It starts with a horse’s stumbled step, a jostle, and a stifled curse whispered into her neck.
Well. Really it started with a hasty rendezvous in a secret hideaway, and then another, and then a whole series of them, and finally and argument and an escape and a valiant rescue effort, just him on his horse in the gathering dusk, seeking her out so he can apologise. Explain himself. Try to convince her that it’s not her; it’s their families, it’s their obligations, it’s the impropriety of it.
The words get stuck in his throat when he finds her, sitting in the grass wearing a crown of flowers and surrounded by the wreckage of several more. Wordlessly, he offers his hand, and she rises to take it. She wasn’t wearing much when she ran off, just leggings and a long-sleeved tunic, so when she settles into the saddle in front of him, he feels every curve pressing against him.
* * *
It starts with a horse’s stumbled step. She jolts, just slightly, but enough to push her back into him, enough for him to mutter an oath that he tries to muffle in her neck. He’s clearly trying to play it off, but the ghost of his breath on her neck has the opposite effect, and heat runs down her body.
Slowly, she moves her hips again, intentionally this time. She wriggles from side to side like she’s just trying to get comfortable in the saddle, and he groans.
“Careful,” he whispers.
“Or what?” she asks, leaning her head back onto his shoulder. She tugs on the hem of her tunic, lowering her neckline.
“What are you trying to do to me?” he asks, and bends down to press a kiss to the exposed curve of her neck.
“I’m pretty sure you know exactly what,” she retorts. She nudges her hips backwards again, encountering something considerably firmer than just moments ago.
His arms are around her, the reins gathered loosely in hands that rest against her legs. He transfers them to one hand now, laying the other open-palmed across the inside of her thigh. “Do you really think you’re in control here?”
They both know she isn’t, and damn if that isn’t the thrill of it. Her entire body is bracketed by his: his chest supporting her back, his legs enveloping hers, his arms caging her in.
His hand moves up her thigh until he’s tracing a path up her hipbone, and she shivers, as much in anticipation as anything else. They have a ways to go yet before getting home, and she is completely at his mercy.
He leaves her hip for now, moving his hand up to palm her breast through her shirt. His thumb brushes across her nipple, and she gasps. He brings his mouth down to her shoulder, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses as he makes his way across to the sensitive skin of her neck. He reaches a particular spot they’re both well-acquainted with, and she tries to squeeze her thighs together, only to be blocked by the two-ton horse between her legs. She grabs his thigh.
“Yes, actually…” he murmurs directly into her ear, and presses a kiss directly beneath it. He removes her hand from his leg and gives her the reins. “Here, hold on to these, why don’t you? And don’t pull too hard.”
“I know how to—ah—ride a horse,” she says, but her indignant tone is undercut by her sharp intake of breath as he slips his hands under her shirt. His fingers are cool on the undersides of her breasts and her nipples, already pebbled, strain against her shirt. Every movement of the horse shifts her tunic a little, and each movement of the fabric against those tight buds sends tiny shivers down her spine.
Every movement of the horse moves the saddle just a little, nudging her clit so briefly it’s almost torture. Each nudge builds her arousal infinitesimally, one tiny sliver of contact at a time.
His hands trace circles around her breasts, leaving her nipples for last. By the time he finally touches them, she’s whimpering, desperate for contact. His coarse palms drag over her nipples, and she feels the contact throughout her body.
“Patience,” he chides, hands still on her breasts, and starts sucking at her neck in the way she knows will leave a mark. It won’t be visible under most of her clothes, but she’ll know it’s there, and the thought thrills her.
She pushes backwards again, against his by now rock-hard cock. His hands on her have driven most coherent thought out of her mind, but part of her thinks if he’s going to tease her, she doesn’t have many other options.
“Nice try,” he says, “but not yet. You need to keep your hands on the reins.”
His hands, however, are all over. One stays on her breast, and the other slides down her body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Instead of dipping into her waistband, however, he runs his hand over her leggings, all the way down to her still-clothed sex. He strokes her through the fabric, and she bucks her hips, trying to get him to increase pressure. He moves his back, keeping his touch featherlight, and it’s enough to drive her mad.
