The Virgin and the Beast Read online

  Which, yeah, I’m regretting by the time he helps me back off the mounting block and I realize just how sore my inner thighs are. Turns out I’m not used to being spread-eagled riding a large beast for a whole afternoon.

  Haha, insert that’s-what-she-said joke here, I know. I’ll definitely be sore tomorrow. And even still, I kind of immediately want to say screw it, I’ll just take a hot bath and do some stretches and then let me back up there because that was the most awesome thing ever!

  Xavier’s still holding my forearms from helping me down when I look up at him expectantly. “I can ride again tomorrow, right?”

  “Looks like someone’s caught the fever,” he chuckles. “We’ll see. It depends on how sore you are.”

  “I’ll stretch.” I bend over and start stretching my inner thigh muscles and hamstrings.

  “Don’t forget your gluteus,” comes Xavier’s voice from behind me. Then his hands are on my ass, giving me a deep massage. “Horse riding can be punishing on the derrière.”

  I jolt upright and twirl around, face heating. “Yes, I’ll take that into consideration.”

  He seems amused at my red cheeks. And seriously, I ought to be used to his audacity by this point, but we’re here out in the open. Usually he grabs me when we’re in the barn or the house. I tense slightly, sure he’s about to throw me down right here in the open paddock with the horses looking on, but instead he just makes a clicking noise toward the horses and nods toward the stable. “Let’s groom these guys and get the rest of the crew into stable for an early night.”

  I look him up and down but he’s already turned his back to me, leading Pioneer toward the stable.

  An early night?

  Oh dear, that can only mean he’s got something insane in store for me. What’s it going to be? Introducing anal? I keep waiting for that one. I’m sure it’s in his bag of tricks since he likes shoving every other object possible in my body. He’s teased a few times at my anus but never gone whole hog back there, thank God.

  But since I’m on my period, maybe now he’ll think it’s the perfect time for experimentation?

  I’m tempted to hurry through grooming but after the special experience Sugar gave me, I want to spend a long time with her, even running detangler through her tail and brushing it out until it’s glossy and shining. Then I run through the basic grooming regimen on all the other horses that I’m assigned to while Xavier takes the other half.

  I can’t imagine how he did all of this alone before I came here. Each grooming session, even if you rush, takes around twenty minutes. First there’s the curry comb, then the hard and soft brushes, then brushing out the mane and tail (occasionally having to use detangler on the tail), and finally picking out their hooves. It’s insane the amount of work that goes into taking care of a single horse, much less ten of them. It’s endless and unrelenting. You don’t get a single day off.

  And Xavier’s been doing it alone for who knows how long. Along with taking in mustangs like Samson and other problem horses along the way?

  Every day I spend here, the more curious I get about his background. Who the hell is he? Then again, there are far more pressing questions of what the enigmatic man is going to do to me tonight.

  As I finish hanging up Bob’s brushes by his stall—each horse gets their own individual grooming gear to keep from spreading infection, see what a knowledgeable horsewoman I’m becoming?—I look across the stable that’s dappled with long shadows in the early evening sunlight. Xavier’s bent over, cleaning out a bucket by the spigot near the wall, his powerful back muscles flexing as he flips it over and spills soapy water into the wide basin to drain. He’s pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and his thick forearms glisten with water droplets as he finishes washing the soap off the bucket and sets it upside down to dry. Then he glances over his shoulder and catches me watching him.

  I quickly avert my gaze and look out the barn door at the pink sky where the sun is slowly dropping toward the horizon. “Should I go in and see if the roast is ready?”

  “Give me a second, I’m just finishing up here. I’ll go with you.”

  I swallow and nod, feeling incredibly stupid and awkward all of the sudden. Like I’m back in junior high staring at the boy I have a crush on.

  Which is just… what?

