Читать книгу Passion - P.F. Kozak - Страница 6

A poem called “The Highwayman” made me cry. That’s why I started to write. In the poem, the Highwayman and the innkeeper’s daughter, Bess, die trying to save each other. The thought of them being separated upset me so much, I changed the story.

In my version, the Highwayman would kidnap me and gallop away on his black stallion, taking me to his hideaway. Or maybe he would stay at the inn and lure me to his room. Once, I found him wounded. In order to care for him, I hid him in a secret room at the inn.

I started to write down my stories so I wouldn’t forget them. I recently unearthed several stories about my Highwayman in a box of old papers. For well over a month now, I have fallen asleep, thinking of him, my Highwayman.

Just last night, I stayed awake until after three in the morning, the story I had woven feeling more real than my life. Even though some of the details changed from night to night, the core story remained the same.

I looked up as the door opened. A large man stood there, tall, muscular and powerfully built. His thick beard framed a rigid jaw. He wore a heavy black coat, made of coarse wool. Both it and the cape he had on over it smelled like wet horse hair, being damp from the melted snow. The cape barely hid the hilt of a sword.

He looked directly at me, with an intense, penetrating stare. He seemed so big and so totally unaware of how fiercely intimidating he looked. His swagger and his comfort with his size sent a shiver down my arms. Even though he frightened me, I still felt drawn to him.

I raised the bottle I had in my hand and beckoned to an empty table in a secluded corner. He took the bottle I offered to him in one hand and my arm in the other. He pulled me toward a table, drinking as he walked. I knew the bottle would relieve the chill in his bones from the cold.

I started to undo his cape, but he pushed me away. Untying it himself, it fell to the floor. He removed his sword and then his coat, being careful to position his sword within easy reach.

He sat with his back to the wall, staring both at me and over me. I watched his eyes, sensing his tension as he surveyed the room for possible threats. It was not uncommon for two men to lay claim to the same woman. He positioned himself to watch for anyone who would challenge his right to me. No one did.

We drank together for a time. He pushed the bottle at me and I drank from it as he did. He kept staring at me with those eyes. I could not look away. He asked, “Do you belong to a man?”

I answered him, “No, not until you walked in.”

He touched me. I did not pull away. His hands were large and very strong. He put his hand behind my neck and pulled me to him with a squeeze of his hand. I did not know if he intended to love me or to kill me—and I did not care. I felt his fingers on my neck. It made me feel lost in his power. He nuzzled my long, red hair. He sniffed at me, smelling both my skin and my hair.

I could feel how he wanted the pleasure only a woman could give him. Keeping his hand on my neck, he drank again. I felt his fingers sliding up into my hair and felt the ends pull as he closed his fist. I did not flinch. He looked at me as if not understanding why I did not push him away. I asked, “How long since you’ve had a woman?”

He answered, “Long enough.”

He pulled his sword out of his waistband and threw it on top of his cape. Then he did the same with his belt. After taking another long drink from the bottle, he threw his coat in the corner along the wall.

Grabbing my arm, he yanked me down on top of his coat. He put both hands on my ankles and shoved my long skirt up by moving his hands up my legs. Then he knelt to open his breeches. I started to pull down my loose-fitting pantaloons to ready myself for him. He had just exposed himself when he saw me reaching under my skirt. He grabbed my hand and stopped me. He said, “What are you doing?”

“Baring myself for you,” I replied angrily. I tried to free myself from his grip, but could not loosen his hold. He shoved my hand away and pulled off my pantaloons. Before dropping them, he crumbled the garment in his hands, to make sure I had not hidden a blade in them. Pushing my legs farther apart, he lowered himself on top of me. He entered me with one long stroke and I met him with an upward push.

I put my arms around his back and ground myself against him, pushing the length of him as deeply into myself as I could. I hissed, “Fuck!” at him, wanting him to move inside of me. He looked startled and then a sound came from him as if someone had knifed him in the back.

He pounded me with his body, his thick organ stretching me almost beyond endurance. Still I met him head on, stroke for stroke, with the heart of a lion. I slammed against him with each powerful thrust.

