The Virgin and the Beast (Stud Ranch 1)

Annoyingly, like happens so often lately, sleep is a long time coming.

***

We’re in bed a few nights later, still at the same impasse, when yet again, I’m having difficulty sleeping. I fell asleep for a while, but then some noise must have woken me, and now I can’t get back to sleep.

My stupid brain won’t shut up.

I think because when I woke up, I was turned around, my body chest to chest with Xavier, my head nestled into the crook of his neck.

Unconsciously, that’s the position I sought in sleep. I couldn’t have placed myself more vulnerably.

Does it mean something? That even though I’m fighting him so hard when I’m awake, subconsciously I’ve already given up?

Or is ‘given up’ the wrong phrase? Somehow, down deep, do I, like the horses, ultimately find Xavier trustworthy?

Don’t they say that animals have an innate sense about these things? Like, the fact that the horses take so well to him might indicate he actually is a good person? Or am I just making that up and an evil person can trick horses just as well if he’s a master of manipulation?

God, I’m so confused. I look toward the ceiling in the dark room. What time is it anyway? Two a.m.? Three? Just a few hours before Xavier will be dragging us out of bed for the morning.

I shut my eyes again, determined to get back to sleep. The days are long and punishing on my body. I’ll be regretting it tomorrow if I don’t get all the rest I can tonight. I pull the covers up tight.

I’m cold without the contact of Xavier’s body but I couldn’t bring myself to snuggle back up against him after finding myself in that position on waking.

I settle into my pillow again.

“Stop!” Xavier suddenly cries out. “Don’t open the gate!”

Then he swings out, narrowly missing me as I pull back out of the way of his massive arm. He writhes in bed and in the dim light of the full moon streaming in our window, I can see that his face is a scrunched as if he’s in terrible pain.

“Xavier,” I call his name, alarmed.

He continues thrashing in the bed sheets.

“Xavier,” I try again.

“No!” he shouts, so loud it almost hurts my ears.

I reach forward and grab his shoulders.

Wrong move.

Immediately he’s on top of me, body-slamming me into the bed.

“Xavier!” I cry. “Stop, it’s me!” I claw at his arms holding me down. “It’s Pet!”

His eyes have been open yet distant, like he’s watching some other movie playing out in front of him. But suddenly he blinks and he jumps back from me, looking down at his hands in horror, then at me.

“What—” he starts, then stops. He looks confused and bewildered like he’s a small child who’s woken up somewhere he’s never been before. It’s heartbreaking to see in a man usually so absolutely in control.

I crawl across the bed to his side.

“Shh, you’re okay. You just had a nightmare. You’re okay now.” I draw him into my arms, pressing his head to my chest. He wraps his arms around my waist and clutches me close like I’m the only solid thing in his world.

I lay my cheek on his head, inhaling the scent of his simple, clean-smelling shampoo and enjoying the texture of his springing curly hair. I run my fingers through his hair and for once, he actually lets me. I revel in the feel of him.

“What was the nightmare about?” I ask after several minutes. “Sometimes it helps to talk it through?”

And God, I only realize after I ask how much I want him to tell me, to trust me enough to start sharing his secrets with me.