Stabled (The Stables Trilogy #1) Read online

  An employee that desperately wanted her boss, so much that it hurt to look at him.

  She was having a harder time keeping the edge off her desire, too. In her bed each night she’d roll over and masturbate furiously, rubbing so hard it bruised sometimes to get off. Maple looked for things to fuck herself with. The smooth, rounded handle of an unused spade worked at one point. The cravings were tempered, but never sated. She’d come, she’d cry, and she’d sleep fitfully, dreaming of J.B.

  Maple hadn’t left the house. Inside, she’d wander to the kitchen and eat with the men until it wore her out. She’d nap. Then she’d wander the house, looking at the dark paintings. J.B. gave her a stack of books, all thick classics, to read. She’d sit in the living room, the windows letting her pretend she was outside, out with her horses, while she tried to lose herself in the stories.

  She could see her stable from there, off to the side and in the distance. Each day Raúl, Tim, and Jones did a quick clean before taking the horses. She knew they didn’t have time for it, and the guilt battered at her. The view meant she also saw J.B.

  He went to the other stable, the forbidden one, each day. J.B. left in the morning just after the men rode out. She’d watch his figure grow smaller, disappearing into the stable that was so hard to see she had to strain her eyes. He wouldn’t return for hours at a time.

  He didn’t just go in the morning, either. Sometimes it was late evening. Once in the dead of the night. Maple had only seen because she’d left her bedroom in frustration; hand cramping and pussy aching from a failed attempt at release.

  The curiosity burned.

  Now, though, she was sitting in the glass-walled living room, curled up with a book, when she saw something straight ahead. There was a car at the gate. She tracked its long approach. Just like home, she heard the gravel rumble beneath its tires.

  J.B. walked in and paused when he saw her. He was in a suit. Maple had never seen him in a suit. It was tailored, light gray. His tanned skin stood in contrast to the crisp white of his shirt. The beard was gone, and his face was angular and handsome. When he turned to her, his lips were pressed into a thin, white, line.

  “Maple--” he stopped, sounding frustrated. The air felt thick. Weird.

  He wants me to leave. Whoever was arriving was someone she wasn’t meant to see. A flash of envy blinded her as she realized it might be a woman. She wondered if she should leave-- she didn’t think she could handle seeing another woman.

  There wasn’t time for him to continue. The vehicle had parked. It was an SUV, black, with tinted windows. From the back seat stepped a suited man, designer shades hiding his eyes. He was trim, and the top buttons to his dress shirt were unbuttoned. J.B. went out the front door, avoiding her glance.

  Maple watched with interest, and no small amount of relief, as they shook hands. J.B. was stiff, his shoulders pulled back and tight. The stranger was relaxed, making a joke, laughing. He clapped J.B. on the shoulder and drew him into an embrace.

  They spoke some more and walked to the forbidden stable. J.B. never looked back.

  The book lay on Maple’s lap, forgotten. Nothing changed on the ranch. Every day was the same. This was the first visitor since she’d begun working there. Her mind was firing off questions.

  Who was he? What was in the stable? Why didn’t J.B. want her to see the visitor?

  She ran to find Mariela, the only person who was still in the house.

  The cook was preparing lunch, her hands dancing between a skillet with butter melting and some mushrooms she was chopping. On a board next to the skillet were hefty steaks. Their marbling was exquisite, but by this time Maple had grown immune to the beef. In fact, she often joked that she’d never be able to quit because J.B.’s Wagyu had ruined all other steak for her.

  It was true, though.

  “Mariela, who’s here?”

  The hispanic woman smiled. Her face was lovely because it was always filled with joy. “Señor Reece. He’s a friend of Señor Deyton’s.” Mariela was the only person who never called J.B. by his first name.

  “How do they know each other?”

  “They went to school together, I think.” The knife moved like lightning through a mushroom, leaving tiny, expert slivers. “And Señor Deyton buys many art pieces from Senor Reece. He comes, he paints, he sells them to Señor Deyton.”

  J.B. painted the large, obscure paintings. That meant Mr. Reece painted the other ones. The sinister ones that made Maple’s skin crawl and her pussy throb.

  “Do you know anything else? Are they good friends? What’s in the stable that they’re in?”

  It might have been a trick of the light, but Maple could have sworn Mariela’s smile dropped for a second. “You ask too many questions. I’m just the cook. That’s Señor Deyton’s business, not mine.” The knife hit the cutting board harder. Chop. Chop. Chop. “Not yours, either.”

  There was no doubt now; Maple was being warned again. Another person saying ‘no.’

  She left the kitchen not knowing what to do, but knowing that if no one would tell her, she’d be unable to resist finding answers on her own.

  It was no accident that she walked by the formal dining room. She was growing bolder. Sometimes she wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore.

  Maple knew she shouldn’t be trying this, but if J.B. hadn’t kicked her out after the snake bite incident, he wasn’t going to do it now. Or so she told herself, over and over, to still her worried thoughts.