Suddenly his body went rigid. He nearly pulled out of me, then drove himself back into me, pinning me to the floor. Unable to move underneath him, I held him as he spurted inside of me. The growl started in his belly and moved into my ears.

The sound I heard had come from my own voice as my orgasm shook my body. I hugged my damp pillow to myself. In my mind I held him as tightly as I could, wanting to pull him inside me, my Highwayman.

The vividness of that fantasy distressed me. It had seemed so real, I had totally lost myself in it. The morning after, I realized I had been alone too bloody long. It frightened me to think I could lose myself so completely inside my imagination. I needed a serious reality check, or perhaps I needed to check in with reality.

Both my schedule and my budget allowed me the freedom to get out of my imagination and have some jollies, something fun to shake up my isolated routine. So I decided my lifelong fascination with horses would finally become real. I would take riding lessons.

I knew my friend Gwen dated a fellow who owned a local stable. She claimed he had the best stud service around Shaftesbury, perhaps even in the whole of Dorset. When she told me that, I laughed. Of course, I had to ask if she knew that firsthand. She smiled and simply said he was the dog’s bollocks. The color in her cheeks told me she probably did know his stud service firsthand.

I really needed to do something immediately to convince myself I still had a grip on reality. I rang up Gwen to find out if I might be able to get riding lessons there. She told me that if I wanted to learn about horses, her friend Steve could help me. Horses had been in his family for generations. She said she would speak to Steve to make sure he did right by me. So I gave Gwen a little time to ring him before I did.

When I spoke to Steve I told him I wanted to learn how to ride but hadn’t really been around horses. Growing up in London I never had the opportunity to learn. I wanted someone who could teach me to ride and also teach me about horses. I asked him for an instructor who had patience and a lot of “horse sense,” one who didn’t mind answering silly questions from a novice. Steve told me he had the right teacher for me and that I could sign up for lessons that afternoon.

My stomach had butterflies as I drove to the stable. I met Steve at his house and took care of the paperwork. He agreed to let me pay lesson by lesson until I knew for sure that I wanted to continue. Then he asked me when I wanted to start. I told him right away, if possible. I had made up my mind to do this, and dash it all, I would do it now!

Steve took me into the stable to meet my new teacher. When I saw him, I almost forgot why I came. As I watched, he lifted a bale of hay and carried it into an empty stall. He took a knife out of his pocket to cut the twine and then spread the hay around the floor. I knew he had to be more than six feet tall, with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had a mustache that curved in a thin line around his mouth, filling out into a goatee at his chin. When he bent over to cut the twine, I saw the tightest bum and the longest legs in recent memory.

Somewhere behind me I heard Steve yell in his direction, “Hey, Ivan. Come over here. I have a new student for you.” I noted his pronunciation, i-VAHN, with the second syllable accented. I thought his name suited him. Ivan turned around, obviously startled that we had come in. He regained his composure easily. His T-shirt, damp with sweat and covered with straw, stuck to him. Some delicious tingles fluttered inside me as he came out of the stall, brushing bits of hay from his chest as he walked.

Pulling off a crusty glove, he shook my hand and said, “So you want to learn how to ride? We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” My attraction to him was undeniable and I felt myself blush.

My summer job in a stable takes me as far away from a classroom as I can get. Even though I love teaching, I need a break from academia. When my eyes start to feel like piss holes in the snow while grading spring finals, I know I have to come up for air or burn out real damn fast.

My best friend inherited his father’s horse farm near Shaftesbury. Every summer I travel from Northamptonshire, where I live and teach, to stay at the farm and work. All I take is room and board. I grew up working there. Going back feels like going home.

Even though Steve’s father hired me as a horse groom, Steve never treated me like hired help. Since neither of us had siblings, we grew up like brothers. His father taught us how to ride together. We got hammered on ale Steve pilfered from his father’s stash. And, of course, we shared learning about women.

Steve assumed I would stay on at the farm and help him run it. But I decided to go to university on scholarship instead. Once my parents passed, Steve’s family was the only family I had to invite when I graduated. They all came, too. By the time I got my doctorate, only Steve came. His father had died and his mum had moved to London. That left Steve to run the farm alone.

