Their Virgin Brat Read online

  That Samantha! Damned if I’ll call her Sam. She’s a brat, alright. The attitude on her! I discern a steely determination beneath her snooty exterior, however, which will bode well for competing in the showjumping circuit. I look forward to seeing how well she rides, and if there is anything that can be done with her horse.

  2

  Samantha

  The aroma of grilled bacon wafts from the kitchen as I go downstairs the next morning. I’ve been awake since five, my stomach prickling with nerves. Two of the top riders in the world will be watching me make a total ass of myself on Jason later. I almost wish I wasn’t here.

  A plump woman, with grey hair pulled back in a bun, looks up for the sink and smiles at me. “You must be Samantha,” she says. “I’m Mrs Potts. What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Just tea, please,” I say, pulling out a chair and eyeing two plates on the table streaked with the remnants of fried eggs.

  “Aiden and Liam have gone out to the stables already.” Mrs Potts sets a mug down on the table in front of me. “You should eat something, my dear. It will set you up for the day.”

  The clock on the wall shows the time as six thirty; they start early in the Roberts yard… it’s barely light outside. I wrap my hands around the cup of milky tea, then take a sip; the warmth soothes my tummy. I manage to chomp my way through two slices of toast with butter and marmalade, before thanking Mrs Potts and heading out to meet my doom.

  My doom?

  Maybe I’m overreacting?

  I freaking hope I’m overreacting.

  Showjumping relies on the accuracy and discipline of the rider as much as the athleticism of the horse. To avoid knocking down fences, the rider must balance their steed and calculate the best approach possible to each obstacle. Turns, paces and strides all come into play as they seek to put their mount in the perfect position to clear the fence. I know how to do that; I’ve done it before on club horses. Except, Jason is way out of club horse league; I just hope he isn’t out of my league as well.

  No, I’m not going to let that happen.

  I’ll work my ass off to fix what’s wrong.

  I run upstairs to fetch my hard hat and shrug on a gilet over my polo shirt; I’m already wearing my breeches and rubber boots… I carry my leather ones to put on before I ride. Back downstairs I wave to Mrs Potts, who’s sweeping up dog hair off the flagstones in the hall. “See you at lunchtime, dearie,” she says.

  Outside I make my way across the yard, fully intending to see to Jason. Instead, I take a detour… past the stables, towards the covered schooling arena. It’s like I’m being reeled in by an invisible cord. I push open the doors and stare around. Rectangular as per the norm, with a timber-framed ceiling and enclosed on three sides, the building’s windows along the left-hand wall overlook paddocks, where young horses have been turned out to graze.

  Aiden and Liam are working their mounts in the ring. I stand and watch them. A couple of minutes won’t hurt. My breath catches. My stepbrothers ride like equestrian gods; they wouldn’t be at the top of their form if they didn’t, I know, but I’m can’t help feeling awed. They’re perfectly balanced, so melded to their horses they look like they’re a part of them. I recognise their mounts, of course. I’ve watched them compete via live streaming on the internet. Seeing them up close and in the flesh is completely different, though.

  Aiden is riding his dark bay stallion, King, cantering circles in the centre of the arena, changing direction constantly. Liam is transitioning his chestnut gelding Sundancer, aka Ginge, from trot to canter and back to trot again down the sides of the school. Liam’s long, muscular legs are in just the right position so you could draw a straight line from the top of his head to his heel. Ginge is blowing out breaths rhythmically through his nose, showing he’s enjoying himself. My stepbrothers completely ignore the fact that I’m watching them; they don’t even wish me good morning.

  The sound of the door opening from behind me alerts me to the arrival of someone. It’s Rachel, ginger-haired like Sundancer; she smiles. “Just having a break before helping Joe and Zac finish mucking out the stalls.”

  I feel a sudden twinge of guilt for not going to Jay first. “Sorry, I was just about to head back to the stables.”

  “It’s okay. Jason’s had his breakfast and we’ve cleaned his box.” She grins. “You can still groom him and I’d appreciate some help cleaning tack later.”

  “Of course,” I blush.

  She leans over the railings and lets out a sigh as she stares at her bosses. “Aren’t they fab?” Her voice is filled with gushing admiration. “The Royal Windsor Horse Show will be in ten days’ time and I just know they’re gonna do great.”