  She’d showered and done her hair. Maple didn’t own much makeup, but she’d rubbed a tiny bit of olive oil on her skin, making it appear dewy. Mascara on her lashes. Most of her shirts were button downs, but she had one v-neck tshirt. It was black, the v cut deep in the front, showing a hint of cleavage. She’d squeezed into her tightest jeans, knowing that the shirt would ride up a little in the back, throwing flashes of her pale hips.

  Maple had looked for her grandmother’s necklace to put on, but couldn’t find it. She realized she hadn’t seen it since she’d been bitten.

  As she walked past the dining room, she ‘dropped’ the book she was carrying. It hit the marble with a loud slap! The low conversation between the two men ceased. Maple hated herself as she bent at the waist to pick up the book, angling her ass to the men.

  You’re a whore, Tony laughed. Not so meek when you need dick, huh? No, then you’re a slobbering dog.

  As she stood, she heard a devious chuckle. “J.B., you’ve been keeping secrets.” Mr. Reece’s voice was confident and husky. She looked over her shoulder.

  J.B. was furious, his jaw clenched so hard the tendons bulged out. He knew exactly what she was doing. “There’s no secret. She works in my stables with the horses. She got bitten by a snake and should be resting.” The last bit was supposed to be her cue to leave, Maple guessed.

  Mr. Reece’s eyebrow raised. “Does she? How interesting. Come in and have dinner with us.”

  “Maple, you don’t need to--”

  “Please, J.B. I like your company fine, but I can’t resist getting to know someone new. You always play your cards so close to your chest. Come in, I insist.” Mr. Reece kept his tone flirtatious, but it chilled Maple nonetheless. She felt as if she was stepping into a trap. One she’d helped set up with her impulsive need for answers.

  Her palms smoothed against her jeans, wiping off nervous sweat. Extending a hand, she smiled. “I’m Maple Parsons.”

  “Malcolm Reece. People just call me Reece. You’re lovely, Maple.”

  She flushed and looked at the table, pulling her hand away a little too quickly. It made Malcolm’s smile grow larger. “Thank you,” she mumbled, eager to change the subject and avoid J.B.’s poisonous stare. “I like your paintings.”

  There was a small bit of pride as Malcolm’s mouth went slack with surprise before his laughter boomed through the room. “Do you truly? I don’t hear that often.”

  “Obviously J.B. likes them. He has quite a collection of your work.”

 
“Owning them does not necessitate like, Maple.” J.B. interrupted. His anger hadn’t disappeared, but it was simmering deeper, and he was back in control. Now he looked at her with dead eyes. Regret stole the rush that she’d been feeling from doing something so risky. His displeasure was unbearable. “There is more to art than simply liking it. Surely you know that more than most. Maple,” he turned to Malcolm, “studied Art History.”

  “Did you now?” Delight rang in Malcolm’s tone. “And did you ever paint, too? Or model? You’d be an excellent model, Maple.”

  “No, just the history. I’ve never modeled before.”

  Malcolm clapped his hands. “J.B., let her model for me.”

  She looked up in surprise. This was not an offer she’d seen coming.

  “I don’t think so, Malcolm. Maple’s still recovering from illness.”

  “But that’s perfect! She can stay still while I paint. Would you like to model for me, Maple?”

  The desire swirled in her, ramping up to a hurricane. She could picture it now, the ropes cutting into her skin, being naked in front of a stranger, at his mercy…

  She sought out J.B. She wanted his approval. Maybe if he saw that she was okay with the things in the paintings, maybe he’d allow her to get closer to him. Forgive her. Touch her.

  There was nothing but deep fury on his face, this time directed at Malcolm. “No. That’s final, Reece. Maple, please excuse us. We’ve got business to discuss.”

  The dismissal was absolute. Mute, Maple pushed her chair out. One glance over her shoulder before she left showed two pairs of eyes glued to her. J.B.’s mismatched ones, always so startling in their two-toned beauty, were narrowed and glaring.

  Mr. Reece’s had taken on a different look, too. One she knew well from Tony. They were the eyes of a hunter who’d just spotted prey.

  So Maple did the exact thing prey should never do; she ran away.

  Good hunters always enjoy sport.

  Chapter Twelve

  Their dinner went on for so long. It was hard feeling confined to her room. Maple was better, she knew it. She felt tired after too much exertion, but this waiting to be well was giving her too much time to think. Thoughts that weren’t healthy. She was stir-crazy.

  She’d been obsessing over her short stay in J.B.’s room. Oh, the heat burned worse than ever. Just thinking about him got her hot. But, despite her body demanding constant punishment and release, she was rebuilding her wall. Brick by brick, smeared with thick mortar. Push it down. Bury it.

  The distraction of trying to bury herself inside her body allowed her to muse on the mysteries that plagued her. No, she wasn’t Nancy Drew-- this wasn’t some case to be solved. It was delving into other people’s secrets. Something she should know better than to do. After all, she wouldn’t want someone poking around her locked doors.

  The pull of the unknown was too much. Maple decided the best way to avoid facing them (and perhaps a still-pissed J.B.) was to venture out to the stable. She’d missed her horses, anyway.

