“It’s cold,” Riona says.
It’s not really cold—mildly chilly at most. But I say, “Come in here, then. It’ll be warmer.”
I pull her over to the smallest of the barns, the one closest to the house. It’s empty of animals at the moment—actually, it has been for years. My father used it as a workspace for a while, and now Grady uses it to make saddles. It smells like clean hay, apples, and a faint whiff of Mary Jane, because Grady smokes in here when it’s rainy.
There’s a wooden pommel bench in the center of the room where Grady places the saddles that are a work-in-progress. His tools are laid out on a table nearby, along with a lantern, scraps of leather, and spare bits of thong.
I light the lantern, throwing a faint golden glow around the space, and creating a forest of long, distended shadows. Riona’s pale skin looks luminescent, and her green eyes gleam like the eyes of a fox prowling around the edge of a campfire. She looks wary of me, wrapping her arms around herself and keeping distance between us.
“What happened tonight?” I ask her.
“The fight?” she says. “I couldn’t really hear what Bo and Duke were saying . . . ”
“No, not that,” I say. “Before. When we were dancing.”
Riona’s eyes meet mine for a second, then determinedly look away.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says.
“Yes you do. We were dancing together. You were enjoying yourself. And then you pulled away from me. You were upset, and you wanted to leave.”
Riona’s lips are pale and her jaw looks stiff. “I was tired of dancing,” she says.
“You’re lying.”
Her eyes flash up at me, bright and furious. “I don’t lie!”
“Yes you do. Tell me the truth. Tell me why you wanted to stop.”
“None of your damn business!” she shouts.
Her arms have uncrossed, and now her fists are balled at her sides instead. From defense to offense mode. That’s fine—I’d rather fight than beat my head against a brick wall.
“Tell me why you were angry at me all of a sudden.”
“I didn’t like the way you were leading me!” Riona cries.
That’s not at all what I expected her to say. “What are you talking about?” I say.
“When we were dancing—you were acting like we were dancing together. But you were the one in control.”
“That’s what dancing is. The man leads, the woman follows.”
“I don’t want that!” Riona snaps. “I don’t want to follow someone else. I don’t want to be controlled by someone else.”
“It was just a dance!” I say, with an incredulous laugh. “I know how to two-step. You don’t.”
I shouldn’t have laughed, because that just makes her angrier.
“It’s not just the dancing!” Riona hisses. “It’s everything. You’re trying to trick me by being calm and charming and funny . . . ”
I can’t help smiling just a little. “You think I’m funny?”
“No!” Riona shouts.
“But you just said—”
“You’re trying to put a bridle on me, without me noticing!”
“I . . . what?”
“I saw you out there with that horse. You were acting all calm and patient with it. Lulling it into a false sense of security. Then you put the bridle on it, and then you got on its back. And soon you were riding it around. And the horse was galloping as fast as it could, thinking it could get away from you. But it didn’t realize it was already trapped. And then you just wore it down, until you broke it. I’m not going to be that fucking horse!”
I stand there silent for a second, taking in what she said. Then I shake my head at her.
“You don’t know a damn thing about horses,” I tell her.
Riona scowls. One of the things that’s so damn infuriating about this woman is that she looks even more beautiful when she’s mad. Her cheeks get as red as her hair, and she looks fierce and imperious like an empress. It’s very distracting. But right now, on this one thing, I’m right and she’s wrong. And I’m determined to prove it.
“What do you mean?” she says.
“You don’t break a horse. Not in the way you’re saying. You could beat a horse, and whip it, and yell at it, and eventually you could break its spirit, but what the hell good would it be then? It’d be scared of you, skittish and jumpy. It’d probably startle when you least expected it and throw you off so you break your neck.”
Riona tilts her head, still frowning but also considering what I’m saying. She likes to argue, but she will listen, too.
“That horse had never been ridden in its life. So yeah, I had to calm it down, ease it into accepting me. You’re right about that. But once I got on its back, we both wanted to run. She started galloping, and I urged her on to go faster and faster. She’d been galloping around out in the fields, but she’d never been chased, she’d never raced before. She’d never really run. I didn’t break that horse. I set it free. I showed her what she could do. And she fucking loved it.”
I take a step closer to Riona, closing the space between us. She stays exactly where she is, only tilting her chin up a little to look me in the face. Her eyes are wide and unblinking.
I trail my thumb gently down the delicate curve of her jaw, toward her full lower lip.
“I don’t want to trap you,” I say to Riona. “I want to unleash you. I want to set you free. I want to show you what you really are . . . ”
I run my thumb across her mouth.
Riona’s lips part.
I move my thumb and replace it with my tongue. I slide my tongue across her bottom lip and her top, and then the space in between. When she opens her mouth a little more, I thrust my tongue inside, tasting her. I grab her thick red hair, wrapping it around my hand like a rope, and I pull her face into mine, penetrating her mouth with my tongue. This is no chaste kiss—this is me taking her mouth. Violating it. Filling her up.
I want her to be dizzy and overwhelmed. I want to remind her how good it feels when she lets me have my way with her.
Sure enough, she melts into me, her whole body sinking against mine. She moans around my tongue. I can feel her lips swelling from the rough kiss, increasing in sensitivity. I can feel her jaw relaxing, letting me in deeper and deeper.
I pull her hair to tilt her head back all the more, exposing her creamy white throat. Then I lick from her sternum all the way up her neck to her right ear, making her shiver with pleasure. Her nipples stand out in hard points against the cotton dress.
I growl into her ear, “I want you to give yourself to me. I want you to do exactly what I say. And if you don’t love every fucking minute of it . . . I’ll leave you alone for good. I’ll never bother you again. Do you agree?”
Riona hesitates, and I pull her hair a little harder.
“Yes or no?” I hiss.
“Y—yes,” she stammers.
“Good.” I let go of her hair. Instead, I grab the front of her dress and I tear it open, the buttons popping off and flying in all directions. Her bare breasts spill out, bouncing once, the nipples harder than glass.
“Don’t—” Riona protests, too late. She’s worried about ruining the borrowed dress.