Forbidden: A Standalone (23 page)

I went outside. Deacon was waiting for me, a beautiful streak smeared on a miserable landscape. I held my hand out for him.

“All taken care of,” I said.

“You have real skill.”

I pulled him into the garden. “You have no idea.”

“Don’t I?”

He did actually, but I didn’t want to tell him I’d just spent twelve grand and promised a distasteful blowjob in exchange for thirty minutes of privacy with him. I would have spent more. I would have tacked on more money and let that pathetic fucker come in my ass a hundred times just to be with Deacon.

“Here we are,” I said when we got to the chain link. A new hole had been opened. “Not glamorous, but it’s what I got.”

He pulled the hole wide. “Go on.”

I slipped through, and he followed, getting his wide shoulders through the narrow opening without mussing a stitch of his clothing or mellowing his intensity. I felt as if we’d crossed some sort of threshold together. He stood straight above me, and I knew there would be no more talking. No more promises. No more sweet words. Not until we’d slipped back to the other side of the gate.

My heart pounded. “Master, may I speak?”

“Go ahead.”

“We need to stay on the other side of this tree if we’re going to be out of the camera’s range.” I kept my eyes on his shoes. I was trying not to smile with joy and excitement. “If that’s what you want.”

“Take your shoes off,” was all he said.

I slipped them off and handed them over.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now go to the other side of the tree. Pull your pants down to mid thigh, spread those pretty legs, and wait for me.”

Breathless with anticipation, I walked my socks to the other side of the tree. With my back to the trunk, I hooked my fingers under my elastic waistbands and pulled my pants and pretty cotton underwear halfway between my crotch and my knee. The forest air hit my ass and my wet cunt like a slap. I put my hands at my sides and stretched my legs as far apart as the clothing would allow.

Deacon was there. I tingled all over with that thought.

But he didn’t come around the tree right away. He spoke from the other side. “Pull your shirt up so I can see your tits. Hold it there.”

He knew my tits weren’t big enough to hold up the shirt, so I was left with my hands on the hem, showing myself to no one but the Deacon-to-come, the specter of a promise soon to be fulfilled. My nipples stood erect, and my pussy seemed made of pulsing blood.

Deacon came around the tree soon after. A shoelace was draped over his arm. He had a sneaker in his hands. The Velcro was pulled back to reveal the lace underneath. He yanked it out hole by hole.
Whup. Snap. Whup. Snap.
The laces were quite long. I could have hanged myself with them easily.

“Debbie told me you were babbling about taking care of something that night. She described a leather bag you were carrying that she’d never seen before, but I knew was your horse grooming kit.”

“I don’t—”

He slapped me across the tits. The sting was delicious.

“Let me finish.” He grabbed my jaw tightly. “I’ll ask a question when I want one answered.”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.

“She said you told her you were going to be a grown-up for once. So I went to get you. I was angry.”
Whup. Snap. Whup. Snap.
“I didn’t want to be manipulated, and Fiona, make no mistake, you can be manipulative.”
Whup. Snap.
The last bit of shoelace was free. He dropped the shoe and ran the laces through his fingers. “But Debbie was worried which, from her, I take seriously.”

He looped the laces, knotting them in a way I couldn’t detect, and stepped toward me until I felt his jacket on my skin.

“Put your hands on the branch above you. Grab it.”

I did, letting my shirt drop. The branch was just above my reach, making me stand on my tiptoes to grasp the rough winter bark. He twisted the laces around my wrists then around the branch, securing me.

“And I found you there,” he said, letting the ends of the shoelace drop around my shoulder. “Alone, or so I thought.”

I knew better than to speak though I wanted his brutal touch on me again. He wrapped the last of the lace under my tits, squeezing them every time I moved. I felt him behind me, doing the last knot. He yanked on the lace as if he was running out of length, then made it and pushed me. I swung. God, it was blissful. I closed my eyes and went outside myself to a place where I was no one, nothing.

“Look at me.”

I did. He was backlit against the speckled canopy of leaves, and his gaze on me was like a caress in hard metal and soft flesh.

He leaned over and whispered, saying the words he always said before he fucked me, sending me to a place where I surrender all anxiety to him.

“Empty your heart, my kitten. Empty your mind. Open your eyes. Who do you see?” He took my nipple in his fingers and twisted it.