  It will be the first time Windsor has hosted a five-star event. There’s prize money of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds up for grabs, and the twins will be hoping to win a share of the pot. Keeping the yard going is an expensive business, and the owners of their top horses will expect their cut. Michael’s stallion, Balthazar, who retired with him last January, and my stepbrothers’ mares, Firefly and Zelda, belong to the family. Their other grade A horses, King, Magic, Odin and Sundancer, are owned by individuals or syndicates along with most of their other upcoming grade B and Cs. It’s a way of keeping costs down.

  I glance at my watch… seven thirty already. Better go and groom Jason and get him tacked up for my session with Aiden. Jason is a seven-year-old, and he was advertised as a ‘real contender for the future’. He was ridden by an upcoming star, Matthew Holden, but his owner was having financial difficulties and had to sell. When I tried Jason out before Mam bought him, he soared over one metre fences and I thought I was in with a chance of achieving my ambition of becoming a show jumper. It’s all been downhill since, unfortunately, my dreams broken. Those butterflies are back in my stomach again, fluttering like crazy.

  Liam

  The Brat looks hot in breeches; they cling to her long, shapely thighs and pert little ass like a second skin. She leads her horse into the indoor school, puts her left foot into the stirrup, and vaults lightly onto his back.

  Aiden and I set up a small course of low jumps in the centre of the arena after we’d finished our earlier session, but first Sam needs to warm Jason up. We watch her walk, trot and canter him around the outside of the ring. She sits on him well, using her body weight and position in the saddle to communicate with him effectively. She keeps her legs in the correct place against his sides and her hands appear light, following his head movements while cantering, keeping the reins taut. So far so good.

  After about twenty minutes, Aiden calls out, “Take him over the jumps. Clockwise from the left.”

  Fuck, the minute she turns Jason in towards the first fence, it’s like someone has put a firecracker up his ass. Head up, he charges at it… going so flat if the jump were any bigger he’d send it flying. On landing, he gives an almighty buck and takes off down the side of the school, bucking like there’s no tomorrow. Jesus, I’m amazed Sam has managed to stay on.

  “Let your hands follow his mouth, Samantha! Don’t pull!” Aiden shouts. “Turn him in a circle and he’ll slow down.”

  Jason is leaning his full weight on the bit. He weighs well over a thousand pounds; he’ll win a pulling match no worries, especially with a slip of a girl like Sam on his back. Gradually, circling him, she brings him under control and comes to a juddering halt in the centre of the school. Her face is pale and she’s clearly shaken.

  I join my twin. We give each other a look and he nods; Aiden and I can almost read each other’s mind. “It’s back to basics, I’m afraid, Sam,” I tell her. “His previous owner was much heavier than you, and he might also have been heavy-handed.” I run my fingers down the gelding’s sweating neck, soothing him. “We’ll start with low fences from a walk, one at a time, and loads of grid work, some basic dressage on the flat, you know the kind of thing.”

  She dismounts, glancing from Aiden to me and back to Aiden again. “You think there’
s hope?”

  “Definitely,” we say in unison, and laugh.

  She smiles, a smile that would light up the world. Her face is surprisingly beautiful when she isn’t scowling. Her eyes are chocolate-brown, unusual in a blonde, and her skin is luminous. “Thanks,” she says, scuffing her boots in the sand. “I’ll rub Jason down then get on with some chores.” Another smile. “See you later.”

  Aiden blows out a breath as we watch her lead Jason out through the door. “I’d give anything to take that horse in hand myself,” he says.

  “Yeah. Me too. If he proves too much for her, we can flip a coin for him,” I chuckle and punch him affectionately on the arm. “Something tells me that’s not gonna happen, though. Our bratty little stepsister would probably rather sell her horse to the devil than let us have him.”

  Samantha

  I rub the sweat off Jason and make sure he has a hay net and plenty of water. “You were so naughty,” I say to him in a stern voice.

  He shakes his head and rubs his forehead against my chest, almost like he’s apologising. I scratch his poll, my fingers threading through his thick forelock. “I’ll be back this afternoon to check on you.” I kiss him on the nose. “If there’s time we’ll ride out and explore the countryside a little.”

