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“Sienna.” My name rolled off his tongue like some kind of cowboy prayer. “Look at you. So fucking brave for me. So perfect. Letting me take care of this pretty pussy the way it deserves. I’d never hurt you, baby. Never.”
The praise soaked into me like warm honey, chasing away the fear and melting the tension in my muscles until I sagged back against his chest. I didn’t know where the trust I had in him was coming from, but it was there.
I finally nodded, and he rewarded me with a soft growl of approval.
One slow, careful cut straight down the front, and the new denim and my lace panties parted with a soft rip until the cool air was kissing my bare, dripping pussy. I cried out as slick, swollen flesh met the warm leather directly.
Fuck, I hoped this thing was clean. I was going to have to sanitize myself thoroughly…
Worth it.
Every gentle step now glided bare skin over the saddle. My clit was dragging perfectly without a barrier, nothing to dull the sensation. I was soaked, my arousal coating the warm leather beneath me.
He tossed the knife aside with a distant clatter and slid his big hand between my thighs. His fingers spread me open wider, holding my slick lips apart so the firm ridge of the saddle hit my swollen clit dead-on with every stride.
“That’s my girl,” he praised in a voice rough with possession. “Ride it just like that. Let that pretty bare pussy come all over my saddle.”
The easy walk turned into pure torture, sweet, filthy torture, as I chased the orgasm he’d promised.
The pleasure coiled tighter, every gentle step dragging me over the saddle until I was trembling, grinding without shame, teetering on the edge but never quite tipping over.
I was almost there when Sterling suddenly lifted me, his hands sliding under my thighs and spreading me wide until I hovered above the seat, cool air kissing my dripping folds.
“Sterling—wait,” I gasped, clutching his forearms. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you what you need, baby.” His voice was dark velvet against my ear. “Trust me.”
He shifted me forward, settling me higher until my slick entrance brushed the rounded bulb of the horn, that hard, smooth swell at the front of the saddle that was already warm from the friction and my own heat.
“No—fuck—that’s not—” My protest died as the blunt tip nudged my folds apart, pressing right against my aching core. It felt obscene…and way too big.
But fuck, it felt good.
He lowered me slowly, just enough for the bulb to stretch me open, the firm curve sliding inside with a slick, burning pressure that made my walls flutter greedily around it.
I cried out as my head fell back against his shoulder. “Sterling, it’s too much,” I gasped.
“It’s never too much,” he growled, one hand splaying across my lower belly, holding me steady while the other guided my hips. “Look at you, Sienna. Taking it so fucking perfectly. My greedy girl.”
He eased me down farther, inch by thick, unyielding inch, until the horn was buried deep and filling me completely, the hard ridge pressing against every sensitive spot inside. I was impaled, stretched wide, the base of it grinding against my swollen clit with every tiny shift of Dante beneath us.
“Ride it,” he commanded in a feral voice. His hands were gripping my hips now, lifting me up until only the tip remained inside, then slamming me back down, slow strokes that bounced me on the horn like it was made for this.
The air seemed to echo with the wet sounds of my pussy taking it, my broken moans, his harsh breathing against my neck.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this.” He bit down on my shoulder hard enough to mark. “Riding my saddle like my perfect girl. Gonna make this pretty pussy come all over it.”
Sterling fucked me harder on it, lifting and dropping me, grinding my hips in slow, agonizing circles, until the pleasure coiled unbearably tight and shattered inside me, ripping through every nerve in searing, endless pulses.
I sobbed his name, clenching around the unyielding horn, my release soaking the leather in hot, messy waves. He didn’t stop, though. He kept bouncing me through the aftershocks, drawing every last shudder out of me until I was limp and oversensitive, tears streaking my cheeks and my body boneless in his arms.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured in a voice rough with awe and possession, finally slowing while holding me impaled and trembling. “You’re all mine. Every fucking inch of you.”
But he wasn’t done.
Not even close.
With a desperate-sounding snarl, he lifted me up, my pussy making a wet, obscene sound as it released the horn and he spun me in one swift move.