After becoming a professor, I bought myself a house and some property near Thrapston, Kettering. My colleagues thought me daft for buying a house so far from Northampton, but I wanted a place where one day I might have a few horses of my own.

When I realized I actually had a growing bank account without the summer term, I figured, what the hell! I asked Steve if I might stay with him again over the summers. I knew he might not take to the idea, since he felt like I did him dirty not staying at the farm after we graduated. But, to my surprise, he welcomed me back.

When I arrived this summer, Steve made it clear he needed me to teach more. He hadn’t yet replaced an instructor who recently left. I reluctantly agreed to take on a few students if the need arose.

When he called me over to meet my first student of the season, I rather expected so see a gangly teenager waiting. Instead, there stood a short, shapely redhead, about my age, looking very apprehensive. Steve introduced her as “Pash,” a name I had never heard before. I hadn’t enjoyed a female liaison in some time. I smiled to myself, thinking, This could be an unexpected pleasure.

Steve asked Ivan if he could spare an hour now to get me started with a few basics. Ivan hesitated. Steve took him aside and spoke to him. When they came back, Ivan smiled and said, “Of course I can jump-start you today. Let’s set about it.” That began what may be the most embarrassing hour of my life.

Everything started well enough. He asked me, “Have you ever ridden before?”

“Only once. I rode a pony at Battersea Park Children’s Zoo in London. But I have read books and watched documentaries!” Realizing how utterly lame that sounded, I added, “I daresay I don’t know too much.”

Since he realized I knew absolutely naught about riding, he started from scratch. He took me around the stable, showing me a few horses. Then he opened a stall and led out a horse. “This horse, Nutmeg, has started more than a few riders on their way.”

I thought she seemed awfully big for me. He patted her neck. “She’s gentle as a lamb. I’ve put children on her and she’s absolutely fine.”

As I imagined myself trying to get on this monster, I started to walk around her. She snorted just as I stepped in front of her and it startled me. I jumped off to the side, thinking she was going to charge or something.

I tripped on God knows what and fell right into a big puddle filled with slimy mud and straw. Both knees sunk into the muck. I did manage to catch myself on my hands before I went completely down. Nevertheless, I made an unmitigated mess of myself.

Ivan helped me up, saying as he lifted me, “I am terribly sorry. Before Steve came in with you, I had been cleaning the horses. I should have warned you to mind the gap.” His apology barely hid his amusement.

“I’ve made a dog’s dinner of myself!” He didn’t seem to notice that he had mud all over himself from picking me up.

I assured him I had not hurt myself. With his arm still around my waist, Ivan dragged his boot through the puddle. “There is a drain here, but I think it is blocked with hay.”

“You are nearly as mucked up as I am. I’m terribly sorry about that.” He still held me very tightly against himself. With all the mud, we were practically sliding against each other.

“That’s quite all right, I don’t mind.” He cleared the drain with his foot. “Now let me clean you off.” He picked up the hose and turned on the water. There I stood, muddy straw all over me, with the sexiest man I had ever seen looking me over and offering to hose me down. I just wanted to disappear.

Steve caught me totally unaware when he asked if I could spare the time to start Pash’s lessons right away. I wasn’t prepared to be teaching a new student at that moment, even if I did find her tempting. I hadn’t finished hosing the horses and cleaning their stalls, not to mention I really needed a shower.

On the pretense of asking me some inane question, Steve took me aside and said, “C’mon, guv—Pash rhymes with cash. Don’t make me look bad in front of a new student!” So I agreed. I needed to find out straight away what she knew about horses, to figure out where to start. Turns out she rode a pony once upon a time. That summed up her total direct exposure.

I knew I had my work cut out for me, but reminded myself that she could be that gangly teenager coming at me with the same story. Perhaps this totty might be inclined to ride more than a horse!

To see how she responded to the animals, I walked her around the stable. She seemed a little jumpy, but I supposed that would pass soon enough. I picked Nutmeg to get her started. Nutmeg has the disposition of a kitten, quietest damn mare I’ve ever seen. She is on the large side, being a retired farm horse. Steve keeps her around because she is gentle and even-tempered with children.