“You,” I gasped.

“Are you empty?”

“I am.”

“Release your body to me. I have you. Even in the stables, I had you.” He placed my right leg over his hip and said, “Remember.”

***

I smell hay and shaved bone. I’m cramped between the horse and the back wall. There’s no thrush on Snowcone’s frog, and that kind of pisses me off. He’s been taken care of like a favorite child, even with me gone. He kicked me two years ago, and I’d walked out, blaming the horse for what the rider should have known.

Here I am again, showing up like I belong here, and he looks at me as if he knows good god damn well I abandoned him for doing what horses do. I hate myself. Disappointment. Deserter. I’ve been abandoned for being who I am, and I’d done the same to this poor baby.

It’s night, which is a stupid time to show up hoping my key still works, but where else was I going to go? Who else would bear me? I had to see if Snowy would take me back. I had to see if even an animal would have me. And I want to do something for him, to repay him for the unrestrained nuzzle. I want to groom and love him. A brush would be fine, but any hand can brush. I want to go an extra mile.

But his hooves are near perfect. He’s old, and richly indulged, and unloved.

I need to stop crying. I can’t see the frog and the knife isn’t pointy, but the edge is sharp, and I don’t want to hurt the horse.

I needed to stop crying. Deacon was whispering to me,
‘remember, remember, remember.’
His cock’s at my opening, and I was sure I would come when he entered me.

“Fiona? Fiona Drazen?”

Her voice surprises both me and Snowcone. I leap up with my knife, and the horse shifts and clops.

“Who are you?” I ask.

She’s in her late teens, and she has long blond hair and muddy eyes. Jeans, zip-front cardigan; she’s average in dress, but she has an intensity that makes me wary.

“My name is Rachel Demarest. I want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

She steps forward. “I’m a friend of your family. Maybe Jonathan talked about me?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re dating so…” She twists the ends of her hair. “Theresa? Did she mention—?”

“What’s your name again?”

“Rachel. Jeeze, I feel so stupid. I mean, look at the time. You’ve never even heard of me. You must think I’m some sort of stalker.”

“You looking for a picture or something?” Maybe if I snap a picture with her, she’ll go away and I can go on swimming in my own shit.

“No. I’m just… How can I say? Um, I just… I was meeting Theresa at your sister’s. Sheila, I mean. She’s having this Christmas party, and we’re helping set up. It’s right by the water.” She waves vaguely west, to the shore edge of Rancho Palos Verdes. “So Theresa mentioned that you had a horse in these stables, which are, like, just over the hill, and I’ve been thinking of riding again so… God, this sounds just awful.”

“How is Theresa?”

She shrugs. “You know, perfect.”

Her eyes don’t roll, but her tone matches a snarky eye roll, and I feel a little more comfortable with her. Theresa makes me want to roll my eyes too.

“This is a beautiful horse.” She approaches Snowcone with her hand out and strokes his neck. “He’s a hotblood?”

Deacon’s cock slid in and out of me while I was tied to a tree, his voice in my ear. He told me over and over that it was all right, that he had me. I felt his arms around my waist, his hips holding me up, the swelling heat between my legs.

“Arabian.”

He was so good. So perfect. He took everything away.

“Gorgeous.”

“My brother’s girlfriend, huh? Sorry. I haven’t talked to the little fucker in a long time.”

“I’ll tell the fucker you said hello.”

I laughed a little, letting go of a slice of my sadness and loneliness. Maybe I needed to spend more time with friends. Maybe that was the way to forget about Deacon.

“I think you’re amazing,” she whispers so softly I don’t know if she’s talking to me or the horse. “You’re so composed. So confident. Even when they come after you the way they do.”

“I don’t feel so confident.” I sit and get back to Snowcone’s hoof.

He huffs and fidgets more than he did before. He doesn’t like two people handling him. Was he always that way? I don’t even know.

“Hey, Rachel, could you—”

“I thought I could be someone like you.”

“Just take a step back while I finish up, okay? He’s skittish.”

She does, and Snowcone calms a little. I’m in control. I have this. As empty as I feel, I take this as a good sign.

“I wanted to go to an Ivy,” she says. “I have the grades. Did you know they give a ton of financial aid?”

