Chapter Text
'Crossing the line' is the most frequent foul in polo.
The line of the ball, namely the imaginary line along which the ball travels,
represents a right of way for the player following nearest that line.
One:
“She is rather like Chessie, isn’t she?” Drew said as he watched Perdita stalk across the muddy field, a frustrated expression spread across her exquisitely beautiful face.
A year ago, Ricky would have said, yes, insufferably so.
But unlike Chessie, there was no history between them. No grief. No guilt.
He felt no need to be gentle with her.
He felt no flattery over her interest in him.
He felt no desire to be kind to her.
And she did little to earn his kindness.
Maybe she was like Chessie.
But he didn’t treat her like Chessie.
And because of that, now, he said with confidence, “No, she isn’t like Chessie at all.”
🐎
Ricky wasn’t used to being around women who rode at her level — fuck, Ricky wasn’t used to being around women at all, not anymore.
He rarely paid much mind to his grooms when they were riding for leisure and his polo teams had always been composed of men. The woman whose presence was most familiar to him — Chessie — had despised the stables, and grown to despise him, too, partly because of how much time he spent in them.
Fuck, he missed her.
He told himself that was why he felt this sort of…interest.
It was because a woman on horseback was an anomaly, as was having a pretty woman in his life again.
It had nothing to do with who that woman was, nothing to do with Perdita at all.
But…
Perdita was so enthusiastic in how she rode and so very attentive to the ponies. She acted entitled with them, as she did everything else, getting in their personal space and treating them with a friendliness and forwardness you’d usually reserve for close friends.
Except, Perdita didn’t have friends.
When she was with the ponies — brushing them down, talking to them, feeding them, and all else, she did so with a sort of respect and reverence she seemed incapable of showing towards humans. Far more respect than she ever showed him, or even her poor mother.
“Why are you so much kinder to ponies than people?” His groom, Frances spat at her one day.
“Because they are so much kinder to me!” Perdita said, seething and stomping towards the showers.
“Why would anyone want to be kind to such a fucking bitch?” He snapped as she walked away.
Perdita lifted her middle finger in response but didn’t turn back.
Ricky kept his mouth shut, not sure what —or who— had started the argument, but he found himself agreeing with Frances.
She was a bitch.
She was angry at the world in a way that Ricky found maddening.
It was unfair to so frequently shift the blame for her actions onto those closest to her.
And he was horribly jealous to her ability to do exactly that.
What would life be like, if he was angry at someone — something — other than himself?
If only he could take a break from self-hatred and redirect that energy elsewhere…
🐎
He didn’t mean to direct it towards her.
But he made a habit of doing exactly that.
And once he had started…he found he really didn’t want to stop.
🐎
Her lack of modesty was insufferable.
The peaks of her nipples glowed like rosy beacons through her paper-thin shirts, even on the hottest summer days.
She wore the tightest of pants and the shortest of shorts.
When he told her off, she threatened to take them off.
“If you want to see me naked, you can just ask nicely, Ricky,” the fucking brat.
He hated her. He only kept her around because the horses loved her.
Or so he told himself.
But when his hand was tangled in her silver-blonde hair, fisting it between his fingers, holding her in place while his cock fucked into her mouth…well, he wasn’t thinking about the horses at all.
🐎
She choked and sputtered, her eyes growing wet while tears left tracks down her dusty cheeks.
He would have never done this to Chessie.
It would have ruined him to see her this way, he would be ruined having her see him this way.
He was always patient with her. Gentle.
He went easy on her, trying to make up for how harsh she was on him.
She had earned the right to berate him, given his failings as a husband.
But Perdita was a spoiled girl who saw nothing of the sacrifices made by those around her.
She was happy to throw insults or tantrums when she didn’t get her way, and she had done a great deal of both today.
His patience was gone. He just wanted her to shut up.
“Fucking make me!” She shrieked.
And for once, he did what she asked.
🐎
His head tipped back, his eyelids drooped, and his hips jerked forward, forcing his cock deeper into her throat.
Her garbled noises were drowned out by his own moans, and even those were barely audible to him given the roaring sound of blood rushing through through his ears.
His singular goal here was getting off, and he was chasing it like he would a ball with when they were one down with mere seconds left on the clock.
In this case, scoring came with the bonus of stretching Perdita’s throat so thoroughly and forcefully that she would be left hoarse for days.
If she couldn’t talk, perhaps she would find herself able to listen, and then she might behave.
Something she seemed wholly incapable of doing today.
🐎
He hated how little respect she offered him.
But she had offered this.
She had earned this.
And fuck, for putting up with her, so had he.
🐎
He came.
🐎
She spat it out.
🐎
He was trembling.
He wanted to slap her.
He hated himself for wanting that.
He hated himself for wanting her.
He decided to hate her instead.
“Lick it up.”
She glared at him, but couldn’t escape the grip he had on her hair.
“Don’t be an ungrateful bitch, Perdita, you asked for it, you swallow it.”
She looked aghast, her voice a choked whisper, “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious, you just rarely take things that way.” He snarled.
🐎
He was practically hard by the time she finished lapping the mix of saliva and semen up, leaving a wet mark on the tip of his left boot and the filthy wood plank it rested on.
Of all the times she chose to listen to him, it was now?
And of all the things to arouse him, it was this?
He straightened, pulling her back up by the ponytail, nudging his half-stiff prick towards her lips once again.
🐎
This time, she swallowed right away.
🐎
His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, swollen with saliva and red from being stretched around his cock, and he thought to himself, maybe she can be tamed.
He couldn’t tame Chessie and he was too in love with her to break her.
That was why he lost her; he couldn’t afford to keep what refused to behave.
But Perdita?
There was no love there, only hatred.
And maybe, just maybe, with enough training, he could get Perdita to stay.
🐎