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It’s obvious the freaking horse doesn’t want to be ridden. Of course he doesn’t. He spent his entire life roaming free, allowed to make his own decisions about what he was going to do each day, where he was going to go next, what he was going to eat and how he was going to eat it, where he was going to sleep—
His body was his own.
Before.
But then along comes this man.
Every day putting his hands all over you, demanding you call him Master, treating you like he owns you, body and soul… Making you question everything you thought you knew. About the world. About yourself.
It’s not fair.
I stare out at the mustang, willing him to hold true to his wild spirit. “Don’t let him conquer you,” I whisper under my breath.
Xavier hikes himself up into the stirrup again. Samson hesitates for just a moment before starting to shuffle forward.
It’s enough for Xavier to take advantage of. He swings his leg over the saddle and when Samson finally takes off, Xavier has the reins. He encourages Samson to keep going, but when he tugs on the left rope, Samson goes left until they’re riding in a brisk circle around the large paddock.
Xavier calls out loud praise to Samson as they go.
It’s both beautiful and horrible. Their bodies seam together in what looks like an unbroken line. Horse and rider—master and steed—connected in a single purpose.
I quickly turn on my heel and start walking away as quickly as possible, a clenched fist held over my heart against brewing hurt and rage.
***
“I got my period,” I say, staring down listlessly at the turkey sandwiches I prepared for lunch when Xavier comes in half an hour later. “I need tampons.”
That was a lovely discovery I made right after watching Xavier with Samson and went to the bathroom. Hello, Cousin Flo.
Goodbye hopes of this whole nightmare being over in nine months. And then I was flooded with relief, because, a baby? Like always, the thought of a screaming, squalling, shitting infant gets the same knee jerk reaction from me. Holy shit, just no.
Which was then followed by terror because what if Xavier was mad I wasn’t pregnant? Which was then swiftly followed by fury, because if he wanted me to get pregnant, then he should damn well start doing something about it!
And that was all just way too many waves of emotion to process in a three-minute period, so I stuffed my panties with toilet paper and then came to the kitchen to make lunch.
Followed by sitting down and staring aimlessly at my turkey sandwich. Yeah, this is turning out to be a real winner of a day so far. Can I have a free pass and just go back to sleep? Maybe claiming cramps will get me out of all the bullshit? Does this work like P.E.?
“Come with me.” Xavier takes my hand, drawing me out of my chair. Then he leads me up the stairs, all three flights.
“Lie on the bed,” he orders.
What? “Look, if you can just give them to me, then I’ll go downstairs, take care of it, and we can get back to lun—”
“On the bed.” The furrow between his eyebrow appears at my equivocation.
I let out a huff of air and throw up my hands but do as he instructs.
“You’re in a mood,” he says as he comes back, tampon in hand.
I close my eyes and throw my hand over my face. Oh my God, is he going to do something kinky with a tampon?
He pulls off my boots, then draws down my pants. I’m surprised he hasn’t responded to my dramatics with the arm over my face, but I don’t move it.
Let him ‘punish’ me or do whatever the hell it is he’s going to do. Not like I have a choice in it anyway.
I feel the bed shift when he gets up and then he returns a few moments later. Then he pulls down my panties and his hands are at my most delicate place, removing the no doubt bloody toilet paper from between my legs. I’m glad my arm is over my face because I have no doubt I’m going beet red.
Oh my gosh, some things were meant to be left private.
