The Breaker (Erotic Country #1.) (2 page)

‘Can you hear?’ Maybe
he was deaf.

He looked her up and
down slowly, running his eyes over her legs, above her belt buckle at her
navel, which was peeking out under the tie at the front of her shirt. She
cursed herself for leaving it buttoned so low when his eyes again rested hungrily
on her chest. Somehow she knew there was nothing wrong with his cock.

‘You’re a rude prick,’
she said, as she turned away from him.

To her alarm, he
stepped towards her and ran a hand through her hair. He took a chunk of it and pulled
her head back, making her gasp. In one easy movement he twisted her around and
pushed her hips against a feed drum, pressing himself into her bum and holding
her in a firm grasp. He breathed menacingly in her ear. The stubble on his chin
brushed her neck. His voice made her shiver as he spoke through clenched teeth.
‘You be careful, Sophie. I haven’t had a woman for a long time and your arse is
looking pretty good right now.’

‘Touch my arse and
I’ll scream this building down,’ she said through gritted teeth. Who the hell
did this guy think he was? The anger inside her made her want to punch him in
the face. But the heat between her legs made her want to do quite the opposite.

He ran his nose and
lips up her neck and inhaled deeply. Her body gave an involuntary shiver and
she felt the corners of his mouth curl into a sardonic smile. His hand reached
around her waist and she was horrified when he started unbuckling her belt. In
seconds he had her jeans half way down her bum. He took hold of her pink knickers
and pulled them until they sliced neatly between her cheeks. ‘Scream and those
two young fellas will come in and see your sex-blessed arse staring at them. Do
you want that, Sophie?’

‘You’re a bastard,’
she seethed through ragged breaths.

‘Not always,’ he muttered
into her ear, still breathing heavily and inhaling the scent off her neck. She
felt the hardness in the front of his jeans push against her and knew she was
in trouble. Big trouble.

His free hand slipped
into the front of her panties and one finger parted her swollen lips. She
nearly died of embarrassment at how wet she was, and could barely suppress a
groan when his finger ran over her clit and began slowly circling. Oh man, that
was cruel. She tried to keep control of her breath, which now sounded more like
panting. Her eyes closed without her telling them to. His finger kept massaging
before sliding further down and pushing inside her.

‘Get. Out,’ she
managed to croak through a confused mix of fury and ecstasy. Slowly he brought
his hand back out and the pressure of his cock against her arse eased.

She felt suddenly
emotional. ‘That was totally without consent,’ she whispered, her head
spinning. Her core was throbbing and something amazing pumped through every
vein in her body.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ he
answered in a cold and calm voice. With his fist still wrapped in her hair and
holding her head back in a tight grip, he brought his glistening finger to her
lips and slowly ran it around her mouth. She could taste her own arousal on him.
In her twenty-five years, no one had ever done that to her before.

‘Let me go,’ she
choked out.

The moment he loosened
his grip, she spun around and smacked her fist so hard into his mouth that she
thought every knuckle in her hand would break. His head reeled back and his
hand flew to his jaw. ‘How dare you touch me like that!’ she hissed, pulling up
her jeans and zipping them with shaking hands.

Brett snatched for her
wrist and held it tight to stop her from punching him again. He glared at her
as he pushed her back against the wall and she noticed his lip was bleeding. Then
he stunned her again by placing his lips over hers, kissing her long and deep
until she could barely stand. His hand ran up the back of her neck and through
her hair. His lips were full and hungry, pushing into hers until it nearly hurt,
splitting her mouth open and running his tongue over hers. Her mouth responded
even though she begged it not to, pushing back into his kiss. Then he pulled at
her lower lip and broke away, eyes smouldering into hers, leaving her fighting
for breath.

‘If you want to
continue this, I sleep with my door unlocked,’ he said in an even voice. ‘But
right now, I have other fillies to break.’

He calmly zipped her
jeans back up and re-buckled her belt while she stood, swallowing and blinking
and gaping at him.

