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I’ve never pursued anything in my life; I’ve simply taken. But Katya? Katya makes me want to hunt. I look out the window toward the guest house, a plan already forming. I am not a man accustomed to denying myself anything.
And I will not be denied her.
Chapter Three
Katya
Dario Moretti is everywhere.
I don’t know how one man manages to be everywhere on a property this large. Especially when the main house, the stables, the training grounds, the paddocks, and the barn are spread across the estate.
There’s enough land to make walking from one end to the other feel like a workout. But somehow, every time I turn around, there he is. Watching me ride. Standing beside the paddock fence. Talking to Aldo near the stables. Appearing in the tack room when I need something.
Leaning against a post outside the barn with those dark eyes following my every movement as though he has nothing better to do than study me. And the worst part is that I don’t hate it. I should.
I really, really should.
After what happened in his office, I should have spent the last week avoiding him so thoroughly that we could have lived on opposite ends of the property without seeing each other. But apparently I have lost whatever good sense I possessed before meeting Dario.
Every time he finds me, I let him get close, and I let him use my body in ways I never imagined. Every time his eyes darken when they settle on me, my body responds before my brain can remind it that this is a terrible idea.
I hate that my body obeys at the sound of his voice. It has no self-preservation around him. After he made me come twice in his office, he cornered me in the tack room and fingerfucked me until I came three times.
Once, he cornered me beside the feed shed after catching me returning from the paddock. I spent the next several minutes forgetting my own name as he ordered me to hold on while he buried his face between my thighs, my legs draped over his shoulders as he kept me on the edge until I was a whimpering mess.
Another time, we ended up in a secluded section of the property where the trees blocked the view from the main house. He dragged his erect cock over my clit until I came, then proceeded to lick me all over and fuck me with his fingers as he bit and sucked on my nipples, and by the time I made it back to work, my legs were still trembling.
None of it has gone as far as actual sex, but I’m not sure that’s supposed to make me feel better. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes things worse because I’m starting to want him all the time. I catch a glimpse of him and my panties are soaked.
Which is why I am hiding in Oscar’s stall before sunrise.
“Don’t judge me,” I whisper as I drag the brush gently through his mane. “I know I’m being ridiculous.”
Oscar flicks one ear toward me.
“Exactly. That’s what I said.”
He snorts softly, and I smile despite myself, resting my forehead briefly against his neck. There is something calming about horses that people who don’t work with them will never understand.
They don’t care about your mistakes, your complicated relationships, or whether you’ve made a spectacularly bad decision involving your very attractive employer. They just want to know whether you are honest, whether you’re calm, and whether you can be trusted.
Oscar has always known when something is wrong with me.
“You’re the only male I can handle right now,” I murmur, scratching beneath his mane. “And you’re not even human, so that probably says something terrible about my judgment.”
A deep chuckle comes from behind me. I freeze.
Oh, no. Slowly, I turn.
Dario is standing at the entrance of the stall, one hand resting against the wooden frame. He is in dark riding clothes that make him look less like the owner of a sprawling equestrian estate and more like the dangerous man I suspect he is.
His black hair is slightly tousled, his sleeves pushed up to reveal ink winding over his forearms, and the early morning light catches along the sharp line of his jaw. My stomach drops. Then heat pools between my thighs, my body clenching at the thought of feeling his touch again.
Then every other sensible thought in my head apparently packs a suitcase and leaves. “What are you doing here?” I ask, and I hate how breathless my voice sounds.
His dark eyes move over me slowly before returning to my face. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I work here.”
