I pull on a pair of briefs, then my riding pants, take a button-down off the hanger, and put it on. I approach her as I fold the cuffs. “Jerking my dick to thoughts of you on your knees sucking me off.” I brush past her. Her nipples scrape my arm through her blouse, and I suppress a groan of need.

I’ve eaten her pussy out night after night, and I’m not complaining, but jerking myself off in the shower is getting a little old. She’s trying to prove a point and make me believe it’s only about getting off. Like a man, she’s quick to get dressed when she’s done without giving a fucking thought to me or the state I might be in.

But I see how she looks at the swell of my neglected dick in my riding pants. It’s just a matter of time.

“I will never kneel for you again, Judge,” she says too late.

I push silver links through my cuffs, then turn to button my shirt as I study her. “Never say never, Mercedes. You don’t want to tempt the gods.”

“I mean it. Never is never. It’ll just be you and your hand for the foreseeable future. Until you give me away that is.”

I grit my jaw. She knows exactly which buttons to push.

“And when I fail a virginity test—”

“You won’t fail. I’ll see to that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Like you’ll pay someone off? And what do I do on my wedding night? Squeeze ketchup on the sheets?”

I stop listening at wedding night and pull on my boots. She’s trying to provoke me. I look her over and nod. She’s almost back to herself. She still jumps at sudden loud noises, and there are moments I witness her panic when we’re alone, and she deems me a threat. We’ll get there, though.

I have noted how she hasn’t worn makeup apart from a little lip gloss since the night her friends were over. I haven’t taken her makeup away, but she just hasn’t put it on.

“Ready?”

She purses her lips in irritation but nods and slips her phone into her pocket. I set my hand on her lower back and guide her out of my room and through the house. We walk side by side to the stables. The morning air is crisp. A fog has settled over the grounds, making for strange but beautiful views.

“Was that Santi you were talking to?” she asks too casually. She’s worried, though. I hear it.

I nod.

“Any change?”

“No.”

We reach the stables, and she goes to Temperance’s stall. She keeps her back to me as she greets the horse, her high ponytail swinging. “Does he blame me?”