The Polo Prince (Foxworth Stud Ranch Book 4)

by Mia Madison

  22

  Diego

  “What happened there, Boss?” Flavio asks as I storm off the field, receiving a violent glare in return.

  “He means is there anything we can do to help?” Nacho says, always the peacemaker between hot head Flavio and me.

  Yeah. Go bring me that girl that won’t get out of my head even for one second. It’s her fault I fluffed every chukka like a fucking amateur and let the team down.

  “No.” I roar. “Just leave me alone.”

  I storm out through the milling crowd at the bar behind the stands. My failure doesn't stop the women all dressed up in bright silk dresses and towering heels on the grass, champagne in hand. They’re still hurling themselves at me, pawing my chest, cooing my name. They tell me I was amazing so I know they weren’t even watching.

  I don’t care.

  None of them is a match for Violet. Sweet, demure Violet with the hottest curves in America, north or south. If she’d been here I know she’d have been watching me closely, willing me to do well. And I would have. For her. Fuck it, that’s insane. I’ve lost my head over one girl. Of all the girls in the world, how is it possible to get into a big freaking mashup over just one?

  I get in my Mercedes and drive back to the apartment I keep on the top floor overlooking the ocean. The water view calms me after the endless grit of a cattle ranch but not for long. I’m up out of the lounger and storm up and down the length of the room.

  Everything deflects back to Violet. The win would be better shared with her on the terrace. She’d love to sit here with me watching the sunset on the Atlantic. I take a shower and stroke my solid cock into submission thinking how much better if Violet’s naked body were in here with me. It’s all about her.

  It’s fucking ridiculous – I’ve never wanted a woman beside me for anything. Aside from plunging into her body until we’re both satiated. I need to see Violet. I need to see her right now and I always get what I need, or keep at it until I do. Didn't she say she lives in Fort Lauderdale? Fuckit if only she were there now. It’s only fifty miles south and I could send one of the grooms to pick her up for me.

  No, I’d even go get her myself – let her know that’s how much I want her.

  But she’s not there. She’s back at Foxworth for another week of horse therapy which sounds like an excuse for cheap labor if you ask me.

  Fuckit, there's only one thing to do.

  It’s fucking dark when we land.

  “You’ll wait right?” I remind the pilot of our contract. “The ranch is a ways off, I could be a while.”

  I don’t want him to take off on me. I have to be in London for the charity game Tuesday.

  “It’s your dollar,” he smirks.

  Yeah. A fuckton of them. I don’t care. I hire a car in the terminal and drive out to Foxworth at top speed. Even that doesn't relieve the burn in my blood to see Violet again. This kidnapping is definitely gonna give the cowboys something to grunt over.

  I skid the car to a halt in the yard and find the ranch in total pitch darkness aside from the embers of a fire. The cowboys are sprawled all around the circle, on logs and makeshift seating. Some with their hats pulled over their faces, snoring loud.

  “What the fuck?” I rage. “I thought there was a wedding tonight. Where is everyone/”

  The big guy, my nemesis from before tips his head back slow as cold syrup. He takes me in with his lips curling up into a wry grin.

  Then he looks up at the stars, enjoying my agonized impatience until I could throttle him.

  “It’s three am dude,” he drawls. “They all went to bed a half hour back.”

  “Violet too?” I say cutting to the chase. He grins even bigger and acts like he’s thinking hard, taking his time.

  Asshat.

  “Nope. That little girl left this afternoon. Decided she was safer back home. Can’t say I blame her.” He gives me a knowing stare.

  Safe? Does he mean safe from me? Fuck that.

  “Where? Where at home?” I stutter, in a complete mental funk. “She told me Fort Lauderdale, but where?”

  Abel shrugs but I get the feeling he’s hiding the info from me.

  “You wanna tell me or I gotta go inside and wake up Chloe to ask,” I snarl.

  He clamps his jaw at that.

  “Best you don’t,” he grits out, threatening.

  Bring it on. I’m in the mood for a fight.

  Except I’m running out of time.

  I want Violet right now. I can’t wait, I don't do waiting.

  “Just tell me,” I bite out.

  “Baysmith’s all I know. I remember the street name cuz my cousin Purty married a guy called Baysmith.”

  “Fascinating story, what number?”

  “No clue, but how big could a street be in Florida?”

  “Why you telling him where’all she is?” One of the cowboys wakes up and blurts out from under his hat.

  He’s young enough to swipe, so I have to hold my fists at my side.

  “Cuz I can tell he got it real bad,” Abel says, smug and knowing.

  The others have all come around and are pushing back their hats looking at me.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it,” I tell the big cowboy and start heading back to the truck. “And hey,” I shout back at him, “You got it bad too, Dude. Next time I stop by, I hope you’ve grown a pair and actually done something about it.”

  A cheer of agreement goes around the cowboys. They laugh and start joshing Abel then shout out to wish me a good trip, good luck. One sentence is all it takes to make friends apparently.

  I drive like I’m racing Formula 1 along the deserted streets.

  “Fort Lauderdale,” I tell the pilot, asleep in his cockpit when I climb inside my plane. The plane I chartered to get Violet.

