Page 35 of A False Start
“Fuck, Nadia.” He growls my name, and it’s like a shot of electricity straight to my core.
He covers his swollen cock with the spare shirt and empties himself with my name on his lips.
I can’t help it, I gasp. And then my hand flies over my mouth, as though I can cover the sound in the otherwise quiet cottage.
His head flips my direction, startled. But instead of saying anything, he stares at me. Smolders. Glares.
I don’t know what it is exactly, but it makes me weak in the knees. It makes me red in the cheeks.
It makes me wet in the panties.
“I...Um...Riding lesson tomorrow?”
His cheeks are pink with exertion and his cum-covered cock is still in his hand, andthat’swhat I say? I’m not nearly as smooth as I think I am and just looking at Griffin kills my brain cells on the best of days.
This is not the best of days.
The way he’s glaring at me right now is confirmation of that.
“Okaythanksbye,” I rush out.
And with that, I bolt.
* * *
“Heels down.”Griffin manhandles my ankle into the position he wants it.
We’re back to the ornery version of him. The crabby face. The single syllable words.
And definitely no laughter that warms me to the very tips of my toes.
I guess that’s what I get for invading his privacy. That show was not for me to watch, and after sleeping on it, I’m feeling guilty about not walking away.
So, we’re not really talking. Instead, his gruff hands tell me what to do. I’m sitting on Spot, and he’s criticizing my position—like I should know this shit—constantly.
He clucks at Spot and steps away, letting the length of rope attached to the bridle extend between us. I’m riding in a large circle around Griffin, attached to the line for extra control.
“You ready?” He’s avoiding saying the wordtrot.But that’s what we’re working on, trotting. One gait faster than walking, and I want to gallop on the beach, so let’s get this show on the road.
I nod and give Spot a squeeze with my legs. He’s a well-trained horse, so he steps into a trot instantly. I try to keep my core tight, but I fall a little behind the motion—and I’m almost positive my heels come up.
I try to sit gently in the saddle, but I’m still getting bounced around like a rag doll. I sneak a glance at Griffin and notice the corners of his lips pulling up, confirming I do, in fact, look like a rag doll.
“Are you laughing at me, Sinclaire?” I ask, attempting to hold my hands still. How is riding a horse so much harder than it seems?
His mouth thins. He’s trying way too hard to cover up that smile. “Whoa, boy.” He holds his hand up, and Spot stops on a dime.I am literally just a passenger.
Griffin loops the rope around his hand as he approaches me again, face straining as he clearly forces himself to frown so that he doesn’t laugh.Stick in the mud.
“Alright. You’re too rigid in your seat.” He reaches up and grabs my hip bone, and I do my best to ignore the way his touch makes me ache, even atop my jeans. His hands on me are almost more than I can take. “This joint here”—he pushes on the bone—“is stuck. You need to loosen your hips so you can absorb the shock of the movement.”
I turn wide eyes on Griffin and waggle my eyebrows in his direction.
He scowls. “Nadia.”
I hold my hands up to prove my innocence. “Hey, you said it. Not me.”
I swear he growls. But he doesn’t feed into my leading comment.Total stick in the mud.