  Xavier turns off the spigot and grabs a towel to dry his hands on, then I feel him by my side. It’s a hot day. We’re both sweaty and stink of horses I’m sure—you sort of become desensitized to the smell when you’re surrounded by it all day, but still I feel self-conscious when he wraps his arm around my waist and starts walking with me back to the house like that.

  It’s a position that seems like it would be awkward—and it has been when the few boyfriends I’ve had in the past have attempted anything like it. Hell, even holding hands with other guys has been uncomfortable. But somehow Xavier just fits my body into his and, in spite of our height differences, he makes it work. He takes command of my stride and just seems to, I don’t know, absorb me into him. Take me into his sphere so that I’m stepping when he steps and if there are any fumbles, his strong arm around my waist is always there to smoothly guide me over them.

  Before I know it, we’re at the back door.

  And like normal, he leads me to the sink to wash my hands. I extend them just like always and let him squirt the soap into them. Then I wait while his large, calloused fingers move over my hands, which are beginning to slowly develop callouses of their own.

  Life with Xavier has become a series of rituals.

  His fingers intertwine briefly with mine as the soap turns foamy. His hands are so much larger than mine. They overwhelm my small ones. Just like everything about him. He overwhelms me.

  I’m glad when he urges our conjoined hands under the running water to clean away the soap. I’m not sure why today things feel different. So much more… I don’t know—intense? Or… vibrant, maybe, if that’s the right word.

  Like I said, my life with Xavier has become one of rituals and routines. That’s been something of a safe haven for me. When there’s routine, you can try to lose yourself in the monotony of it. Granted, I’m never truly able to do that with Xavier because he’s always changing things up, surprising me at all times of day with his strange desires and ways of pleasuring me. But still, there was a basic assumption to the way the day would go.

  But now… It’s stupid. I just rode a horse. And got my period.

  Nothing has changed.

  I’m making something out of nothing.

  Except that after dinner, after Xavier exchanges my tampon—which yes, he insists on doing himself again—we take a shower instead of a bath.

  Xavier is no less attentive during the shower. And he’s extra gentle.

  “Such a good girl,” he whispers, massaging my scalp as he washes my hair with a honeysuckle scented shampoo. “You handled Sugar so beautifully today. I felt honored to witness the trust you showed her.”

  He pulls me against his warm chest, his hands still in my hair as the shower sprays my lower back.

  I scoff, my neck feeling warm from his praise. “I didn’t really do anything. It was just Sugar. It was natural.”

  His hands drop from my hair suddenly and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him. Like… hugging me. Is Xavier actually hugging me right now?

  “Exactly,” he breathes out, his chin notched on my head. For another long moment, he just holds me there. And then, like the moment never happened, he retreats and goes back to shampooing my hair.

  The rest of the shower continues. He washes my shoulders, my back, my rump. He lifts my arm and soaps my armpit and shaves me as carefully as always. But when he moves around to my breasts, he doesn’t massage or squeeze them. He merely washes them with brisk efficiency.

  Usually this is the point when our bathing time starts to get erotic.

  I think surely when he pumps soap into his hands and taps my legs for me to spread them that things will start getting in
timate.

  Nope.

  He just shaves my legs and then… well, you know.

  Then he quickly soaps himself down and washes his hair.

  Then.

  He.

  Turns.

  The.

  Water.

  Off.

  When he pulls the curtain aside and grabs a towel, I’m left standing there like, wait, what?

  There is a routine to things and he just broke the rules.

  I do backbreaking work every day and then I, you know, get a reward.

  I blink. Like a hard blink. And realize how fucked up all the thoughts I just had were. What, suddenly I’m expecting to get paid for farm work in orgasms? And since when did I start looking forward to— I mean, isn’t that just something I endure— I’m not supposed to want— GAH!

  Xavier seems completely unperturbed by anything. He whips open the towel and starts drying me, calm as can be.

  Oh my God, sometimes he’s so placid I could just scream! Is he not… you know, interested, because I’m on my period?