“Really?” I let his leg down.

“But I can’t get any. My parents make too much, but not enough to actually pay the tuition. Isn’t that funny? And here’s my boyfriend, who could pay with his pocket change.”

I don’t have an answer for her. I already feel like shit. I put the knife on top of the kit while I put away the stool. I slip past her, my back grazing Snowcone’s side in the tight stall. In that second, from the way she looks at me, I know I could have her right there. Why not? What does anything matter anymore? All this pain could go away for a second, cocooned in a silky knot of sex.

“Master.” He fucked me full, pushing himself against my clit. I was a white swirl of pleasure. “I’m going to come.”

“Have you remembered?”

“No, but—”

“Then you may not.”

I kiss her, because she’s there and I’m an addict. Addicts don’t give a shit. Addicts are only concerned with pausing their own pain. I put my tongue in her mouth and grab her hair, yanking it. She kisses me back, groaning and pushing her luscious tits on me. I put my hand up her shirt, under her bra, and run a thumb over her nipple. She gasps. Snowcone shuffles.

“Are we going to fuck or what?” I say.

“I’ve never—”

“Gotten your clit sucked by a woman? Oh, honey, you’ve never been licked and fingered until a woman’s done it.” I bend my knee between her legs, pressing against her cunt.

She grinds against me. “Jonathan… Don’t you care about him?”

So close to her face, I see a flash of something in her eyes. Something less than innocent. Something more experienced than she’s letting on. I pretend I didn’t see that. I can’t think about her motives, because I have a need and she’s going to satisfy it.

“He’ll get over it,” I say.

“Remember, kitten. I have you.” He was so tender.

I was crying and close. I cried for the careless bitch I was and the fact that I didn’t feel changed at all. Who deserved me? Not even my family deserved such a reckless whore.

“I’m sorry,” I said, more to everyone I’d ever fucked over than to Deacon.

“You’re forgiven.”

I yank her pants down and get my finger on her pussy. She’s soaking wet, a slippery mass of flesh I know how to navigate. When I touch her clit, she squeaks. I’m in control; I have this bitch. I can make her cluck like a god damn chicken or come like a queen.

I take her hand and put it flat against my belly then push down. “Come on, touch it. It feels just like yours.”

She bites her lip and timidly touches my clit.

“That’s right,” I say.

She runs circles around the hood, making me groan. I hook my fingers in her hole and press the heel of my hand to her clit, sliding it back and forth. She looks at me with her mouth open, eyes hooded.

“Don’t come,” Deacon said.

“Don’t come,” I say.

“I don’t think I can stop.”

“I can’t stop it.”

“Stay with me, Fiona.”

“Stay with me, Rachel.”

“I—”

“I—”

“I have you.”

“I have you.”

“Fiona?” It’s Deacon’s voice, and then it all happens very fast.

Rachel screams in surprise. Enormous pressure on my back as Snowcone bucks. Deacon’s voice. Rachel letting out a war cry as she pushes me away. The horse slams me back toward her. Deacon grabs the bridle. Rachel has the knife, and I hear her scream, “I hate you! I hate all of you!” She thrusts for my face, and I can’t move. The horse and wall are in my way. I move. She misses, but I’m cornered. Deacon shouts something I can’t hear over Snowcone’s bucking and neighing.

The horse moves.

I fall.

She’s on top of me.

“He’ll kill you. Your brother. Your cunt’s all over my hands.”

The horse’s feet clop around me. They could crush my head. But Rachel is so mad, and she doesn’t know.

“You’re all going to pay.” She’s laughing. Crying.

Where’s Deacon?

Snowy’s losing it.

It’s loud.

The paddock shakes when Snowcone rears.

The hoof knife falls toward my face, handle first.

I roll, missing getting my head crushed by an inch.

Rachel is sucked away, backward, clawing for my face. She grabs the knife.

I get my feet under me. Snowcone bucks his rear to the right, into Rachel’s knife hand. It drops. I grab it, and I’m confused. Because Rachel is fighting him, and I’m still heavy between my legs. She’s calling him a lowlife pervert. That’s Deacon she’s talking to. He’s trying to wrestle her away without hurting her, but we’re in this tiny space with a bucking horse. My sexual arousal changes to unmitigated fire when she hits him in the face.