“One, Sir,” she gasped, voice clear.
I let my hand rest, just for a second, then did it again. A perfect echo, the sound ricocheting off the walls.
“Two, Sir,” she managed.
By the third, I could feel her body melt into me, surrendering all that stubborn energy and letting me have it. It was breathtaking, watching her let go.
“Three, Sir.”
I rubbed her between each smack, gentle with the aftermath but never letting her drift. I kept the rhythm, building her until she was lost in it.
“Four, Sir.”
With every number, she sounded more sure, more desperate for the next. I could smell her, sweet and sharp, and knew she was falling into the pain.
“Five, Sir.”
I checked in: “You okay, baby?”
She twisted, hair wild, tears in her eyes, and gave me the faintest smile. “Green, Sir.” Her head flopped back down over my legs.
That was all I needed.
I continued, savoring the way she shuddered after each, the way her hands clenched my calf.
“Six, Sir.” She bit out the words, tears starting to fall.
“Seven, Sir.” The breath was gone from her voice, but she got it out.
“Eight, Sir.”
I ran my hand between her legs again, and this time she moaned, loud and needy.
“Nine, Sir.”
I drew out the last one, palm poised, feeling her body coil in anticipation.
I brought it down with a flourish, the sound and heat rolling through her at once.
“Ten, Sir,” she almost sobbed, going completely limp over my knees.
I gathered her up, holding her tight, her face pressed to my chest. I stroked her hair, her spine, until she calmed.
“You did so good,” I murmured, voice thick. “You’re such a brave girl.”
Her voice was small and shaky. “Thank you, sir.”
I pulled her up, kissed her deep, slow, then set her gently on her knees, facing me.
The thing about horses—about breaking them in, anyway—is that the real work starts after they stop fighting. That’s when you find out what they’re made of. If you’re lucky, the wildness isn’t gone; it just lets youtouch it, shape it, make something new out of the chaos. That’s what it felt like with Brie. She wasn’t a girl who folded easily, not for anyone. But right now, on her knees in front of me, she was wide open and waiting for what came next.
I stood over her, jeans open, my cock straining against the fabric. Her eyes stayed glued to it, hungry and a little scared, but not enough to back down. I let her stare for a moment, then pushed her back onto the bed, belly down. Her knees folded under her, and her ass arched up, still hot and marked from before. I took my time smoothing my hand over her, letting the heat bloom under my palm.
“We’re not quite done here, Maverick. What you did was so fucking reckless and dangerous you need a punishment fitting the transgression. I don’t want you ever to think of doing something like that again. It could cost your life next time, and that is something I cannot let happen. So we’re going to go ten more, sweetheart. You remember your job?” I asked, voice thick.
She nodded and looked like she wanted to protest. But the way she squirmed told me she wanted my hands on her body more desperately than she wanted to argue with me. She braced herself on her elbows and looked at me over her shoulder. “Count to ten, Sir.”
“Good girl. Color?”
