

Except that after a brief break for lunch—which yes, he feeds me—and the bathroom, thank God, he’s dragging me back out for more work.

Turns out the afternoons are all about mucking out stalls. It takes fifteen minutes for Xavier to demonstrate.

I see how he keeps his giant, muscled physique in tip-top shape. He’s using a heavy-looking pitchfork to sift the clean hay to the back of the stall and then drag all the messed hay—read, hay that’s full of horse pee and poop—out of the stall to the middle of the stable. Then I get to shovel that into a wheelbarrow and haul it across the field to the compost bins.

I also now intimately understand what’s meant by the term ‘back-breaking work.’ It takes me what feels like an hour to do a single stall. I almost immediately develop blisters from using the heavy pitchfork in spite of the thick work gloves Xavier gave me.

“How often do you do this?” I ask breathlessly after hauling the damn wheelbarrow back for the second time. “Once a week?”

His mouth twitches in amusement as he calmly sifts the hay in Tornado’s stall. “Every day. Twice if a horse is messy. Pioneer is especially bad about stepping in his own mess and getting it in all his bedding.”

I just stare at him. “Twice a day…” He’s got to be kidding me.

But the way he’s standing, one arm propped on top of the pitchfork, implacable gaze fixed on me, it sure doesn’t look like he’s kidding. “This will now be your job. Once all the animals get used to you, you’ll feed and turn them out each morning, then clean out their stalls.”

I can’t help the involuntary step forward I take in protest. Or the words that spring out of my mouth. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

The only response I get is the lift of that damn eyebrow. Oh, so now Mr. Loquacious is going to go back to clamming up.

I lift my gloved hands and gesture all around us at the stinking barn. “I did not sign on to be some freaking ranch hand!” I toss my pitchfork to the ground for emphasis.

“You keep bringing this up—” His voice is chilly as he takes a step toward me and places his foot on the pitchfork I just tossed to the barn floor in my little rant. “—What you did and did not agree to in coming here. It was my understanding that your father was in dire circumstances. I was the only one in the entire world offering to help him. One might think you’d show some gratitude to the man who saved your father’s life. Your father,” his eyes narrow and his jaw tenses, “who was, by the way, busy stealing the pensions of thousands of honest, hardworking people.”

By the end of this small speech, I remember that oh shit, right, while I might have been lulled by the sight of the sweet horse whisperer I’ve been witnessing all day, this man can also go stone cold. And things don’t always go pleasantly for me when that happens.

“Right,” I grit my own teeth, looking at the floor and seeing bits of hay that I missed while sweeping. Oh my gosh, I’ve only been at this one day, and I already hate mucking out stalls with the fire of a thousand suns.

“Fine.” I kick petulantly at the stupid hay, scattering it over the ground.

Almost immediately, Xavier’s hand is underneath my chin, lifting my head so that I meet his gaze. “What I mean is that you need to abandon all your expectations. You are here now. For the time being, nothing else matters. It is you and me, and when the time is right,” his hand drops low on my abdomen, “the child.”

He says it all with such certainty. Like he has decided how everything will go in his universe and thus it will be so.

“Now, on your knees.” He nods behind me. “Elbows on the bench.”

I feel my eyes widen as I swing around to look at where he’s indicating. There is indeed a bench along the back wall of the horse stalls, near the spigot and deep basin sink where we do washing and fill up the horse water buckets.

He’s got to be… joking.

But with a sinking stomach, I know he’s not. How many times have I had that thought since meeting this man? Never once has any of the outrageous requests he’s made been a joke.

Just once it’d be really great if he could break that record. I turn back to him to check if maybe this time…?

Nope, the serious expression on his face tells me all I need to know.

Sighing, I turn around. Right before I can get to my knees on the hard concrete, Xavier tosses a horse blanket down.

Ever the gentleman. So I get to crouch on a horse blanket while he, what? Fucks me doggie style in a dirty barn?