She is a good old girl. I like to make sure she is seen earning her keep. When I took Nutmeg out of the stall, I noticed the color drain from Pash’s face. I tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, my dear, Nutmeg is a sweetheart. She won’t give you any grief.”

Before I could finish my pep talk, Pash stepped right in front of the horse. Nutmeg must have thought Pash had a treat for her, because she raised her head, blew some air out of her nose and opened her mouth. The next thing I knew, Pash jumped a couple meters off to the side, stumbled on an uneven part of the floor and fell right on the spot where I had just hosed off a horse.

Christ, I looked down and saw the new student Steve wanted to impress kneeling in water thick with mud. That’s not all I saw. She had her arse in the air, down on all fours. Bloody hell, she looked like she wanted a good seeing-to!

“Please, allow me.” Bending over her to help her up, I fought the urge to join her in the mud and have it doggy fashion.

I put my arm around her to help her stand up, brushing her breasts as I did so. To prolong keeping hold of her, I asked, “Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“I’m quite all right, thank you. I just need a bath.”

“Well, that’s better that a slap in the face with a wet kipper,” I said, trying to make her laugh. She barely managed a feeble smile.

It felt damn good having a woman against me again. I didn’t want to let her go. So, I continued holding her while scraping the drain with my boot to clear it. “I should have seen to this clog earlier. It never occurred to me I would have company in here today.”

Then I held her at arm’s length to survey the damage. “You are a mucky pup, all right.” She had mud, hay and horse hair covering her legs. Somehow I had to clean her up.

The only thing I could think to do was to hose her off, the way I did the horses. She had on jeans and sneakers, so it wouldn’t hurt anything. “Now let me clean you off.” I picked up the hose. “You will be wet, but at least you will be clean.”

“I suppose I have to. I can’t get in my car like this.” Seeing as how she didn’t have much choice, she agreed.

“This won’t hurt a bit, I promise.” Turning the hose to a gentler spray than I used for the horses, I washed her off. Straight away, I got myself a hard-on. When she fell, her tight jeans gave her a camel’s hoof, clearly outlining her privy parts. I made sure I hosed her thoroughly. “Spread your feet apart so I can clean your legs properly.” What better way to get a good long look at her bits!

I finished my lesson soaking wet from the waist down. How absolutely humiliating! After Ivan hosed the mud off me, he turned the hose on himself to wash off his own legs. I couldn’t help noticing he had quite a package, which seemed to have grown since I arrived. When he brushed some hay from my shirt, his hand grazed my breasts. My nipples turned into pebbles.

Once he made sure he had properly cleaned me up, Ivan wanted me to get right on Nutmeg, saying, “It is best to get comfortable mounting during the first lesson.”

My nerve completely left me. “Couldn’t we wait for a bit? I’ve never been around horses before and would like to get used to them first.” It’s the only excuse I could think of for not mounting as he asked.

Ivan seemed a little perplexed. He took a quick look around the stable before he said, “All right, then, let’s go over the gear first.” I made a halfhearted attempt to listen when he explained the parts of a saddle as he put it on Nutmeg’s back. “Always from the left side,” he said. “Our horses are trained to be handled from the left.”

Then he showed me how to bridle a horse. I cringed when he put the bit in Nutmeg’s mouth, wondering how the horse could stand that chunk of metal across its tongue. “This is an eggbutt snaffle. It doesn’t hurt her at all.” I didn’t believe it!

After he had Nutmeg ready, he demonstrated the proper way to mount a horse by climbing on her himself. “See how easy it is! There’s nothing to it.” He looked magnificent sitting on that big horse, like I had always imagined my Highwayman would look.

I could see the outline of his thigh through his wet jeans. My eyes followed his leg up to his crotch. Realizing how utterly unseemly staring at his bulge would appear, I made myself look away.

He dismounted and again encouraged me to try it. “Why don’t you give it a go? I’ll help you up.”

I politely declined. “No, thank you. I think I’ve had enough for one day.”

“Well, next time we’ll practice mounting.”

I wondered why in heaven’s name I had wanted to do this in the first place.