When Caroline Fontaine loses her husband and everything that once kept her safe, she’s drawn into the private world of New Orleans’ elite, where obedience is currency and silence is survival. By day, she builds wedding dresses for women still allowed to dream. By night, she’s placed where secrets are kept — and tested. The river doesn’t let go. But it can be turned.
Welcome to The River.
The leash was clipped to her wrists instead of her throat. Hands in front of her, Caroline stood there as they mounted, sweat already glistening on her skin.
It wasn’t the sun, the heat of the day, or how quickly they marched her out to the stables. It was everything that was happening all at once. How quickly Ethan had dismissed her to be used again by complete strangers. Those thoughts lingered, coupled with the memories of her night and the ache that twisted like a knot in her core.
A long walk through the gardens and then to the stables, they’d strolled as casually as anyone would, slowing here and there, commenting on the gardenias in bloom, the daylillies beaming up at the sky. Caroline followed obediently, quietly, taking it all in, but in a vastly different way — the fragrance overwhelming, the bright white blooms harsh in the sun. Even the breeze under the trees as they strolled through the garden covered her in gooseflesh, chilling the sheen of perspiration already coating her body.
Candace followed the two men and pulled Caroline along behind her without so much as looking back. Like a pet on a leash. Like a dog. Like a good girl, as Ethan had said. And how she’d become such a good girl in just the last twenty-four hours, she couldn’t even begin to understand.
Overwhelmed, she thought. It was everything all at once, and not a moment to look away. Just as it felt now, as Caroline looked up at the young woman climbing into the saddle. She wrapped the rough leather of the leash around the saddle horn, then looked back at Caroline for the first time, assessing the length and then taking in the woman who was easily twice her age. One in full riding gear, high boots, even a standard equestrian hat in blue and black that buckled under her chin; the other completely naked, her skin flushed, eyes wide as she looked up at the rider.
“I expect you to keep up, Caroline,” she said, her voice more stern now. “If you do, you’ll be rewarded.”
Candace led her outside, riding crop tucked lazily under one arm, while the other two flanked her on horseback, their faces easy with amusement, as if this happened daily. The staff hardly spared her a glance — how many naked women had they seen at the estate for it to become routine? A naked woman coming out of the stables, bound and led on a leash — Caroline caught one glance by a stablehand, a young man with a ruddy face and eager eyes. His gaze lingered, and then he turned back to his task.
How many women? She wasn’t the first.
The sun was high, cruel on her bare shoulders and back, a prickle that was half heat, half raw awareness of her naked skin. Candace tugged on the leash, propelling Caroline forward with barely a glance back to see the older woman jogging alongside. It wasn’t just nudity now — quiet, easy crawling on the cool floors of the estate house. It was power on display. It was the specific, undeniable weight and movement of Caroline’s breasts with each step, the friction of her thighs, the pull of humid air into her lungs, the soft pad of her feet as they turned onto a dirt path.
And between her and the world? Nothing but the tight, abrasive bite of the leather.
At the stables, the guests had mounted sleek, gleaming horses — Candace on a pale grey, the men on dark bays. They looked like something from a fairy tale: beautiful, terrible, indulgent under the thick oak canopy. And Caroline, at the end of the lead, felt like something from the old tales, too. Not the princess. The captive bride. The trophy paraded through the village after the battle.
The slave.
The horses started slow, and she followed, jogging awkwardly beside them, the leash taut. Her bare feet slapped the earth, her chest heaving faster than she liked. The path wound through the oak trees toward the trails beyond the estate gardens, but as the trees fell over them, bathing them in shadow, Caroline’s focus on the world began to fade.
“Pick up, girl,” said the older of the two men called from horseback. Caroline heard the whistle of the crop before she felt its sharp bite.
She yelped and obeyed, stumbling faster, her legs already trembling.
They drove her harder then, the horses nudging into a canter, their powerful bodies flanking her so closely she could feel the oppressive heat radiating from them. The world beyond the muscular walls on either side dissolved; trees and sky became smeared streaks of green and brown. Her focus narrowed to the churning earth directly beneath her bare feet, each footfall a desperate, jarring chore, a reminder of her decision, her choice.
The rhythmic thunder of hooves on either side wasn’t just a sound; it was a physical vibration that resonated deep in her chest, competing with the frantic rhythm of her own heart until her breath tore through her throat in ragged sobs, tears streaming down her face as she ran. Dust coated her tongue and stung her eyes, blurring the path, until all she could see was herself — naked, bound, driven for the entertainment of anyone Ethan chose.
A slave. Nothing more.