  I bump into Zac and Joe on my way to the tack room. “Rachel’s waiting for you,” Zac says. He’s in his mid-twenties, I guess, with spikey dark brown hair and a toothy smile; he seems friendly but not overly-so… thankfully.

  “You’ll see us going backwards and forwards, taking the bosses’ horses over to the indoor school and fetching them when they’re done,” Joe adds. “Grooming duties in between. No rest for the wicked,” he winks. Joe is about Zac’s age, I think. He’s blond, blue-eyed and cute… that’s if you like pretty guys. Which I don’t.

  “Hey,” Rachel beams as I step into the tack room. My mouth flaps open at the sight of so many rosettes lining the walls, not to mention the framed photos of Michael and his sons winning events in the UK and all over the world.

  Rachel hands me a sponge and a tin of saddle soap. “You can sit there,” she says, pointing towards a stool. “Coffee?”

  “I’d love one. Milk but no sugar.”

  She switches on the kettle and spoons granules into two mugs. After we’ve had our drinks, we set to work, cleaning a load of bridles and saddles. While we scrub and polish, she fills me in on how well the Roberts twins have been doing this season. “We’re heading for Paris at the end of June, for the Global Champions Tour.”

  I feel like letting out a snarky whoopty-do, but I bite my tongue instead. I’m pissed off at myself for my crappy performance in the covered school… Aiden and Liam must think I’m a pathetic excuse for a show jumper. I can’t help wanting to impress them; they’re at the top of their game… in a position I’ve dreamed of achieving myself one day. I should try to be nice to them, I know I should. They gave up their time for me this morning, precious time when they not only had their own horses to ride but their father’s as well. Then I remember it was Michael who set us up. Liam and Aiden had zero choice in the matter…

  “Would you like to come out with Joe, Zac and me on Friday night?” Rachel asks unexpectedly. “We usually go into Hereford. Liam and Aiden keep an eye on the horses for us then.” She catches my doubtful look. “Please say yes. I’m fed up with being the odd one out Joe and Zac are so into each other.”

  For a minute, I don’t get what she’s on about. Into each other? Two guys? And then I smile, happy for them. “Thanks,” I say. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Aiden

  Balthasar pricks his ears forwards as we head out of the gate at a brisk walk. Although we’ve retired him from competitive jumping, we still ride him every day. It’s what he’s used to; he’d become depressed if his life changed drastically and we turned him out in one of the paddocks full-time.

  Up ahead, I spot Samantha on Jason; she’d asked if she could take him out for a ride after she’d spent the afternoon in the office. We’d eaten lunch with the staff in our kitchen, as usual; it’s one of the perks of a job with us that we provide a midday meal. Afterwards, we’d shown Samantha how to personalise responses to emails from our fans, thanking people for their good wishes and answering their questions. She’d kept her head down and had cleared the backlog in no time.

  It was a last-minute decision on my part to join her out here. I didn’t want her to get lost, I told myself. I’d also like to see how she handles her horse in the great outdoors. Except, to be honest, there’s something about the girl that doesn’t add up. Her bratty attitude. I’d watched her at lunch, chatting with Rachel, Joe and Zac in an open and friendly manner. Then, as soon as either Liam or I had said something to her, she’d clammed up and the shutters had come down over her pretty face.

  She turns in the saddle now as I walk Balthazar up alongside her. I wait for the scowl, but it doesn’t appear. “Oh, hi,” she says, “do you wanna overtake me?”

  “Nope. I thought we could ride together.” I decide to give her a challenge she’ll find it hard to refuse. “That’s if you can keep up.”

  She laughs. “Try me!”

  We move off at a trot down the road. After about a mile, we follow the bridle path through Colton Wood, our horses’ hooves clop-clopping and the sound of birdsong in our ears. There are swathes of bluebells coating the ground under the trees, and the scent of wild garlic is in the air. Eventually we reach an open meadow, common grazing land, unfenced and sloping steadily uphill. “Ready for a gallop?” I call out.