  The light comes up as we land. I have no clue of the time and I have to rent another car as mine is up in West Palm. The GPS finds Baysmith soon enough but the fucking street numbers start at 3050. I could be here all week knocking on every door like a fucking vacuum salesman.

  I decide to gamble by starting halfway down. The first couple of doors net me some angry looking husbands, wondering why I’m banging on the door at dawn. No one knows a Violet Hart. Then I get lucky with a woman in a slinky nightgown, smoking a cigarette. She smiles invitingly at me even though I’m clearly desperate for one woman only.

  “That the crazy girl that never leaves the house?” She drawls like she’s smacking gum. “Weird eyes?”

  “Beautiful eyes,” I correct her.

  “Huh. She lives over there, red door, peeling paint.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Y’all come on back if she doesn’t answer the door. She never does.”

  “She will.”

  I fucking hope she will. If she left Foxworth a week early, I’m betting she’s pissed at me for taking off without so much as a thank you Ma’am. Her front door is pretty rough and it wouldn't take much to kick in the rusty hinges. We’ll have to fix that. For now I start banging.

  She’s not here. I knock more urgently, willing her to be here

  She has to be. I cant play the Royal match in London without her at my side.

  She’s become like some magic talisman in my mind. Crazy, completely crazy but I have to have her there. I breathe easy when the door opens on my third round of hammering. But my blood only rushes faster seeing her, all sleepy and perfect in a short slip and tousled hair. Her eyes get wide when she sees me.

  “You look hot,” she whispers.

  I realize sweat beads are pouring off my forehead like an overridden stallion, which is about how I feel.

  “You too,” I say and push her inside, kicking the door closed behind me.

  I pull her into my arms, feeling her naked flesh under the silky gown crush into my solid body, making me both burn up and calm back down.

  She’s mine.

  23

  Violet

  “No, really. I can’t come to London,” I la
ugh.

  I’m following Diego around my small bedroom. The same one I occupied as a child. I could never bear to move into the master my parents occupied, before they -

  “Why?” he demands, yanking some clothes from my closet and tossing them into the suitcase still sitting on the floor half unpacked last night.

  “Don’t tell me you don't have a passport,” he halts and looks at me half stricken.

  I walk across the small space, half humiliated that he, a rich aristocrat with a billion acres of South America sees me in this tiny room with soft toys. The silly motivational posters stuck to the wall in an attempt to get me living back in the real world. He hasn't noticed any of that in his haste and I'm concerned at how manic he seems.

  Why does he insist that I have to come with him?

  There must be hundreds of sexy English women, daughters of Dukes even. I can’t compete with that. But I touch his cheek and he startles as though I burned him. He reaches up for my hand and sucks it into his mouth ravenously. His free hand goes around to the small of my back and he drags me into him.

  My body crushes into his amazing hard torso and his hand slides down over my bare ass, squeezing the flesh under the slivery material so I quiver with need for him again. My butt cheek is still tender, my pussy is definitely still swollen but my body says screw all of it. I’m already dripping wet and pulsating for Diego inside me again.

  He slides a strap down my shoulder so my breast falls bare and he groans into my neck as he pulls on my nipple. My pussy clenches and begs for him inside me. But he pushes me away, not roughly, more like it’s an agony of effort. Then he shoves the other strap down my shoulder and the slip falls to the floor.

  He looks at my body like he’d like to devour me except he loves gazing at it. His eyes travel up and down, the first time he’s seen me completely naked and clearly he likes what he sees. A swell of confidence rises in me.

  He could have anyone but he wants me. He flew back and forth across the country all night long to find me. That has to mean something. Right? I wish I could call Modesty and get an opinion but Diego is throwing a dress over my head. He slams my bag closed and takes my hand to lead me out of the house.

  “Wait, I laugh I don't have my passport. I grab it from the top drawer of the dresser. “Or any panties,

  “Passport is good, panties you don't need,” he orders me and he pulls me from the house.

  He takes the key from me to lock up. I see Audrey Panopolis at her curtain, watching us get into the car that’s nothing like the old sedans lining the street. I know she’s thinking ‘Why her?’ and I feel the same.

  This cannot be happening.

  Diego drives fast but not recklessly. And we pull into a private airfield where he tosses someone money to return the car and leads me through some semblance of security before we walk across the tarmac to the steps to a plane. A good looking steward waits at the top of the steps.

  “Wait, is this your plane?” I squeak, feeling completely inept, not to mention under-dressed.

  “No mine, I just rented it.”

  “Oh, well that’s okay then,” I say.

  He presses me ahead of him to climb the stairs and his hands slide down over my hips making me quiver with lust. I wonder how long it takes for this constant heat of desire to stop being totally overwhelming.

  Diego puts me into a white padded chair and I sink back realizing it’s leather padded and super comfy. I’m sure real airplanes aren't like this. He buckles me in securely then takes the seat behind and swivels mine around to face him.

  “Wow they swivel,” I squeal and he laughs.

  He must find me so immature and unworldly. What must he have thought of my small run down house?

  The plane taxis down the runaway as soon as we’re settled and Pierre brings us champagne. Diego downs his in one and leans toward me, his huge hands on my knees.

