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Instead he pulls away. “It was nothing. Let’s get back to sleep. Just a couple hours before we have to be up.”
He tugs me back to lie down with him.
In control again.
I can’t help my frown.
For a few minutes, I was seeing beneath that damn shield he keeps up around himself at all times.
He’s so big on trust, but he’s never willing to give me anything of himself in return. How is that fair?
And you? What have you been giving him lately?
I scoff back at my stupid internal voice. I’ve given him so much. I eat from his damn hand. I do all the stupid farm chores he asks of me. I don’t complain when he tells me to do this or do that.
But, what about you? Have you really given him you, your real, true self?
Well hell no, I haven’t. That was the whole point. I was always going to keep the core of me to myself. He was never supposed to be able to touch it.
So I guess I shouldn’t balk when he’s not willing to reciprocate or do so in return.
Then why is there this stinging ache in my chest at the space between us that feels more and more like an empty chasm?
I barely sleep a wink and am tired all the next day.
But after seeing Xavier so vulnerable the night before, I can’t help looking at him in a different light.
There are demons in this man’s past, I’m sure of it. And if I just knew what they were, I bet I could understand him, and even what he wants of me, so much more clearly.
Now—how to find them out. That’s the real question.
One that I’m no closer to figuring out by the end of the week.
Any question I ask only gets deflected with more instructions for riding lessons. And I swear he’s intentionally trying to drive me crazy by dressing more provocatively every day.
Like, by midday, he always takes off his denim button up so that he’s left with nothing but his white tank top underneath. Which reveals acres and acres of his bronzed, muscled skin. And really, are all those muscles necessary?
I mean, yes, he’s hauling around fifty-pound bags of feed and giant water buckets, but when he gets sweaty, which is inevitable on the hot summer days, the tank top just gets soaked through and I can see the definition of every single one of his abs.
It’s just not fair on a girl’s libido.
Which God, seems overcharged all the sudden.
I swear, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but all I can seem to think about, 24/7, is jumping him. When he mounts Samson in the mid-afternoon, my thoughts are all—damn, I wish he would just fucking mount me already.
When he’s grooming Tornado at night, I’m like, uh huh, honey, that’s right, why don’t you turn a brush on me and rub me down soooooooo good because I’ve been a dirty girl.
Real helpful thoughts like that.
He does nothing to make the situation better. Always being so goddamn handsy. Whenever he passes by me in the stable, he never forgoes an opportunity to grab my ass. When reaching for a brush, if there’s a chance to brush my boob, he takes it.
Throughout the day, I’ll feel his heated stare and glance up to see him checking out my assets. Yeah, Xavier’s not big on subtlety.
I’d at least get off on the fact that I’m torturing him as much as me but while every day I feel more and more like a cat in heat, he seems to grow calmer and more serene. I’d think he’s sneaking away to jerk off, but we’re around each other all day long and I’d know. How can a man have that much discipline?!
It’s enough to drive a girl batshit.
Two weeks into this interminable dance, I feel hornier than ever, which is making me snippy as hell.