  My mouth drops open to ask but then I clamp it shut. What am I really going to say? He’s the enemy, remember?

  Holy crap, it’s already happening. I’m getting brainwashed. I was just about to whine to the man basically holding me captive because he’s not keeping up his campaign of sexual manipulation.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as he runs the fluffy towel between my legs, spending what seems like an inordinate amount of time making sure I’m dry there.

  And the unwanted thought pops in: but seriously though, is he like grossed out because of my period?

  Ugh, shut up brain!

  Because if he is, then he totally shouldn’t be all up in there volunteering for tampon duty.

  “I’m really tired,” I announce, stepping forward and taking the towel out of Xavier’s hands to wrap around myself. “Can we go to bed now?”

  He looks briefly startled at my quick motion but the next second seems amused by me.

  God, I hate it when he’s like that. When he gives off this aura that he knows exactly what’s going on in my head and he’s laughing at me.

  I turn on my heel and stomp toward the bedroom. I swear I hear him chuckle behind me which makes me even more infuriated.

  I know he likes me to leave my wet towel on a peg near the head of the bed, but instead I drop it on the floor and slide underneath the covers. Then I cringe and pull the sheet tight around myself. God, Mel, are you trying to get him to react? What the fuck is wrong with you?

  I jump out of bed and hang the towel up.

  Which Xavier naturally observes from the bathroom door. I pretend I don’t see him as I get back into bed. Covers pulled high, I turn on my side. Facing the half of the room away from his side of the bed.

  Oh my God, we have sides of the bed. Like an old married couple. No, not like that. Nothing like that. At all.

  In fact, I’ll just scoot to the middle of the bed. There. See? No sides. Ha.

  But… maybe he’ll think I’m trying to initiate something with him.

  Which I am not.

  I wiggle back over to my side.

  I scrupulously do not look over at him to see what he might think of all these odd acrobatics.

  I settle in and freeze in place. Nothing to see here. I’ve fallen asleep. Just like that. I’ve suddenly mastered the art of falling asleep in zero point two seconds. I try to regulate my breaths.

  Totally convincing.

  The light flips off.

  Ha. Completely pulled it off.

  The bed dips with Xavier’s weight.

  I hold my breath. No, damn it, don’t hold your breath. Regular—in, out, in, out.

  A big, muscled arm snakes around me and he pulls me so that I’m sandwiched against his body. “You sure are damn cute, precious.”

  Precious.

  Not pet.

  My eyes are already shut but I squeeze them tight at the swell of emotion his simple words elicit.

  He’s hard against my backside.

  I wait for him to start touching me.

  I wait for something.

  Precious.

  His chest moves up and down behind me and within several minutes, there’s only the light sound of his quiet snores filling the room.

  But for me, sleep is a long time in coming.

  Chapter 14

  I continue my riding lessons.

  And Xavier continues not touching me at night.

  Well, of course, he’s Xavier, so a day doesn’t pass without him having his hands all over me.

  But no intimate touches.

  No more orgasms.

  It’s because of the period. It’s got to be. He has some weird hang up about it. And I’m too chicken shit to ask him to explain. And anyway, I’m happy about the new order of things. I never wanted him touching me. This is all a good thing, dammit.

  It’s just the not knowing that’s driving me crazy, that’s all. That’s the only reason I’m glad when my period peters off.

  Right?

  Right, Mel, you just keep telling yourself that.

  Okay, so let’s just ignore that snarky bitch who runs around inside my head sometimes trying to tell me inconvenient truths. She doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.

  Anyway, Xavier’s more than aware when I’m all done with the crimson tide. To my eternal mortification, he hasn’t let one opportunity pass to change out my tampons—seriously, wtf? But whatever, it just means he’s perfectly informed when I’m back in ship-shape order.

  That night, baths resume instead of the shower.

