between the legs,” she replied, grinning. “I’ll be walking bowlegged after this.”
“Not after this, but maybe after tonight,” he joked, taking a riding crop off the wall on the rare chance that Willa needed a tap to move along. “Do you want to change position?”
“Are you kidding? I love pussy torture. Bring it on.”
Trevor scoffed. “Language!” He covered Willa’s ears as if she were a child instead of an old horse.
Slowly, Trevor led Willa out of the barn, constantly checking to see how Elisabeth seemed to be fairing.
“Okay?”
“It’s great! I want to run!” she said.
“You mean, gallop?”
“Yes! I want to gallop.” She looked out over the hills with a glint in her eye.
“You have to crawl before you can walk, and you have to trot before you can gallop.”
Elisabeth wasn’t even looking at him, just out at the green pasture. “What?”
“You’re not ready for that,” he warned.
“Come on, Willa!” she yelled, but the horse stayed still. Elisabeth tightened her legs, her heels pressing against the horse’s flanks. Willa neighed and jolted forward.
“Whoa, girl,” Trevor yelled, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. With a gentle jump over the low post-and-rail fence outlining the training area, Willa went from zero to galloping across the fields in the blink of an eye.
“Elisabeth, hold on,” he yelled, although he knew there was no way she could hear him above the sound of the horse’s hooves and the wind blowing across her face. The sun was setting but now it didn’t seem romantic—it seemed like he had a very short window of opportunity to get Elisabeth back to safety before nightfall. Unlike in the city or suburbs, nighttime in the country was dark. Very dark.
He ran into the stable and grabbed Flash, his favorite horse, and one known for both following direction and being fast. Right now Trevor needed both. He mounted the horse bareback, no time for a saddle, and gave a tap with the riding crop along with a yell that Flash seemed to intuitively understand meant Follow that girl.
It didn’t take long for Flash to catch up with Willa, who had stopped galloping and was now wandering slowly in a circle.
But Elisabeth wasn’t on her.
“Trevor?” Her voice sounded shaky, breathless. “I’m here. I’m fine. Just twisted my wrist a bit I think.”
Oh, thank God. He dismounted, and bent down, lifting her off the grass. “What were you thinking, galloping off like that?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Willa seemed like she knew what she was doing, and it felt like we both wanted to jump the fence and run around a bit.”
Trevor wanted to yell at her, to let out his frustration. She could have been severely injured. Instead, he would speak quietly, so she’d have to strain to hear him. The sun had set completely; they were alone in the field with only the moonlight and the two horses milling about. The stables, painted red, now looked gray in the dark and in the distance.
“You disregarded me when I told you that you weren’t ready to gallop. If you agreed to let me teach you how to ride, you should have been smart enough to take my instruction.”
She looked up at him from the grass, that twinkle still in her eye. Or was that moonlight? “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No you’re not. But you will be.”
Elisabeth stood slowly, her gaze dropping to the riding crop he held in his hand, hitting his own thigh rhythmically with it to get the feel of it. Good. She’d noticed.
“Do you want to punish me, sir?” she asked. “Shall I strip?”
“Take off your top and lace your hands on your head.”
“Yes, sir.” She rushed to obey, but the smile that kept playing across her face made him realize she was playing him for a fool.
“Turn around.” The moment she did, he struck her back with the riding crop, hitting her shoulder hard. She made a noise, but it didn’t sound like pain.
Another strike. Another little whimper that sounded more like a whimper of
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia