This is the man I married, I thought.This good, kind man.
And I was sitting here with my pussy throbbing, having almost come on a horse like some kind of deviant.
The shame threatened to swallow me whole.
The afternoon ride was torture. The arousal didn’t fade—if anything, it intensified. My body had been wound too tight for too long, every nerve ending sensitized. I found myself rocking slightly in the saddle, unable to stop myself from seeking that friction even though I knew how wrong it was.
Twice more I came close to the edge. Once when the trail got steep and Daisy’s gait changed, creating a different kind of motion that pressed directly against my clit. And again when Ilooked up and saw Chris ahead of me, his broad shoulders and strong back, and imagined him turning around and knowing exactly what I was doing.
Both times I managed to pull back, but barely. By the time we finally returned to the stables, I was trembling and damp with sweat, my thighs aching from how tightly I’d been clenching them.
“You’re quiet,” Chris said as we drove back to the cabin. His hand rested on my knee, his thumb tracing small circles that sent fresh jolts of sensation through me. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “It was wonderful. Thank you for arranging it.”
“But something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question. His eyes searched my face. “Talk to me, Valerie.”
I couldn’t. I absolutely could not tell him what had happened. What had almost happened.
“I’m just tired,” I said, looking out the window. “Not used to riding for so long.”
He didn’t press, but I felt the weight of his gaze on me for a long moment before he turned back to the road.
At the cabin, I retreated to the bathroom and stripped off my jeans with shaking hands. My panties were soaked through. The evidence of my arousal was unmistakable.
I cleaned myself up and changed into a sundress for dinner, trying to compose myself. But my body still hummed with unfulfilled need, my pussy still throbbing and sensitive.
At dinner in the resort restaurant Chris ordered wine and we talked about the ride. He wanted to know my favorite parts, whether I’d be interested in going riding again sometime.
“The scenery was beautiful,” I said carefully. “And Joe was a good guide.”
“You seemed to really enjoy it.” Chris’s eyes were intent on my face. “Especially in the afternoon.”
My cheeks flamed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were rocking in the saddle.” His voice was quiet, but there was steel underneath. “Your face was flushed. Your breathing was fast.”
Oh, God. He’d noticed. He’d seen.
“I was just—” My mind went blank. “The saddle was uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable.” He repeated the word slowly, his gaze never leaving my face. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Chris, please?—”
“Were you aroused, Valerie?” He asked the question in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to nearby tables, but the directness of it made me want to sink through the floor. “From riding the horse?”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. My whole face burned.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” I whispered, the admission torn from me. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. I tried to stop but?—”
His expression shifted. Not to anger, exactly, but something harder. More controlled.
“When I asked you what was wrong at the cabin,” he said quietly, “what did you tell me?”
My stomach dropped. “I said I was tired.”
