Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 (11 page)

She let out a long sighing breath and turned away to the table of tack. Perhaps…

Teeth closed on her shoulder so hard she involuntarily cried out. The harsh snap made her whirl around, eyes narrowed to search his face. Anger? An attempt at punishing her for taking too many liberties?

He whuffed again, his eyes glittering a challenge.

Her shoulder throbbed while she schooled her reaction. She quite enjoyed rougher play, especially a pony’s teeth. Where Cole was playful, Arthur did it more for dominance, a reminder of his strength. He bit like a stallion would grip a mare while he mounted her.

Heat pooled in her abdomen.
Which is a very bad thing indeed when I’ve sworn not to touch him sexually in any way.

Her nipples rubbed against her linen shirt. Her palms itched to stroke across his body again, spreading heat and oil and need until he begged her to remove his trousers. Calmly, she turned her back on him again and picked up a martingale of linked chains and leather straps that would frame his well-defined pectorals perfectly.

Damnation, is this bloody man ever going to relent and speak to me?

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to dare a bite, but seeing her reaction, he was glad he’d acted on instinct. Lady Blackmyre needed to be shaken out of her grim control at least every once in a while. It certainly didn’t harm his ego in the slightest to know that he could not only surprise but also arouse not just the woman, but the mistress.

However, he now sailed into dark uncharted territory of the “here be dragons” variety.

So far in the ring, she’d never wavered from the calm, controlled mistress retraining the damaged pony. She’d been steady in her requirements that he obey the smallest command as quickly as possible without once mistreating him. She’d never allowed him to push her into corporal punishment, which both relieved and frustrated him. He’d had enough pain to know he could tolerate fairly high levels before self-preservation would drive him into the same violence he’d used to protect himself before. A little pain would make the pleasure all the sweeter if she used it wisely, and Lady Blackmyre knew very well what she was doing.

She’d certainly know exactly how many times she could cut his back with that whip before he’d break and bury himself inside her.

That thought should have alarmed him. The last thing he’d wanted was a sexual relationship with a mistress. Much better to return to his careful, staid life and hide all of these uncomfortable and frightening longings far away from everyone, especially himself.

So what am I doing?

It’d been one thing to steal a kiss from Lady Blackmyre in the stable. It was entirely another for the pony to dare the audacity of putting his mouth on the mistress in her ring without explicit permission.

She looked at him differently now. Slumberous heat sparked in her eyes. The mistress had touched him and he’d been able to enjoy it. In fact, the memory of her hands lingered on his flesh, an imprint he feared he’d never be able to escape.

She looks at me and sees not just the pony…but a man she desires.

That knowledge changed everything. She buckled a chest harness into place and even the innocent stroke of her fingers licked his skin like white-hot flame. She didn’t stroke him as before, but his skin remembered and hungered for more. She’d deliberately chosen a contraption containing clinking metal. Again, the high and mighty mistress adjusting whatever preferences she might have to bring the fullest pleasure possible to her lowly pony.

No one had ever catered to his desires like this. He didn’t have to ask. In fact, he refused to utter a single word to her, and she’d seen to his unspoken needs anyway. She cared enough to watch his every move and adjust her own actions to better satisfy him.

What kind of mistress is this?

A very dangerous one indeed.

One that would make a man slither across broken glass on his belly if she ordered it.

She sent him about the ring in a controlled trot that jingled the bit and harness, an orchestra that sent his heart pounding harder than the staccato of his boots on the dirt. He wondered what she’d do if he stripped off his trousers. What sort of rigging she might choose to ornament his cock. Certainly not a cage like she’d found on him that first night. No, that wasn’t this mistress’s style at all. Cole went natural, as she said, but was that his preference, or hers?

Would she balk at the thought of leading me about by a tinkling chain held on my body only by my erection? Would she embed a few rings into my flesh so I could feel the metal beneath my clothing anytime I wished?

Cold metal, her metal, piercing my body at all times of the day, jingling each time I took a step.

Dangerous, so dangerous, this game they played. It was terrifying to know she’d been able to arouse him like this without blatant caresses. To plant such dark desires in his head without ever once touching him intimately or putting her mouth on him. No, he’d been the one to put his mouth on her first, not once but twice.

And I burn to do it again and again.

He feared the wool would give way and tear beneath the prodigious size of his erection.

She’ll have me on my belly kissing her boots in a heartbeat.

Which his cock insisted wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Not at all.

Chapter Ten

When Arthur saw the other man in the—
his!
—ring the next day, he very nearly turned smartly on his heel and marched off Blackmyre lands as quickly as possible.

Not retreat, surely not.

His upper lip curled in a silent snarl but he stepped into Her Grace’s private stable and locked the door behind him.

Cole didn’t even look at him as he came to stand beside him, waiting for Lady Blackmyre’s attention. Arthur certainly didn’t care that the man was nude. Nor that he was already erect. So was he, truth be told, but he blamed it on the pony games.
Days and days of playing with the smoldering Duchess and no sexual relief in sight. That’s all this is.

The other man’s scent filled his nose, leather and horse from his real job in the other side of Her Grace’s stable, and he couldn’t help but remember that lean, wiry body smashed beneath him while he savagely plunged out of control. His cock twitched so hard he couldn’t entirely suppress the grunt.

“Impatient, are we?” Chuckling softly, she stopped before them and simply ran her gaze over them both head to toe. Her gaze lingered longer than usual on Arthur’s groin, unneeded fuel for the fire blazing in his body. When she finally raised her gaze to his, the secretive little smile on her luscious lips drew a rumbling growl from him. Which only made her smile wider. “Today, my ponies are going to work together. Of course, if you object, Arthur, you can simply say so now before we begin.”