Every part of her
wanted to grab him by the face and pull him back, rip his shirt off and explore
every part of him. She wanted to throw him on his back, straddle him and pound
herself stupid on him. Instead, she set her jaw hard and turned to ice. ‘Touch
me like that again and I’ll have you thrown straight back into prison.’

‘Door’s open,’ he
repeated, and walked off to the yard full of young horses without looking back.

Man, the arrogance!

It was such a turn on.

* * * * *

Sophie staggered
through the rest of the day, riding and training three freshly broke horses in
the cattle yards. She was still wet and sensitive, rubbing in the saddle with
every step the horse made. Every time she throbbed she thought of Brett’s hand
down her pants, his breath on his neck and goosebumps ran up her arms and the
back of her neck. How did he get such control of her so quickly? What if
someone had walked in?

If she wasn’t so
completely on fire, she wouldn’t have believed what had just happened had
actually happened. He had violated her. She could go straight to Jim and tell
him what happened. He’d be sacked on the spot. Probably be thrown straight back
into prison. Where he clearly belonged.

And then she would
never see him again. He would never touch her like that again. She would never
get a chance to take that further. Four years he’d served, Jim had said, and he
hadn’t been with a woman since he got out?

He must be horny as
hell.

Sophie got back to the horse shed
just before dark. Brett already had three yearlings side-lined. Ropes ran
around the base of their necks, went back and looped around one hind foot. All
three horses stood in their yards with one hind leg tied up, unable to move.

So he did things the
old-fashioned way, with ropes and force. Why didn’t that surprise her? Somehow
he didn’t strike her as the sensitive type who was into ‘gentling’ and
‘starting’ them. She watched, out of the corner of her eye. The horses seemed
calm and accepting. They didn’t fight the restraints. Maybe they were smart. He
untied the rope from each horse’s back legs, then from around their necks, and
spent a moment rubbing each one down. He had a way with them that was persuasive,
but not overly cruel.

But none of them had
challenged him yet. He’d picked the quietest three, she noticed. She had worked
with those horses six months ago, and she knew that they were the most
submissive of the mob. Had he known that too, she wondered, just by watching
them? Would he hold his temper if one challenged him? Would he have the skill
to bring them around, or would he use brute force. He seemed strong enough to
throw a horse on the ground with his bare hands.

He ignored her as he finished
removing the ropes and let them out with the rest of the mob in the small
paddock out the back.

He also ignored her at
dinner, sitting in taciturn silence while everyone made awkward conversation
around him. Charming, for a guy who’d had his hands down her pants only a few
hours ago. She could still hardly believe it had happened. He had showered and
put on a fresh shirt and left his hat on a hook by the door. His hair was
close-cropped, still wet from the shower, and she noticed a scar on the side of
his head. More questions buzzed about in her mind.

Jim sat next to him
for a while and mumbled a few directions for the next day, to which he nodded
without question or comment. He didn’t eat while Jim spoke. When he did, he cut
the meat precisely and took large mouthfuls, but he had manners, resting his
forearms on the table between mouthfuls and chewing slowly. The blokes around
him all talked with their mouths full and leaned on their elbows, shovelling
food into their mouths.

Eventually, everyone
gave up trying to talk to him and resumed their normal banter as though he
wasn’t there. Pete and Paul talked about some television show and Mick flicked
through a hot rod magazine. There were more stockmen at the table now. They
were from Bangaloo Creek, the sister station about an hour up the road, and had
come to help with the cattle the next day.

Jaimie was among them.
He was a guy she’d rolled and ridden several times, but then broken off with
when he became too needy. Things were cool with him now that he’d found a
French backpacker to take her place. He gave her a wink hello and she grinned
at him. Sweetest guy ever. Too sweet for her.

Brett finished his
meal and took his plate to the kitchen, passing Nancy on the way.

‘Taste alright, love?’
she smiled at him.

