Tethered (A Dark Erotic Romance)(Book 2) (The Stables Trilogy)

by Penny Lam

  His body tensed for a moment like he wanted to step closer. In the end, though, he shrugged. “Yep.”

  As soon as he moved back toward the painting she felt his absence acutely. It left her reeling, wanting to follow and fall at his feet. Not ready for the moment to end, because the air felt full of change, she took a small, hesitant step toward his work in progress. “What’s it titled?”

  “I don’t name my work.”

  “Hm.” She expected that. None of his hung work had titles. Her arms folded as she looked at it from the closer viewpoint. The jagged slashes of black seemed even more confrontational. The greens and yellows were perverted by the inky paints they struggled under. She shivered.

  “What do you think of it?” He was guarded as he asked.

  The last time she’d analyzed his work, she hadn’t known it was his. Trying to interpret her boss’s work? Especially as she felt wrought out with sexual frustration and wounded by his mixed signals? This felt dangerous.

  “I think…”

  “It’s okay, Maple.”

  She paused longer, though, holding a finger out. Her mind raced, trying to not just take apart the art, but also the conversation so far. It was searching for clues, arguing, screaming because she didn’t know what was happening.

  “I’ll tell you if you’ll answer one question.”

  “I don’t make deals, Maple.”

  She pushed anyway. “The other paintings are sensual. They are about finding beauty in the shadows. Reveling in it. This, though,” she gestured to the painting, the oil still wet and malleable, “is about reluctance. Running from demons.”

  J.B.’s mouth was grim, but he didn’t deny it.

  “Is this about me?” She finally ground out. “What are you so afraid of?”

  He stooped and grabbed his brush, dipping it sloppily in the black pan at his feet. “Get back to work,” he muttered, and turned his back to her.

  Stung, she retreated. Maple felt a lot of things. Most of them bad. She hated that his compliment had been backhanded. She wanted to know who had helped him before. She wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him. She wanted, she needed, she hated. But at least, through all of it, she felt a small amount of pride as she made her way to her room.

  This time she didn’t cry.

  Chapter Five

  She brushed down the horses, leaving Bonnie for last.

  And Bane.

  She was still angry at J.B. Thoughts of their conversation plagued her. He’d been so sexy. Dominant and predatory. Her heart raced when she thought about that. About his knowing smirk and how close he’d stood. But J.B. also managed to wound her. He expected her to quit? Didn’t he understand how much she wanted him? How much she was willing to sacrifice to be near him? Jesus… she was pathetic and she knew it. Struggling to take care of other girls in his keeping. Just to be close to him. All she had was pride in her job.

  The job he didn’t even let her do in its entirety.

  Bane’s punishment was a thorn in her side. It was one that pushed in deeper as time went on, growing inflamed and infected. He stamped in his stall, nostrils flaring. The black eyes never left her as she put supplies in her bucket to carry into Bonnie’s stall. When she peeked in, though, the horse was sleeping. It was unusual, but as Maple watched the gentle rise and fall of the elderly horse’s flank, she decided to let Bonnie nap.

  Which left her with a bit of time.

  What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  It wasn’t that Maple wanted to disobey J.B. Especially not with Bane, a horse with a history almost as black as hers. But that was it, wasn’t it? She’d killed someone. Bane had killed, too. At least Bane’s murder had been accidental. His only mistake was killing J.B.’s wife.

  Maple worked hard not to think about The Dead Wife. Raúl had let her know early on that it was something that wasn’t spoken about. Rachel. She didn’t know what Rachel had looked like, or how long they’d been married, or whether she’d known about the training--

  Her hand found the lock on Bane’s stall door. Shaking, she opened it. Her foot pushed the bucket of tools in.

  J.B.’s wife had been brained by Bane’s hooves.

  But Maple had led him out once and connected with him.

  She carried in a small stool, edging the bucket toward the massive black horse. Every movement was in slow motion. Bane stamped, and she froze. When he settled down, she closed the stall door again. She was locked inside with him.

  “Okay, Buddy, let’s get you groomed,” she said soothingly, not looking him in the eye. Maple moved around him, giving him space. “I’m going to brush your coat. Ready?”

  The brush felt foreign in her hand. It was hard not to thrust it out, wielding it like a weapon. But she knew he could be a good horse. It took trust, and it took patience, something no one seemed willing to give Bane. They only wanted to punish him.

  I know those feelings, Buddy.

  Her other hand rested on his neck. Bane shook his mane but didn’t move away. He stood, stiff and formal. They stayed like that for a long time, feeling each other out.

  Carefully, she placed the bristles on the sleek, ebony coat at his shoulder. With a hint of pressure, Maple began to brush. Bane stood still.

  It took three times as long to brush his coat. Maple refused to speed up. Bane was trusting her, and she didn’t want to take that for granted. She did, however, increase the pressure. Soon the matted hairs were coming off in clumps. She’d stop, pulling them from the bristles and letting them drop to the floor, before starting again.

