Page 22 of The Scent of Snow
Pedro stood by her side. With her weight propped by the saddle, they were hip to hip. He caressed her thigh and paused short of her entrance. Her muscles contracted and released, her mound brushing against the black silk.
Pedro held her neck, his hand circling it easily. "Careful, Ana, naughty angels don't get their slice of heaven."
She stilled.
Satisfied with her compliance, Pedro let go and tenderly traced the rose of her lips. The image of them wrapped around his cock was still imprinted in his brain.
“I don’t care about heaven. I only want to be where you are.” She sucked his finger into her mouth.
Pedro‘s breath caught, heart speeding. He covered her mound with his palm, letting her feel the heat.
Her hips moved against his hand, her skin flushed. “Pedro, please.”
Satisfaction coursed through him. She was the angel, and he, the devil who protected her. It was all about her, but he got control. “Angels are so pretty when they beg.”
He positioned himself behind her. With a hand on her back, he forced her forward until her chest was level with the saddle. The new position lifted the globes of her derriere and opened her sex to him. At the first contact of his tongue, Anne screamed. Pedro feasted on her sex until she shuddered with pleasure. Her body became limp, molten light, and he caught her in his arms. Balancing her onto his lap, he sat on the stool.
Anne kissed his chin and the corner of his lips. Her hand, poised above his chest, started a low descent to his navel.
He seized her wrist. “No.”
“But you didn’t —”
“You are fertile.”
She gasped. “How do you know?”
“Your taste changes, and your desire. I keep track of it, so I—”
She struggled out of his lap. “Don’t give me the child I want?”
“Is that why you came? For my seed?”
Her face flushed, and she followed him as he collected his discarded clothing. “Not like that. I want my belly to grow. I want to have my feet swollen and my senses to expand. I want to smell things I never did before. More than anything, I want to give you a son!”
“You bruised your knees for nothing. I won’t be a father. Not now, not ever.”
Anne watched Pedro leave. A storm started in her chest, so strong it threatened to pull everything into its void. How could Pedro control her like this? Shouldn’t she have a say in the matter? Her own body? The incessant hits on the wall pierced her anger, and she shook herself. With trembling fingers, she buttoned up her cape and left the tack room.
Erebus pounded away his frustration on the stall’s door.
At her approach, the war horse lifted his head. The stallion looked at her sideways, its fathomless black eyes assessing her. After that fateful day at the arena, he had stopped trying to trample her, but to say they became friends would be an overstatement.
Hemera neighed from the paddock. They both stared at the mare, her white coat reflecting the afternoon sun.
Erebus lowered his head and renewed his siege against the door.
Anne’s heart sped up. Would she be brave enough to defy Pedro’s wishes?
Well, he didn’t care much for her wishes, did he?
Before the fire of courage deserted her, Anne freed the latch. It was all the help Erebus required. He pummeled the door open. With a swoosh, two thousand pounds of horseflesh crashed out of the stall. Anne gulped, her heart speeding and cold sweat breaking out on her brows. What had she done?
Erebus’s horseshoes left sparks as he sped to the exit. He didn’t break gallop, and with a majestic jump, he cleared the fence, the last obstacle between him and Hemera.
Her mare, her first friend when fate placed her in Pedro’s path, calmly waited, her head raised, her elegant ears alert.
Beautiful, courageous Hemera faced the horse who brought terror even to Portugal’s most ferocious bulls. Anne held her breath, holding the fence for support.