Or would that be more accurately termed horsey style in this situation?

At least all the horses are out to pasture. I think it would be more humiliating if they were here to watch.

I get down on my knees on the blanket.

“Elbows on the bench.”

I comply.

Behind me, out of sight, I hear the spigot turn on and the sound of splashing water. Is he getting a drink? Or washing up?

I swallow and shift where I sit on my knees. I glance around the empty stable. I’ve still had so few sexual experiences. Especially since it’s Xavier, I have no idea what to expect. It’s impossible not to tense up while waiting for him to do… whatever it is he’s about to do.

But then, sooner than I expect him, his hands reach around the front of my jeans, unbutton them, and tug them roughly down around my knees. Next they go to my panties. He seems impatient.

Immediately his hands are on my ass, stroking the globes. He lets out a low hiss before grabbing them and giving a hard squeeze. I jump at the unexpected pressure.

He chuckles. “That’s right, remember Master’s touch.” He squeezes and massages my cheeks in circles, pulling them apart and then smooshing them together. Then he leans over my back.

“And remember how much you like it.” He pulls the cheeks apart again, squeezing extra hard. Then he lifts a hand in front of my face and shoves his thumb in my mouth. “Suck.”

I breathe in sharply but do as he asks. I suck on his thumb. It’s clean and has the sharp residual taste of hand soap.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises. Using the same language he did with the fucking horses.

That’s screwed up in a big way. Right? It’s not just me?

But then there’s something brushing at my entrance. Not his fingers.

Startled, I look down.

It’s a large, flat brush.

Is that a…?

A horse brush. He’s teasing my clit with a fucking horse brush.

“Grooming is an important part of everyday life on the ranch,” he murmurs. “A fine, gentle brush is a must on the most sensitive areas.”

He pushes down the back collar of my shirt and his lips descend on my neck. His teeth immediately nip as well.

“Of course, you still have to apply pressure to make sure the job is done.” He begins to move the brush in circles over my clitoris and I jolt forward. The bristles are still somewhat rough and I can’t decide if it feels good or disturbing.

But the way he keeps nibbling on the back of my neck and whispering in my ear… and how his other hand has begun exploring at the lips of my pussy, a spasm rocks through my body.

“That’s right,” he whispers soothingly, his fingers teasing at my entrance, massaging and dipping just the littlest bit inside. “You’ll notice the mare start to respond to your touch when you’re grooming her just the way she likes.” He presses the brush hard against my bud and wetness gushes over his fingers.

“Grooming can be a sweet time of connection between Master and mare,” his teeth nip harder still, right at the skin behind my earlobe, which sends shivers up and down my entire body, “because she learns to trust that he knows just the way she likes to be stroked.”

He dips one of his long, thick fingers inside me. “Grooming, just like all of horsemanship, if you’re doing it right, should be about trust and pleasure, for both involved.” He pulls back with the brush until he’s applying the barest of touches and then he teases around and around my bud, then up and down, then around and around. I gasp and press forward for more pressure, but he pulls it away again, at the same time slipping another finger inside me.

And then both brush and his fingers disappear. My senses go on alert. I wait to hear the sound of his buckle and his pants being undone. Instead, I feel something at my entrance pressing in. I startle slightly and his hand comes to my back.

“Shh, girl, hold steady, you’re all right.”

What the hell? Did he undo his pants and I didn’t notice?

But when I look down and crane my neck so I can see between my legs, I see that it’s not any part of him sliding inside me. No, it’s some kind of wooden pole with a… is that a condom over it?

I jerk forward and it hits an awkward, uncomfortable angle.

“Steady,” he warns, his hand firm on my back.

But when I look behind me and I see that holy shit—he’s feeding the grip handle end of the fucking pitchfork inside me.

“What the fuck!”

“Language,” he snaps, eyes coming up to mine, a scowl on his face. “Trust and pleasure.”