  Stroke by stroke, his coat became cleaner. Shinier. Even in the low light of the stall, it caught what little rays it could and shone. Beneath her hands those angry equine muscles began to relax.

  “This is our secret, Buddy,” she said, more for her sake than the horse’s.

  When she finished with his coat, she traded the brush for a wide toothed comb. The process was much the same. Maple whispered in low, soothing tones while cautiously working the deeply embedded knots in his mane and tail.

  The tail was scary. All it would take was one buck; in the tight quarters, he’d catch her for sure with those heavy, deadly hooves. But Bane never moved, even when she had to tug on some tightly gnarled clumps.

  Next was the most dangerous task; clipping his hooves. They were largely overgrown. Maple worried about infections. Maybe that’s what J.B. was hoping for. A disease or infection to kill off the horse he couldn’t stand to kill himself.

  Setting her stool next to a foreleg, she held up the clippers for him to see. Opened and shut them, explaining what she was going to do. Sinking to the stool, she placed a palm on the sinewy leg. Gently petting him. Letting him adjust to her touch. I’m here, she thought, to help you. Trust me.

  Her heart pounding, she lifted his leg, setting it on hers. Bane tensed and tugged, unsure.

  “It’s okay. You’ll feel much better after this.”

  The horse stilled.

  Using two hands and careful positioning, she trimmed away the overgrowth. It sloughed off easily, chunks tumbling to the floor. Next she pulled out the file and cleaned up the edges. She eased the leg down. Bane put weight on it, testing. When he didn’t seem upset, she moved to the next leg.

  And then the next. And the next.

  She finished.

  Stepping back, Maple couldn’t believe the difference. Not only was Bane glistening, an elegant charcoal color that burst from the shadows, looking demonic and lovely; He was also calm, and happily standing tall.

  The change in both of them was profound.

  All of Maple’s anxieties had been groomed out of her while caring for Bane.

  “Good boy.” She patted him affectionately. He let her. It never ceased being miraculous. She couldn’t risk leading him out of the stall. The last time had resulted in not only the rattlesnake bite, but also J.B.’s fury.

  She could sweep up, though. It was a bit of a race to disguise the evidence of what she’d d
one. Of course, one only had to look at the smooth, glinting pitch coat and newly shorn hooves to know something had happened.

  A rock weighed in her stomach. Maple should have thought about that. She wasn’t the only one who saw Bane. One of the hands, usually Raúl, helped her with him.

  Frowning, Maple thought.

  “I’m sorry about this, Buddy.” She finished cleaning her supplies and exited the stall. Outside the stable she scooped some dirt into her hands and carried it in. Bane, seeming to be in on the conspiracy, approached the door.

  Thrusting her hands out, Maple coated him in dirt. Bane sneezed, sending plumes of dust through the air.

  It worked… sort of. Hopefully no one would suddenly start paying close attention. They’d practically ignored Bane her whole time on the ranch.

  Maple just had to hope that continued.

  Chapter Six

  Raúl hadn’t said anything while helping her muck Bane’s stall. The ball of anxiety that had been lodged in her chest started to unwind. It left her feeling jittery, restless.

  This time Maple knew not to shower after dinner. After eating, she changed her shirt and headed on out. Maple wasn’t sure if she should wait for J.B., but her body was aching and tired. Her eyelids itched, wanting to shut so badly. There were five women who needed clean places to sleep, and Maple was determined not to let it take as long as it had the night before.

  The door was already unlocked.

  Inside, J.B. was standing close to Leslie, one hand on her shoulder and the other… between her legs.

  Maple stopped in her tracks.

  Brokenhearted didn’t begin to describe how she felt. Shredded. Ripped. The sight was cruel and violent, and suddenly all Maple felt like was an open wound.

  She wanted to cry.

  She wanted to run.

  She went to work instead.

  Maple didn’t feel her hands as they began prepping what she needed to clean Leslie’s open stall. She could hardly see. Big, fat tears were welling quickly and in danger of spilling over. Moving without thinking, she went to Leslie’s stall and began to clean it out.

  The large ceiling bounced back J.B.’s stern commands. Each one slammed into Maple as she worked.

  “Lift the knees higher, Leslie.”

  “Higher.”

  “Goddamnit, higher! You’re a fucking pony, not a princess!”

  Maple’s own dark voice was berating her, too. How could you have thought you had a future with him? Why did you think he cared? How could you be so stupid? You’re too easy for him-- look at these women! You don’t have have the beauty or the refinement they do--

  A scream.

  Maple rushed out, ignoring her toxic thoughts. Leslie’s body was crumpled on the floor. Standing above her, looking menacing and reeking of disapproval, was J.B. He stared impassively at the pony girl’s limbs as they twitched.

  Leslie finally pushed herself to all fours. Her breasts were swaying, ribs straining from large breaths. She sat back on her heels and looked up at her trainer.