  The walk was more difficult than she’d anticipated. The snake’s venom had done a number on her body. Her muscles ached with new use, and she had to pause more than once as spots dotted her vision. Finally, the smell of the barn hit her, pungent and welcome. Manure and hay. The hint of grease and tools. She heard the whinnies before she entered.

  It was coming up on breeding season. The steer had been moved into close pastures, so most of the horses were still in their stalls. Tails swished through air. Dark, soft eyes watched her as she made her way to each stall. It was a comfort to see each horse. The soft muzzles under her palms were more therapeutic than any amount of rest in J.B.’s home.

  This, she thought, was why she couldn’t just quit. Because quitting was the obvious answer. Living with J.B. was torment, but she was her own tormentor. She should quit. Going back to her small bedroom on her parent’s farm would do nothing to help her forget, but she wouldn’t be spiraling out of control, either.

  But this... this felt like home. The horses and Raúl and Tim and Jones felt like family. As she let herself into Bonnie’s stall, finding a carrot for the sweet old horse, she knew it was because as fucked up as being here made her, it also made her feel better than she had in awhile. Stronger.

  “Hey, Bonnie,” she murmured soothingly as she held out the treat. The horse ate it off her open palm, lips brushing the sensitive skin, tickling. Bonnie sidled closer, resting her nuzzle on Maple’s shoulder. The bulky equine body felt comforting. So comforting, in fact, that tears formed in Maple’s eyes before she could stop them.

  Here was one creature who’d love her no matter what she did. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve J.B.’s attention, or Raúl’s affection, or this protected and safe life.

  Her secret began to bubble like a tar pit in her belly. It threatened the work she’d done on her wall. Pressing close to Bonnie, Maple did something she never thought she’d do.

  She confessed.

  Maybe, just maybe, if she spoke it aloud, just the one time, she could ease its burden. Leech out the poison. So she whispered, sparing no excruciating detail.

  She lost count of the men who’d fucked her. Her pussy, ass, and mouth were raw and swollen. Her limbs were numb, her mind static. Maple didn’t even try to reconcile what had just happened.

  Tony’s hands ran through her hair, combing out the knots that had formed when hand after hand had gripped it, yanking hair from her scalp. “Oh, you were marvelous.” The reverence in his tone should have made her feel better; that was the one thing Tony had always done well-- praise. He was so good at asking for forgiveness instead of permission. But it was tinged, stained, with something she hadn’t heard before. The blindfold heightened her senses, and she heard, for the first time, that all of his praise was for him.

  Her being marvelous had little to do with her and everything to do with what he’d helped turn her into.

  “You dark little beast,” he continued as he undid the bonds on her ankles and wrists. “They’ll be talking about you for years. You should thank me for turning us into legends.”

  Her throat was dry, but she croaked out, “I didn’t want that.” She pulled the blindfold off and found herself unable to look at him.

  “You came so many times I lost count, Bitch,” he sneered back. “I think everyone in this club heard your bleating pleasure.” Then he slapped her hard enough to knock Maple from the table. “You were made to be shared. Made to be whored out. Look at yourself.”

  She did. Her skin was dewy from sweat, sticky with semen, but the telling rosy color blooming on the pale spoke of orgasms. Many, many, orgasms. “But, Tony--”

  He flew into a rage, then. “Jesus Christ! What do you want from me? For two years I’ve tried to teach you how to be a good sub. You might be a wanton slut, but you are a terrible submissive. Always trying to talk back, argue-- You know what?” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m finished trying. You’re filthy now, too dirty for me. Find your own way home and don’t call me again. Ever. I wouldn’t touch you now with a ten foot pole.”

  He stormed out, leaving her covered in the come of strangers. No ride, no real clothing.

  Maple waited for Tony to return. Surely he wouldn’t have truly left her. She thought back to the beginning of their relationship, when she’d wanted a safeword. He’d told her real subs didn’t need safewords. Now she needed one. She needed to say something that would stop this nightmare.

  On shaky legs, she made her way to the bathroom. No one would look at her as she went. Inside, another girl sat on the floor, weeping into her hands.

  Her own aching body didn’t matter; Maple stooped in front of her. “Hey, are you okay?”

  When the girl looked at her, mascara smeared down her cheeks, she hissed at Maple. “Don’t touch me! I’m fine!”

  Squatting close by, Maple saw the deep red welts ups and down the girl’s thighs. “Did someone hurt you?” The question almost made her laugh-- obviously someone h
ad. But Maple’d had welts like that before, and she’d loved it.

  Before the girl could answer, a man barged into the bathroom. “Excuse me,” Maple stood, “This is the women’s restroom.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” The man shoved Maple aside and yanked the girl up. “You get out here at once, or you’ll end up like that filthy slut--” he looked at Maple pointedly. “I’ll share you with the whole goddamned club.”

  “No, Master! I’m sorry!” Wretched, the girl still managed to throw a hateful, judgement-filled stare at Maple.

  The girl crawled to him, immediately licking his boots. The slick, moist lines of her saliva on leather glittered in the yellowed light of the small restroom. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I don’t want to be like her. I shouldn’t have said ‘no.’ I shouldn’t have run from you.”