By now, all of her senses are focused on the heat building between her legs, and the barest brush of his hands against her body are enough to add to it. Just as she thinks she’s about to come just from his hands on her breast and through her clothes, he withdraws them, leaving her reeling from the loss of contact. She whines.
“What’s that?” he asks, and even through everything she can hear the grin in his voice.
“Please,” she moans, unable to summon any other words, but it’s enough. It’s the word he was looking for. His hand goes straight to her waistband and into her leggings.
The first brush of his finger to her clit sends fire rushing through her veins, and when he pushes two fingers into her, she gives up all pretence of sitting upright in the saddle and collapses against him. She feels more than hears him chuckle as he wraps his other arm around her for balance and starts to move his hand. The angle against the saddle is awkward but he makes do, fingers dancing against that sweet spot inside her and thumb rubbing circles on her clit. She aches for the full feeling of his cock in her, but he’s always been good with his hands.
The regular movement of the horse adds a whole new dimension to his movements, and it’s barely moments before she feels the wave building within her, ready to crest. With his every movement it gets taller and taller, until he moves his thumb just right and the wave crashes over her. She cries out, and he removes his arm from her waist so he can cover her mouth with his hand.
“I don’t think anyone’s around,” he says in her ear, “but just in case.”
Her entire weight is still braced against his chest, and his hand is still in her pants, moving idly. “Do you think anyone’s going to believe I came on horseback?” she asks, wonder in her tone.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” he asks, and flicks her clit lightly as in reproach. She grins.
She sits up, moving her hips against him again. “Actually,” she says, “what I’m thinking now is that I want to get you off this horse.”
“I could get behind that plan,” he whispers.
They’re not even close to home yet, but it’s not as if this will be the first time they fuck in the open air. They’ve been making their way through the woods for a while now, and he keeps his hand where it is as they search for a clearing, occasionally flitting his fingers up and down the length of her.
They’re not picky about location, so it’s no time at all before he’s dismounting and tying the horse’s reins to a tree. She tries to get off the horse, but finds her legs more closely resemble jelly than any human limbs. He smirks, but helps her off the horse.
As soon as she’s on the ground he crowds her against the next tree, his lips finding hers for the first time since she ran out earlier in the day. The kiss is deep, intense, like it’s full of all the unsaid things between them. I’m sorry. I love you. I forgive you.
His entire body is flush against hers and when his hips buck against her, it’s a reminder of why she wanted to get him off the horse in the first place. She grabs his shoulders and pushes him down, all the way until he’s lying on the ground. She’s not far behind, lowering herself to straddle his hips. There’s a moment of frantic disrobing until she manages to kick her leggings off and his trousers are pushed down, and she finally sinks down onto his cock, feeling full like she’s been wanting since the second she climbed onto his horse.
She leans down to kiss him, moving her hips in the way she knows he likes. It’s her turn to be in control and they both know it, and he’s given himself over completely to her. She gives him one last bruising kiss before moving on to nip at his neck, his shoulder, his chest, hard enough to make him gasp but not hard enough to leave a mark.
She scrapes her teeth over his nipple and sits up, pulling off her shirt and moving her attention to her own breasts. They’re heavy in her hands, and as she roughly thumbs her own nipples, she can almost feel the string that runs directly from them to her core, pulled tauter with every movement of her hands or hips.
He starts moving his hips against hers and she knows they’re entering the race towards the finish line, the grand finale of the whole thing. Her hips move frantically in something approximating figure eights and she makes eye contact with him as she pinches her nipples. He brings a hand between them to rub at her clit, and she throws her head back as wave after wave of pleasure hits her. As she comes, her toes curl against the ground and she clenches around his cock, and moments later she feels him spill his seed inside her.
She collapses against his chest again, and his hand comes up to stroke her hair. For a moment, neither one speaks as they catch their breath.
“Spectacular as that was,” he finally says, tracing patterns on her back, “next time, can we do it without the running away bit first? Would save some time, I think.”
She laughs, and pushes up just enough to kiss him. “Agreed.”