  “What the hell, J.B?”

  Maple saw that he had something in his hand. She wasn’t close enough to see what it was, but she did notice that was connected to a cord which ran down to between Leslie’s legs. His thumb moved and she gasped, bolting up on her knees, hips thrusting in a painful and stilted way. His thumb released.

  “Ponies. Don’t. Talk,” J.B. said darkly. His gravel voice was threatening and scary. “I’m in a foul mood tonight, and I will take it out on you if you don’t lift your fucking knees as you walk. Get up.”

  Leslie was covered in sweat. Tears streaked down her face. Every muscle was quivering, tense beneath skin that had become too pasty. She shook as she stood, her mouth set in a thin line.

  Her eyes darted to Maple.

  Maple stood, unable to move. Leslie’s gaze was piercing. Bitter. She didn’t want this witnessed, but it was too late for Maple to stop.

  J.B. turned to her. “Maple, so help me God--” His eyes narrowed. “Get over here. Now.”

  Maple didn’t have to be told twice. Something was wrong. The mood of the stable had changed. It was choked now, the other ponies all at their doors, unable to peel themselves away from what was happening.

  Leslie was still trembling as Maple came closer.

  “Do you see this?” J.B. held out his hand. In his palm was a small, dark square with a dial and a button on it. The dial was numbered one to ten, the setting on seven. He pushed the button.

  Leslie jerked beside Maple but remained standing. The pony girl fought back a cry, creating a hideous, muffled groan.

  J.B. handed the controller to Maple. “This is a training tool. I use it on willful ponies. Today, Leslie has decided to be willful. It was--” he glanced at the shuddering, naked woman, “the wrong day to decide that.”

  Maple was afraid to close her fingers around the control. It was lightweight and felt deceptively innocent. The cord attached to it fell loosely in a curve, still attached to whatever it was J.B. had placed inside of Leslie’s body.

  The black envy that Maple had been slowly drowning in eased. The contract had mentioned all methods of training. What bothered her now was JB.’s foul mood. Particularly because he seemed to want her to know about it.

  “Take it out of her.”

  Maple stood too long. J.B. stepped closer. Menace rolled off his body. “Take it out of her, now.”

  Her knees weakened, and she knelt before Leslie. She felt every eye in the stable burning into her as she reached between the woman’s legs, fingers following the cord. Maple’s shut her own eyes tight when her fingers brushed damp curls.

  The slick folds of the other woman’s sex felt foreign to her, so different from her own. Her mouth was dry. Her throat was tight. On an exhale, she pushed her fingers in, finding the base of the cord where it attached. Inhale. Exhale-- tug.

  It slid out easily, Leslie’s body helping to expel the thing that had brought her such pain. It fell wetly against Maple’s fingers.

  She opened her eyes.

  It was a large, metal, egg-like insert.

  “Push the button.”

  Maple didn’t want to. She did.

  The egg pulsed to life. Electric shocks, like needles, bolted through her hand where it touched her skin.

  The egg clattered to the floor, and she jerked her hand to her chest. “You’re shocking her?”

  “She wasn’t obeying.”

  “But this is dangerous!” Even as Maple said it, though, she felt her own body’s response. The instant flood of arousal. They way her breast tingled and tightened at the burning sensation left by the shock. She’d never been shocked before. Having J.B.’s implacable gaze on her heightened the flashes of desire.

  “It is painful, it isn’t dangerous. Besides, their new Masters may very well be into more direct forms of training. This prepares the ponies for anything.”

  His excuses rang hollow. Oh, he was pissed, that was obvious. But he didn’t like this form of training.

  Maple did. The imagined zings prickled across her skin. If she’d had it inside of her, like Leslie--

  “I’m too pissed to train tonight. Don’t worry about grooming. I want you to muck their stalls. Quickly. Then come to my office, Maple. We’ve got a problem to discuss.”

  She was trapped. Something was wrong. It didn’t take her much time to figure out that he knew about Bane. Her lower lip quivered as he stalked out of the stable, slamming the door behind him.

  Oh, fuck.

  This was far worse than the “I’m being sent to the principal’s office” feeling. Dread, unfiltered, swarmed through her. J.B. was obviously angry at her. Maple had been skating on thin ice for so long that this was it.

  His office was where he’d hired her. It was where he was going to fire her, too. She could feel it.

  The door closed behind them. Maple’s eyes squeezed shut. She steeled herself against what was going to happen. No matter what, don’t cry. Because tears wo
uldn’t work on J.B., and she didn’t want to work on him.

  “Maple.” When he said her name, inky heat spread under her skin. His voice, deep and cool, was ominous. The chills from knowing she was about to be fired warred with her body’s quick, quivering response to him.

  She forced herself to look him in the eyes. It was a mistake. They were burning. Her pulse raced. “J.B., I should apologize--”

  “For what?” He stepped closer to her. She was rooted in place.