The Stallion by Georgina Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

wanted.
    Desire spread in a cobweb cloud through her body and limbs once her creamy flesh, radiant with a mixture of health and sweat, was exposed. Her clothes lay discarded.
    She watched as he picked them up and laid them on a chair near the door in a neat pile as though they were crisply clean rather than smelling of sweat and horses.
    There was something annoying in seeing him give the clothes more attention than he had her. The annoyance threatened to bubble over. Even before she spoke, she knew he would hear it in her voice. But she’d had enough. She had to say something.
    ‘Right! Now I’ll take my bath.’ She sounded imperious and meant to.
    Tossing her head and holding herself as proudly as she could, she walked naked towards the bathroom. Perhaps now, she thought with a pang of regret, this man would leave, or take her, or do something!
    Gregory followed her into the bathroom.
    Penny stopped, turned and stared at him. Again he averted his eyes.
    ‘Thank you. I can manage now,’ she said, rolling her breasts with her hands for his and her benefit and very aware of all the other naked Pennys reflected back at her from the misted mirrors, and all the other rolled breasts and jutting nipples.
    ‘Get in. Stand up and I’ll sponge you down.’ His voice was sudden, but she was so mesmerised by its tone and quality that she felt obliged to obey.
    She hesitated just for a moment. Her thoughts roller-coastered between desire and pride. Who was this man who could tell her what to do? And why didn’t he just fall on her, knead her breasts in his strong hands, lay her down and press his hard cock into her welcoming pussy? She had no answers. So she stepped into the bath and hoped for the best. She knew very well what she wanted that ‘best’ to be.
    She began to moan with pleasure. Her skin glistened with soap bubbles as Gregory squeezed a well-lathered sponge across the round firmness of her breasts. The droplets of water and white foam tumbled like a mountain torrent down the gleaming slopes only to hang like imperfect white pearl drops from deep pink buttons.
    She let her senses delight in this amazing experience. She and Mark had bathed together, but this wasn’t some ordinary homely experience. Like a princess, she luxuriated in the warm water and towering bubbles. Like a slave, angelic beauty and masculine strength moulded into one, he stood over her, the sponge in his right hand following the exploring fingers of the left.
    With mounting ardour, she watched wide-eyed as he took off his shirt. Now! yelled her mind. Now!
    But nothing happened. That was all he took off. Feeling his way along the edge of the bath, he retrieved his sponge, and continued as before.
    Her breath quickened as his hands explored and soaped her body. She was lost in pleasure, purring and moaning in alternate spasms. Anything he wanted was his. Anything at all. She had an overpowering urge to touch the tanned, hairless skin that so tautly covered the hard, lithe body.
    ‘Put your hands on top of your head,’ he said. Then he stepped backwards as though he had anticipated that she would try to touch him, to run her soapy fingers over his hard body.
    ‘What . . . ?’ she began, her words strangled by her racing breath.
    ‘Do as you’re told,’ he repeated. ‘Put your hands on your head. You are not allowed to touch me.’
    With a moan of deep regret, she raked her eyes over the beautiful, boyish flesh that she longed to feel beneath her fingers, and cursed the heavy ache that hung like lead between her thighs. Now what could she do?
    Strong urges wanted her to disobey, to run her fingers over that delicious form, the skin now glossy from the mix of steam and sweat.
    Then she sighed. She would resign herself to whatever part she had to play. And if he wanted to act the part of the bathhouse slave, then so be it.
    Tension dissipated and anxiety banished, she rested her hands one on top of the other on her head. Unsmiling, his face