“Well did you stick any farm implements up a fucking horse’s cooch?”

I get the eyebrow lift for that one. “No, I am not into bestiality.”

I breathe out heavily. That’s a relief, at least.

“Bend over,” he orders. “Eyes closed.”

I lift my eyes to the ceiling. Am I really going to… I mean, holy crap, this is just beyond—

“Over. Now.”

It’s not a request.

I lean forward on the bench, propped on my elbows and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Good girl.” He pats my ass and then the pole continues its penetration.

My eyes flick nervously behind my eyelids. Those pitchforks were heavy. And he’s— I mean, he’s—

He’s fucking you with it, Mel. That’s what he’s doing with it.

Oh my God. Will the insanity never stop or even slow down for a second with this man?

And the even crazier thing? When his other hand not manipulating the pitchfork handle comes around to play with my clitoris already so sensitized by the grooming brush and his mouth descends to the back of my neck again?

I clench around the pole.

I’m turned on. To my utter goddamned shame and humiliation, I’m getting off on this whole fucked up scene.

“Such a good girl. Look at you squirting your sweet juices for me,” he murmurs in between suckling and nipping at my neck. Your little cunt is so wet for anything and everything I could ever do. That’s right, you’re doing so well. That’s riiiiiiight. It feels so good, doesn’t it?”

His finger toying with my clit is as gentle as the pole inside me is relentless. He circles the bud this way and that, then presses before removing the pressure entirely and focusing on the pitchfork pole. It’s so lubricated with my juices that it slides in and out, the ribbed rubber handle dragging along my walls and driving me crazy with each pass.

“My precious little dirty girl. Look how sopping you are. I’m fucking you with a pitchfork and you can’t get enough of it. Your little cunt greedily sucks it back inside. That’s right, clamp down on it. I know you wish it was my cock, but greedy little girls don’t get Master’s cock until they beg.”

His fingers come back to my clit, rubbing and circling and oh, oh God—

“I can see how much you wish this was my cock. You wish it was Master, bending you over this bench and driving my huge cock inside you. Just like the day when I first took this tight little virgin hole.”

His words, they’re so filthy and wrong. And they’re driving my orgasm closer and closer. I’m so close to the edge with how wrong and fucking hot every second of this is.

“Oh you loved that, didn’t you? You lost your mind from my cock, juicing right up and getting so wet for me. Your sweet little body was so ready from me to come and take what was mine. Just like now. I’m so hard I’m about to bust the zipper on my goddamn pants you make me so fucking crazy—”

The rod lands deep inside me and his fingers on my clit press down and I scream out my orgasm.

I’m still shaking and blinking as I come down when Xavier withdraws the pitchfork and tosses it to the side. Then there’s the noise of his buckle coming undone.

Is he finally going to…?

But when I look over my shoulder, it’s only to see him jerking on his cock roughly, up and down. The next second, he shoves up my shirt and then comes on my back. I can’t look away from his face. His features are knit in the most beautiful expression of pleasure, pain, and relief. Then he slumps over on my back, his long, hard cock sandwiched between our bodies.

Why didn’t he come inside me? It feels like rejection, as ridiculous as that is.

He uses the shirt he pulls off to clean up my back and then he pulls me into his lap a few moments later.

“Why?” I ask as he brushes my hair out of my face. “Why do it that way with the—” I gesture at the discarded pitchfork. “I mean, okay, whatever, you’ve got your own way of doing things, but still—” He’s got everything so jumbled in my head. “I don’t get it. Isn’t the point of this to get a baby?”

I hope he can see my confusion but not my hurt. God, I don’t want to reveal that. And I need to understand.

I’m not sure what I expect his answer to be, but it’s not for him to caress my cheek and then grip the hair at the base of my neck. He looks me in the eye, “Pet, my first priority is to have you out of your mind and desperate for my cock. You don’t get me inside you again until you’re begging for it, so the baby-making will just have to wait.”