‘That was a feast, Mrs
Carney,’ he answered.

Sophie wondered what
prison food tasted like. Probably pretty crap.

‘There’s plenty more,’
said Nancy. ‘Don’t go hungry.’

‘I’m good,’ he assured
her, and Sophie watched as he took his plate to the sink, washed it and put it
in the rack.

She filed in after him
and put hers on the sink. ‘Liz does that,’ she said.

Sophie always made a
point of not washing her plate. Not one bloke in the place ever did, and she
worked as hard as, if not harder than most of them. She took a stand by
demanding equal pay, which included food and lodgings, and by not doing any
form of house work. No one had ever challenged her. Not even Liz.

Unsurprisingly, he
didn’t respond.

She strutted out of
the room, through the front door and out to her flat. It was a small fibro
out-building that she shared with Liz. It had a kitchenette, a lounge room with
manky furniture, and two small bedrooms. The air-conditioner hung its arse out
of the wall and hummed so hard it sounded as if it would blow a gasket. But it
was home and she liked it.

It was Friday night,
not that there was anywhere to go out around here. Usually, she collapsed on
the small couch, watched an hour or two of
The X factor
with a cold beer
and woke in the wee hours, in the same position, empty stubby on the floor and the
test pattern fizzing madly on the TV screen.

But tonight she was
restless. She ripped the fridge open and cracked a stubby, stood staring
vacantly at an open packet of chocolate Tim-Tams, fantasising about Brett’s
naked body, the lower half of which was covered by a crisp white sheet. His
fist was wrapped around something enormous under the sheet. His eyes were
closed. The thought of him, waiting for her with the door unlocked went
straight to her core and made it pulse.

Then she closed the
fridge door. What was she thinking? He was a rude bastard.

A rude, very hot, very
horny, bastard.

If he wanted to play
games, she could play too. She wouldn’t be throwing herself at him. She flicked
off the light, went to the window and peeked out through the venetian blinds.

He’d been given the
foreman’s residence – a timber home with a verandah running around all four
sides. The windows were large and open. It was a lovely home, but its best
feature was its distance from the main house, which made it the most private. Jim
had moved to a house in town. It suddenly peeved her that this new bloke got Jim’s
house, when his position as a horse-breaker was no more senior than hers.

The only light on in
the place shone dimly from the lounge room, where a lamp cast soft light. She
could see his silhouette. He sat sideways with his knees up on the lounge flicking
through what looked like a magazine. The way the light wrapped around him gave
her an idea.

Sophie went to her
room and switched on her bedside lamp. Gentle light bled into the darkness,
casting shadows. Leaving her blinds open, she stood with her side to the window
and slowly raised her shirt over her head, giving him the full silhouette of
her breasts. She dropped it on the bed, put her hands behind her back and began
unclipping her bra. She let it slide off, down her arms and fall at her feet,
and then ran her hands over the small bumps of her hips, over her tummy, then
up and over the mounds of her breasts. She reached behind her head, loosening
her ponytail and letting her long wavy hair fall down her back. She imagined
his hand moving over his cock again and a rush of warmth rose up her legs.

She closed her eyes and
retraced her finger tips softly over her skin, making it tingle, lingering on
her breasts and then sliding them down to her belt buckle. She unzipped her
jeans and slipped her hand down, sliding over her silky knickers. Her chest
lifted with a sharp inhalation as she moved a finger under the side of one leg
and began circling where Brett had touched her earlier, reliving the feeling of
his breath on her neck. Her own breath began to hitch at the thought of him and
she wished his cock was pressing against her again.

She brought her hands
to the waist of her jeans and pulled them down, bending her hips and arching
her back as she slid them slowly down to her ankles. Her arse pointed to the
ceiling while she removed her socks and jeans from her feet at a leisurely
pace. Then, while fully naked, she bent to the small bedside lamp. ‘Take a good
look at what you can’t have, arsehole,’ she muttered, and switched off the
light.