Page 41 of His Princess Brat
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told her.
She both smiled sadly, and shrugged. “It was a hunting accident. It’s one of the reasons I hate her so much... Bethany, I mean,” she supplied when I cocked my head in question. “She and my brother were dating. Not officially, maybe, but they were often together. After he was gone, she acted like he’d never existed. She never said so much as ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I’ll miss him.’ She just went on to the next bachelor prospect. I’m pretty sure all he was to her was a chance to be queen of Bahar.”
“And now you are.” I watched her face change again. Still sad, but now tinged with reluctance and worry.
“I wasn’t supposed to rule,” she softly admitted. “It’s all changed.”
Because no matter how much they loved them, Queens don’t get to spend their lives with horses. Even I knew that much.
There were probably a million other things they would and wouldn’t get to do that I knew nothing about, but one that I was fairly certain of was they probably wouldn’t get to spend a lot of time with men who made their living as strippers, either.
That hit me out of the blue, and it hit hard.
I liked her. I really liked her, but when my visit was over, I was going to need to cut all ties. Otherwise, I ran a very real risk of hurting us both. Not just emotionally, but for her, her idiomatic reputation might very well be in jeopardy.
Maybe I shouldn’t wait. Maybe I should cut all ties now, tell her what I do—did—for a living. Let her run away now before the very real consequences of my past actions caught up with us.
God, I was a selfish bastard. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I looked around the barn, and then at the two grooms keeping a respectable distance so as to give us the illusion of privacy.
“Psst,” I said, a quirk of my head beckoning her closer. “Think we can be alone out here?”
She looked from me to each of the men, going about their busy work. Her gaze sliding back to me, she blushed as she raised her voice enough to be easily heard. “Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.”
They left with slight bows and even closed the lower portion of the stable doors, leaving the windows open enough to keep a nice breeze moving through the building.
“You know they haven’t gone far, right?” she asked when I took her hand.
“We’ll be quiet.” Winking when she blushed hotter, I led her into an empty stall.
“What are you doing?”
I shut the stall door behind us, just one more layer of protection in case of interruption. “Take off your clothes.”
“What?” She laughed, grabbing the neckline of her sundress and trying to see past me and over the stall door. “No, you’re crazy!”
“Bad pony,” I said, giving her a look. “Let’s see if I can find a crop out here.”
I left her standing with her jaw hanging as I went in search of a riding crop. I found several, but the one I selected was thin, with whip-like flexibility and a leather slapper on the tip that looked damn near unused.
By the time I returned, Pita was standing in the middle of the stall, completely naked but for her dress, which she now held hugged to her chest. It hid her breasts and her mons, but did nothing to hide the bare curves of her hips and shoulders.
It hid her even less once the door bumped closed behind me, because that’s when I took it away from her. Hanging it on a discreet hook on the wall, I tucked the crop under my arm. Everything in this place looked brand new, including the brush I took down off the wall.
Hugging herself, Pita turned, keeping me constantly in her sight. “What are you doing?”
“Ponies stand still when they’re being groomed.” Twirling my finger, I made her face the front of the stall again.
I couldn’t brush her hair. She had so many thin, beautifully beaded braids that I had no desire to mess up, but I did comb my fingers through them, simulating the act in a way that let me massage her scalp, relaxing her and sending a whole new wave of goosebumps racing over her skin.
“Cold?” I asked, knowing there was no way she could be. Not in this warm spring air.
She shook her head.
These goosebumps were all me. I caressed her face, her scalp all the way back down her neck, following the lines of her much the way she had done with her horse—gradually working my way from her head on down. I massaged her shoulders, her back. I’d love to have known what thoughts zipped through her mind as my hands drifted down to continue the massage on her gorgeous ass and flanks. Her blush was intensifying and when I began rubbing her thighs, she got embarrassed and squirmed.
I swatted her with my hand and she jumped. “Good ponies hold still.”