He gritted his teeth and glared at her.

“Wonderful. I’m so pleased that you don’t object. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you side by side with Cole. Rather, I should say tail to nose. You’re too big and he’s too small in comparison for you to work very well side by side in harness.”

He almost walked out. He did. It was just too much teasing, too strange and new and forbidden to consider on top of everything else she’d been teaching him. He’d fought beside men, even led some to their deaths, which he’d never be able to forget, but he’d never once thought about taking a man sexually.

Until Cole.

And now she brought that tantalizing morsel to stand in front of him, already slick with oil, lean muscle gliding and flexing just paces away. He loved a woman’s curves, but the rounded muscle of the man’s buttocks held his gaze as surely as Lady Blackmyre’s breasts would entrance him.

She knew it, too, the conniving little witch with the smoldering eyes and her secretive little smiles. She put that tempting arse in front of him just to torment him.
Cole’s tail to my nose. God, what have I done by submitting myself to her will like this?

Then he suddenly noticed that Cole’s tail was missing. Absently, Arthur shook himself to hear the harness jingle while he tried to decide what that meant.
Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to keep my eyes off his backside. Where’s that scandalous tail?

Maybe she’s punishing him too.

That thought made Arthur feel a little better. He didn’t want to be the only one powerless beneath her will.
Maybe he burns to have that plug crammed up his arse as much as I burn to seat myself firmly in him again.

Hot shame flooded him and he took an involuntary step back, dragging the surprised Cole with him.
I had to have hurt him. What has he done to earn such punishment that she’d put him defenseless and naked in front of his rapist? In the end, I’m no better than the clods at the auction house, taking and abusing the helpless.

Cole bumped into him, naked ass pressed to his groin, and he jerked away, stumbling, tangled up in the rigging until he struggled harder, desperate to free himself. He tripped and went down, dragging the other man with him, on him, rolling and fighting the harness, bucking to get away before he hurt anyone again.

“Arthur!” He’d never heard that sharp tone in her voice, cutting more fiercely than her whip. “Stop it!”

The dragging weight pinning him suddenly disappeared and he leaped up, backing away until his back slammed into the railing. Shaking, he panted, trying to clear away the darkness suffocating him.

Lady Blackmyre had cut the traces binding him to Cole, and she held the man in her arms, smoothing his hair.

Dear God, he’s crying.

“I told you,” Cole choked out. “It’s no good, Mistress.”

“I’m sorry, pet, so sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have harnessed you together so quickly. I didn’t know he had such a hard limit or I never would have taken him there.”

She didn’t even look up at Arthur, which allowed him to settle himself without her all-knowing prying eyes. He ached all over like a herd of real horses had trampled him.
Cole must feel even worse.

Despite the horror churning in his stomach, Arthur made himself ease closer to them. He deserved punishment. Maybe then he’d feel better about what he’d done to the poor man.

“I knew you’d like him the moment I saw him.” Cole peeked up at Arthur through his tangled hair. “I liked him too, all big and mean and violent, a terror on the loose. Even then I wasn’t afraid of him.”

That made Arthur hesitate a step. He’d avoided Cole as much as possible, assuming the man would rightfully despise him. He couldn’t bear to see fear or shame in the other man’s eyes. Cole had seen him at his worst, his most desperate and broken, and the man had held him in the straw while he cried.

Arthur had paid him back by taking him as hard as he’d ever taken a person in his entire life. Even now, Cole could still look up at him with a naked longing and compassion that made him feel an inch tall.

“Now I know why you freed me.” Cole’s voice broke and he buried his face against Lady Blackmyre’s neck. “I didn’t know he’d hate me so much.”

“Absolutely not. Cole, that doesn’t even make sense. I freed you a month before you brought Arthur to us.”

“You’ll never find another magnificent stud like him that can tolerate me too. That’s why you have to get rid of me.”

The other mistress had hinted that Cole was free, but that didn’t make sense. Lady Blackmyre obviously cared for the man. She held him with such tenderness that it made jealousy creep into Arthur’s heart, despite the shame eating away at him. He’d never intended to take the other man’s place as her pony.

Let alone
take
that pony himself.

“I’m not getting rid of either of you.” That flat, uncompromising tone in her voice brought Arthur’s gaze to her face. Squaring his shoulders, he was determined to take whatever punishment she gave without losing control to either rage or pain-driven fear. He deserved to be horsewhipped for hurting her primary pony, in more ways than one.

She simply looked up at him without saying a word. Expectation weighed heavily in her eyes, the way she held her shoulders, the firm tightness in her lips. She commanded him to do…what?

This would be so much easier if I’d simply tell her the truth.

I’m sorry. Would that be so difficult to say?

But then he would have surrendered, ultimately and completely. There’d be no hope for him to ever go back to a normal life. He’d drawn a line in the sand and refused to cross it. If he did, he couldn’t call himself a man of his word any longer. He’d have lost the battle entirely.

A look crept across her face that he didn’t like at all.

Disappointment. Contempt, even. And then hurt, because he refused to trust her enough to allow her to help him resolve his guilt.

Shame blanketed him, dragging him down to such depths of despair he wanted to throw his head back and rail at the heavens. Agony, such horrible agony, delivered with a single look. She didn’t need a whip to cut him open. She didn’t need a cage to cripple him. The mistress was severely displeased and it was all he could do not to throw himself on top of Cole in her lap and beg for mercy.

His knees crumpled and he found himself on the ground beside them. He couldn’t speak, even if he’d wanted to break that promise to himself. His throat ached and his stomach quivered as though he’d caught camp fever. He hung his head and tried to make a sound to express all the regret and guilt he carried that she would be able to interpret.