  I’m torn between looking out the window at the ground disappearing and being trapped in his gaze.

  “Is this the first time you’re flying?” he asks, incredulous.

  I nod, ashamed at my lack of life experience but only for a second.

  “Look at me,” he says. And I do. “I want you to enjoy everything I can give you and to tell me exactly what you need to feel good.” He throws me a filthy grin. “Exactly.”

  We look out the plane windows together, the white houses and mansions lining the beach getting smaller, the ocean impossibly endless. When we clear the tall and fluffy clouds, I look back to Diego and see he hasn't taken his eyes off me. My cheeks get a little warm, his intensity is breathtaking.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I really want to talk to you Violet – I want to explain even though it’s hard. But I need to fuck you. I need to feel you warm wetness enveloping my cock and be deep inside your body. I can’t fucking think straight until I'm inside you, I can’t even begin to analyze that.

  “Perhaps some things are better unanalyzed.”

  I laugh as he’s already tearing my dress down my shoulder so my bare breasts bounce free. He shoves first one then the other into his mouth like a starving man. He drops out of his chair, down to his knees at my feet and shoves my legs apart.

  Ohmigod I’m completely naked and he’s gazing on my spread pussy like he’d like nothing more than to ravish it. Again he takes me in. The admiration is pouring out of him so I have no doubts about his desire for me even if I don't understand why.

  He tugs my legs so I go flying to the edge of the seat and he leans in, tipping my open pussy up toward his face. Then he covers my entrance with his hot mouth.

  I scream and clamp my hands on the edge of the seat as his rampant tongue plunges deep into my hole, He’s found a spot that makes lightning bolts strike at my core. He pokes and prods at a spot inside me and I’m about to lose my mind. What if the steward comes back to refill our glasses? Oh god, I can’t even care about that. I slide forward a little, stretching my legs wider apart so he can plunge deeper inside me.

  His hands cup under my cheeks, griping me firm and lifting me deeper into his mouth. I squeeze tight around his head dragging his mouth further forward, as though I could consume him entirely. With one firm lash of his tongue into my pussy, the pleasure unleashes, flying up through my core to every edge of me.

  I’m still shaking through aftershocks when Diego open his jeans and releases his enormous gorgeous shaft. It stands solid, pointing directly up toward the roof. Then he pulls me off my seat down onto him so I’m straddling his thighs. Holding my eyes fixed in his, he settles his round head in my quivering entrance. I hold my breath then he slides me all the way down the shaft.

  My fingers dig into his biceps as he thrusts into me. My legs are trembling too much to assist but Diego needs no backup. He jerks inside me and lifts me with the strength of his amazing upper arms. I feel them flexing hard in my fingers with each lift of me to his tip and every time he drops me back down in his length. When he groans out his climax, he whispers my name over and over in my hair.

  24

  Diego

  We eat breakfast on the plane, a champagne brunch really. Pierre, the attendant is incredible, knowing exactly when to make himself scarce every time I feel the need to be buried deep inside Violet again.

  I made sure to request a male steward on the flight, so Violet wouldn't feel any sense of a woman competing with her. Or the tiniest hint of concern that my attention wasn't entirely focused on her.

  She had zero need to think that, but I wanted to ensure her comfort in every way I could think of. Pierre also knows exactly the moment to bring us more sustenance because I am constantly starving. I’m expending a lot of energy but I can’t stop. I’m completely addicted to Violet like I will never get enough as long as we both live.

  Finally, I swivel our chairs to face out the window. We sip chilled champagne and I order the chocolate pralines Violet was all excited about to nibble on. Meanwhile I have her fingers in my hand and am content to intermi
ttently lift them to my lips and kiss them.

  “I have to save some energy, so please stop looking so irresistible or you’ll make me lose another game,” I command her.

  “Another one?”

  “Full disclosure– I couldn't stop thinking of you yesterday. I blew every chukka to the disgust of my team mates. It’s all on you.”

  “Well I apologize. Hopefully I’ll be a better influence on you this time.”

  “Yeah I think you might be,” I say.

  Staring at the clouds moving slowly past the window, I don’t feel like the same man. Oh I still fuck as hard and fast as ever, but it feels different doing it with Violet. The concept known as making love is starting to make sense to me now. Before it’s always been something other people do.

  “If we’re coming clean, you ought to know who you’re dealing with,” she says. “I was at Foxworth as part of my therapy.”

  “Yeah, equine therapy for grief and guilt.”

  “You were listening.”

  “Every word.”

  “Well you might not like it when you hear the whole story. My parents and sister were all killed the same day.”

  “Jesus, baby, that’s unbearably hard for you.”

  “It gets worse. I should have been with them.” The emotion is rising in her and I squeeze her fingers.

  “Should have been with them?”

  “Yes. I’d thrown a tantrum because I wanted to sit in the front beside Daddy. I told my mother I hated her and they grounded me from the outing. I lived because I’m a rotten brat. My last words to my Mom were ‘I hate you all.’”

  “Baby you aren’t a brat. And even if you were, you’ve grown since then. Every kid is a brat at sixteen, I can tell you stories about me that will make you feel like an angel.”