Page 30 of Mine To Break
Returning, he set the glasses on the coffee table and poured a good amount into both. Then he noticed the box that just happened to have a butt-plug tail prominently on top. If he even recognized the plug for what it was.
He stilled a moment, and she could almost see the flurry of questions and doubt surging through him. When he turned to hand her a glass, he quirked his lips and arched a brow at her rather than flying off the handle. “I have to admit, I’m wondering what the hell you’re doing with a box full of tack and a fake tail.”
Colby had forgotten how nice it felt to bring home food to someone. To watch her eat what he’d brought, to be satisfied and glad that he’d thought about it in time to stop and pick it up. Even that he’d guessed correctly and gotten her something she enjoyed. It was so much better than going into his crappy run-down apartment by himself and wondering if he had anything in the fridge other than ketchup and beer.Gotta start taking better care of myself. At least I’m eating and sleeping better.
Thanks to her.
So if she wanted him to look through a suspiciously crazy box of BDSM garb, then he’d do it. Though he’d be blushing worse than Elias this morning.
She studied the box a moment, as if trying to decide which toy to use first on him, but then she laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t even pretend I’m into it, sorry. I just don’t get it.”
He’d never seen the calm, always in control Mistress out of her element, or at least slightly uncomfortable before. Curious, now, he pulled the box toward him. Lifting the tail by the long, silky hairs, he tried not to react to the large black plastic end, but it was obvious where it went, and what people did with it. Unconsciously, his buttocks tightened, as if he needed to protect that tender hole. That plug looked way too big for anyone to want that stuck anywhere, let alone there.
Mal was watching him, though, and it gave him an opportunity to redeem himself a little. He combed his other hand through the long strands. “Nice tail. Feels like real horse hair.”
“I wouldn’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Patrick would want the best for his stable.”
He set the tail on the coffee table and reached back into the box. This time he pulled out a mess of leather straps. It took him a moment to recognize it, since the dimensions were all wrong from what he was used to, though the bit on the end confirmed what it was supposed to be. “Bridle.” He sorted out the leather straps so he could hold the bit in one hand and the headpiece in the other, and then held it up for her.
“The metal goes in the mouth?”
“It’s called a bit. That’s what the rider uses to control the horse. This one’s smooth and small, so it’d be pretty easy on the mouth.”
“For a person? Or a horse?”
“Either I guess. Horses have sensitive mouths. You can train a horse to use a hackamore, which is a bitless bridle, but you don’t have as much control if the horse isn’t cooperative. The bit presses down on the tender tissues of their mouth, getting their attention in a hurry. The problem is that more spirited animals can toughen up their mouths and still fight you. That’s when you need to change up the bit.”
“Change it how?”
“More metal, for starters. You can change the shape inside, giving it a heavier, bigger curve that presses more fully on the tongue. That gives you more leverage on the whole jaw. There are some brutal ones I saw years ago in an old junk store that had spiky bumps on the metal. In the wrong hands, a bit like that would have torn a horse’s mouth to shreds. But a snaffle bit is my favorite.” He gripped the bit in the middle. “It has a joint, here, that lets the bit bend in the mouth. That puts more pressure on the sides of the horse’s mouth, not the tongue or jaw. A feisty horse can still build up resistance to it over time, but it’s much gentler and kinder while still getting the job done.”
“I knew you’d grown up on a ranch, but hearing you talk about this stuff is amazing.”
“You should hear Jess, then. She’s the real horse-lover in the family. Me, I could ride, but she made it look like she was part of the animal. I never could pull that off.”
“I had no idea the bridle was so important. I thought it was all for show.”
“It’s definitely an item of control, which makes it right up your alley, right?”
She snorted. “Hardly. Though it does make more sense now why a pony sub would want to wear it, and why Patrick would always use one.”
He sorted through the rest of the items in the box and held them up one by one. “Chest piece, I think, though I’d call this a martingale on a horse. It’s to help keep the saddle in place. I think this is supposed to be a saddle and girth, but I’ve never seen one shaped like this. It’s definitely for show. And these…” He held up one of the boots, letting out a low whistle when he saw how high the heel was underneath. “Fake hooves, but I don’t know if a woman could actually walk in them without breaking an ankle.”
“They do. I’ve seen it.”
“Wow.”
“So most of it’s for show, would you say?”
“Except for the bridle.”
“I thought maybe the chest piece was real, so they could pull a fake carriage. I’ve seen that before and thought we might do something like that this season.”
“For pulling something behind, even light, you’d need a different kind of harness, at least for horses. That martingale won’t distribute the weight for a tow. But I don’t know as much about that kind of harness. Not much of a need for carriage horses out in southwest Texas.”
She seemed to be mulling things over, unconsciously nibbling on her lip as she watched him. Unsure what she was thinking, he ran his fingers over the leather. Someone had taken good care of it. Soft, supple, no scratch or scruff marks. He tried to remember Patrick from the show, but only had a vague memory of a man dressed like a Victorian riding master. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on much but Mal.
She blew out a sigh, drawing his attention back to her. “I just can’t picture what it looks like or how it’s used. Not up close and personal.”
He wasn’t sure what made him open his mouth. Not the wine, because he hadn’t even tasted it yet. “Do you want a model?”
She arched a brow at him, head tipping to the side. “You wouldn’t mind? After the dog crate incident…”
Maybe it was his ego after all. His desire to wipe away that ridiculous conclusion and the way he’d reacted. Because it did still bother him. He didn’t like to make mistakes, especially with people he cared about. “I’m open to it. I mean, I don’t want this stuff, but I wouldn’t mind it. Or rather, I wouldn’t mindyoudoing it.”
