BRANDED - Exclusive Excerpt

Monday, April 3, 2017

Sloan Tanner doesn't take no for an answer. 
Welcome back to The Club.

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“What do you see, pretty girl?” Sloan’s voice called out to me, caressing the back of my neck into a pop of goosebumps despite the heat of the evening sun setting. He found me standing outside the corral to Blackjack’s pen. The horse’s hooves kicked up red dust and dirt that covered everything including my legs standing so close to the corral fence. I stepped up on fence watching the horse. The black stallion circled the female, snorting while she made muted bleats. I tried to appear casual, looking over my shoulder at the man I called master, and smiled. I nodded toward his horse well aware that my answer was insolent in his narrowed gaze. His tan skin looked radiant, glowing under the flannel button-down shirt he wore tucked into his denim jeans. Dark brown cowboy boots encased his feet which were steady and shoulder width apart stalking toward me. I shivered with anticipation remembering the night before. Sloan had a thing about balance and obviously practiced it in all things he did in and out of the bedroom, even something as simple as walking toward me. 
I turned away to swallow the dryness from my throat that had little to do with the dust, as well as hide the flush in my cheeks. I was lucky I’d earned my dress today, otherwise I would have been watching Blackjack from the confines of the heated tiles in the Spanish kitchen. Clothes seemed to be optional under Sloan’s tutelage, especially if I misbehaved. For once, I was grateful for the hot wind that licked my face in the humidity of Texas in the midst of summer. The braid I kept my hair in was wild and knotty; the wind tangled the braid into a thick rope perfect for a master’s grasp. 
An unsatisfied grunt filled my ears. I could have answered him demurely. I should have, but I rarely followed his rules keeping our agreement interesting. Sloan, not one to take my silence as a good thing, crowded me up against the wooden pole fence I stood on. Thick arms rested against the sanded posts encasing me. Anxiously, I looked at the cords of muscle exposed by the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. His arms were larger than the fencing that separated me from certain danger. His strength was restrained for the moment. I wasn’t sure where the oasis of safety resided—in the pen with Blackjack or outside with the Dominant.
“What’s he doing?” I asked, referring to the animal with the sleekest silky coat of hair and the darkest pulsing eyes I had ever seen. His energy was palpable and reminded me of a brewing storm barely under control and waiting to break free in an explosion. Horses terrified me which was no secret to Sloan, and one of the reasons he warned me to stay back from the fence. Blackjack had broken free on two separate occasions trying to get to the mares in heat. Curiosity won me over, and I found myself venturing from the house after dinner to watch the stallion throw his latest temper tantrum. The horse was obviously in the throes of lust and looking to mate. His nostrils flared, exposing his teeth and skirting the mare with the shiny brown and white painted coat.
Sloan leaned in close, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from my ear whispering, “Same thing I’m gonna do to you, Luchadora.” Before I could object, his arm hauled me close around the waist grinding his hips into my backside. The nickname he gave me purred from his lips abrading every inch of my skin. His touched enlivened me with awareness as his jeans chafed me. His palm came around to cup my sex, slipping between slick folds, and I arched into him craving more. I hadn’t worn underwear in the week I had been here, and the air kissed my damp skin. I found it unfair in the moment that I wasn’t allowed to touch Sloan unless instructed to do so. Instead I grabbed the rail, hanging on. If I didn’t I would have fallen, not that Sloan would have let me, but still the anticipation was thick between us.
Arousal was a heady thing. I moaned, letting the wind take my voice. Sloan readjusted us against the fence to keep me from falling, speaking into my hair. “Watch him court her.” 
Blackjack danced around the mare, his hooves stomping the ground, tossing his head up into the air, hind legs kicking out. A wild look filled his eyes, and I turned my head to see the same reflected in Sloan’s. If he kissed me, his tongue would have been fire licking at my lips. I wanted to burn, but he didn’t kiss me. Instead his palm directed my cheek back to the horses in the field. His denial should have hurt, but it only inflamed my want for him further. 
We were both heavy of breath and metaphorically circling each other, his hips to my backside. He caressed the ridge of my spine under the loose house dress, slipping his large hand over my butt cheeks and between my legs, pushing them apart for balance on the fence. His hand wasn’t exactly gentle as he positioned my legs on the railing, forcing me to grip the top railing and lean into it. The blunt tip of his finger dragged over my clit before leaving me panting and dripping. 
“He’s going to mate?” The question seemed stupid once it left my lips; I knew exactly what the horse was doing. Sloan’s hand was busy working to undo his large, shiny belt buckle shaped like a bucking horse. The metal rested hot on my skin before he pulled it out of the belt loops, snapping as he dropped it onto the dusty ground. He undid the clasp to his jeans, pulled them coarsely between us, resting halfway down his muscular thighs. He kept one hand holding me by my breast, his hand squeezing and molding under his grasp. The zipper on his jeans scraped my skin, and I pushed back feeling the exposed, crisp, springy hairs covering his sex. I swore he smelled different like this, all male and musky making me drunk on him.
“He’s going to rut, fuck, and breed her.” He informed me through a forced breath as his fingers continued to roughly part my lips below. I wasn’t ready for Sloan’s entry. I rarely was unless he spent time preparing me because he was so big, and I still wasn’t used to him no matter how wet I was. It was pure friction when he entered me with those first initial strokes, and my craving to burn was satisfied. He didn’t flick my clit or bother fingering me to get me aroused. Instead, he pushed forward, skin on skin breaching my inner walls, pressing them apart with enough pressure to make me cry out into the vast valley of prairie hills before us…and to think I wanted to leave boring Ohio for something different... 


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