  Without waiting for a reply, I urge Balthasar forwards, sitting deep and squeezing the inside of my calves against his sides. He puffs out a snort and springs into a canter. Half-way across the field, I give him his head and raise myself out of the saddle, transitioning to a gallop. Patatatum, patatatum, patatatum, Jason racing beside us. The wind rushes in our ears, and I know Samantha is feeling the freedom and exhilaration just like I am.

  At the top of the hill, I sit deep and Balthazar comes to a halt, his flanks heaving. Next to me, Samantha has also brought her mount to a stop. She’s laughing, actually laughing! “That was awesome,” she says.

  Our horses standing next to each other, we gaze out across the surrounding countryside. Fields are laid out like a patchwork quilt, cut into squares by hedgerows. “See over there,” I point towards a river in the distance. “That’s the Wye, and Hereford is just beyond.”

  “I’m going there Friday night with Zac, Joe and Rachel,” she says, omitting to ask if that’s alright. She’s an adult, I remind myself, she doesn’t need my or Liam’s permission. I can’t fathom why I’m suddenly annoyed that she should go out without us.

  “Let’s head back,” I say gruffly. “It’s getting late.”

  We start to trot across the field. But before we’ve even gone a quarter of the way, Samantha comes to a sudden stop. “Jason’s gone a bit lame,” she says in a worried tone. “Maybe he’s picked up a stone.”

  She dismounts and I follow suit while she lifts his right foreleg. “Oh, no! He’s thrown a shoe.” She gives me a horrified look. “And it looks like a chunk has come out of his hoof.”

  I run my hand down his heel; it feels cool to the touch but, even so, Samantha shouldn’t ride him. We’re at least five miles from the yard, and it will be dark by the time we get back if we go on foot. “Sit in front of me on Balthasar,” I say. “We’ll lead your boy and be home much quicker that way.”

  Her eyes widen and she gives me a doubtful look. “Are you sure. Won’t Balthasar kick him?”

  I smile. “He’s far too much of a gentleman.” And he is; he has a wonderful temperament. “He wouldn’t have reached the top of the leader board if he wasn’t highly disciplined.”

  “Oh, okay,” she says, but the doubt is still there in her voice.

  “Hop on,” I tell her. “You hold Balthasar’s reins while I take Jason’s.”

  She does as I ask, and I manage to squeeze myself into the sadd
le behind her. We set off at a walk, and Jason leads like a pro, his head level with my knee.

  Samantha is sitting stiffly; she’s wriggled forwards so that she’s practically balancing on the pommel. Even so, her pert little ass has come into contact with my groin, and it takes all my concentration to keep my cock from hardening and pressing against her. “Try not to worry,” I say, “we have an excellent farrier, Fred Moore, who’ll come out first thing in the morning.”

  “But what about Jay’s hoof?” she says in a shaky voice. “There’s a piece missing.”

  “Not a big piece,” I breathe. “Fred will sort it out. And, if worse comes to worst, Jason will have a period of rest. He’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she snipes. “He’s not your horse.”

  I grit my teeth to avoid a sarcastic retort, and we ride in silence until we get back to the yard. There, Joe takes Balthasar off my hands, and Rachel helps pack Jason’s hoof with cotton before wrapping it with duct tape to protect it overnight.

  I decide to leave them to it and head indoors. Liam greets me in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” he says, picking up on my mood.

  “Don’t ask!”

  3

  Samantha

  I brush the sweat off Jay, give him his feed, and thank Rachel for her help before going upstairs for a shower. Standing under the warm water, I squirt gel onto the sponge and soap myself all over, thinking about Aiden. His muscular thighs were melded to mine, his firm pecs against my shoulders. He’d smelt amazing… warm and spicy. Briefly, I’d wanted to lean into him and lose myself. But I’d come to my senses, reminding myself that men are not to be trusted. That’s when I’d snapped at him, and I feel bad about that now.

  My breathing stutters; there’s a tickly feeling between my legs and my nipples pucker. I trail my hands down and touch myself. There’s a throbbing down there, and I slip a finger inside. I shouldn’t be doing this, I know, but I can’t help myself. I add another finger and push them both in and out, in and out, biting down on my lower lip to stifle my moans. I climax quickly, and the relief is wonderful… quickly followed by guilt.