  He goes back to a more extensive massage, welcome after my week of more and more strenuous outings on Sugar, and then Pioneer. Xavier likes to take Samson out for our daily ride and it’s safer for me to be riding Pioneer since he’s a gelding.

  Xavier says that he’ll geld Samson soon but that he didn’t want to add stress to the stallion upon his arrival. The way his eyes flick to me when he says this, I wonder if he also simply didn’t want anyone else out on the ranch when I was first here.

  Anyway, the bath tonight is extra hot and my entire body relaxes into the water as Xavier massages up my thigh.

  Then finally, oh God, finally, his hand dips between my legs.

  My back arches in anticipation.

  My sex clenches up and my stomach swoops, going liquid.

  But after a brief, efficient rub over my pussy lips, his hand moves on.

  I just stare at him.

  Because again, wtf?

  If he feels my stare, he doesn’t react. Not even to return my gaze. He just continues on washing me like everything’s right as rain. The rest of the bath continues. And then ends. Nothing.

  Nada.

  The water’s draining and my libido is left fully on edge.

  I splash the little bit of water left in the bath in frustration. “What?” I look up at him. “What am I doing wrong?”

  Eyebrow lift.

  I huff out a loud breath and lift my hands in the air. “I don’t get it. What do you want from me?”

  “I told you clearly what I want.”

  He steps out of the bath, his glorious ass flexing right in my face. I have the urge to take a bite out of it. Teach him what it feels like to be teased and forever on edge without relief.

  Then his words register. He’s told me what he wants.

  Son of a bitch.

  He wants me to beg for his cock.

  No way. Absolutely not. Keep dreaming, mister.

  I stand up and stubbornly hold my face away from him as he dries my body with the same meticulous attention that he does every night.

  Then it’s off to bed where he spoons me tight, slinging his thigh over mine, arm cinched tightly underneath my breast.

  “I’m hot,” I say and try to wriggle out from under his hold.

  His only response is to throw the covers off and then draw me close again.

  Well dammit, now I’m chilly. I roll my
eyes. I know I won’t be for long, though, because I usually have the covers tossed off by morning anyway since he’s like a giant damn heater behind me.

  I let out a huff of frustration.

  The bastard behind me has the audacity to give me one of his low, throaty chuckles. His hand skirts down my abdomen and whispers across my sex before retracting again. His hips press forward and I can feel him rock hard against my ass. My sex clenches reflexively.

  “All you have to do is say the word.” His breath is warm on the back of my ear.

  I turn my face into the pillow and I grit my teeth.

  God, does he think I’m some desperate tramp? I’m not going to be begging him for sex. I never wanted any of this in the first place! He’s just freaking insane. Absolutely out of his gourd.

  So why the hell is your body so damn keyed up if he’s the crazy one?

  Shut up!

  I plump my pillow, punching it into shape, and then pull it close and try to fall asleep.

  Annoyingly, like happens so often lately, sleep is a long time coming.

  ***

  We’re in bed a few nights later, still at the same impasse, when yet again, I’m having difficulty sleeping. I fell asleep for a while, but then some noise must have woken me, and now I can’t get back to sleep.

  My stupid brain won’t shut up.

  I think because when I woke up, I was turned around, my body chest to chest with Xavier, my head nestled into the crook of his neck.

  Unconsciously, that’s the position I sought in sleep. I couldn’t have placed myself more vulnerably.

  Does it mean something? That even though I’m fighting him so hard when I’m awake, subconsciously I’ve already given up?

  Or is ‘given up’ the wrong phrase? Somehow, down deep, do I, like the horses, ultimately find Xavier trustworthy?

  Don’t they say that animals have an innate sense about these things? Like, the fact that the horses take so well to him might indicate he actually is a good person? Or am I just making that up and an evil person can trick horses just as well if he’s a master of manipulation?

  God, I’m so confused. I look toward the ceiling in the dark room. What time is it anyway? Two a.m.? Three? Just a few hours before Xavier will be dragging us out of bed for the morning.