There was no room for thought, no space for rebellion. Her awareness shrank to the fire in her lungs, the screaming protest of her thighs, the roaring in her ears, and a dizzying, terrifying sense of being swept along, small and fragile, utterly consumed by the pace they dictated.
And then they broke into the light again and came to a stop in a small glen near a stream — a clearing shaded by low willow branches, the air cool and damp with moss and water. Caroline was still on her feet, dragging great mouthfuls of air into her burning lungs, barely aware that the riders were dismounting. The leash was still taut, Candace reeling her in until she stood right in front of the older woman. “Knees,” she said, and Caroline dropped to the ground, thankful for the command.
Sweat trickled down her spine, stung her eyes. Her cheeks burned from exertion and from the knowledge of what she must have looked like — panting, flushed, undone. A naked thing running the horse paths, now ready to collapse in the warm grass like a dog.
Candace crouched before her, pushed her hair out of her face. “You lasted longer than I thought you would,” she said, a touch of admiration in her voice. “You’re quite the prize. Quite the prize,” she said again, her fingers lingering on Caroline’s chin, then slipping down to her breasts gleaming in the sun, slick with sweat. Immediately, her nipples hardened, and Candace smiled at the response. “And always eager. No wonder he picked you.” She leaned in, a few strands of blonde falling over her face. She ignored them and pressed her forehead to Caroline’s as her fingers slid lower, across Caroline’s belly and between her legs. “No wonder.”
The kiss smothered the groan that escaped Caroline’s lips as the younger woman leaned in, her fingers sliding into the river between. Caroline’s thoughts, still muddled and scattered from the run, shattered with the onslaught. She whimpered as she sucked the other woman’s tongue into her mouth, pushed her cunt against the hot flesh that teased. Any lingering memories of the run, the path, the horses thundering on either side of her, dissolved as the heat built from within and left her panting.
Then a shadow fell over the two, and Candace’s pulled back, her fingers going to her mouth. “Candace,” came a voice from above, “she hasn’t earned that yet. Our pet must work much harder for what she desires. And you must learn how to control yourself and train your pets correctly.”
Anastasia. Caroline recognized the voice immediately, and the sensations that were building in the moment faded just as quickly. When she looked up, she found the little blonde still sucking on her fingers, and then she passed the leash over to more experienced hands and climbed to her feet. “Later then, pet,” she said with a smile. “Make me proud.”
The tug of the leash brought Caroline struggling back up to a stand. Her thighs protested, as did her feet, but she climbed up, shaking visibly, trying to hold herself upright as the exhaustion of the run threatened to overwhelm her.
Anastasia was dressed in fitted black riding breeches and polished boots, a crop tucked neatly under one arm. Her dark hair was pinned into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, and her expression was cold. Measuring. She did not look at the guests. She looked only at Caroline, her gaze invasive, cold as she clipped the leash to Caroline’s slender collar. “You’ve been softened,” Anastasia said, her voice smooth and carrying. “Good.”
Anastasia stepped closer and pressed something against Caroline’s lips — a hard, cool object.
“Open.”
Caroline hesitated, just for a second.
The crop snapped lightly against her hip—a kiss of warning.
She opened her mouth and felt the bit slip between her teeth. A slim bar, smooth and unyielding, fitted precisely to stretch her mouth and held in place by leather straps around her head. Anastasia leaned in to fasten it. “The races, Caroline. The derby. Did Ethan mention it?” She buckled the leather strap behind Caroline’s neck as the older woman’s cheeks flushed hot with shame. When Anastasia stepped back to admire her work, Caroline stood naked under the sun, bound at the wrists, the bit glinting between her teeth, a fine sheen of sweat coating her flushed skin.
“You are beautiful,” Anastasia said clinically, as one might appraise a bloodline animal. Her eyes crawled the length of Caroline’s body, taking in every curve, the way her chest rose and fell, the slick sheen of perspiration that coated her from head to foot. “But beauty without discipline is nothing.” She flicked the crop against the side of Caroline’s thigh, light but sharp.
“Prance,” she said, and pulled Caroline to the right by the leash.
Caroline stared, frozen, but the crop cracked again, harder this time, against her hip, and she jerked into motion. Swallowing her shame, she obeyed, lifting her knees in the shade of the willows, stepping awkwardly at first, the bit forcing her head upright, her arms pulled tightly forward by the leash Anastasia held.
The guests clapped softly, laughing in low, pleased voices.
Caroline stumbled, still exhausted, her legs like jelly. The crop met her calf instantly, and she yelped behind the bit.
“Higher,” Anastasia growled. “Proud. Head up. You are his. Tireless. Strong. Own the moment. Own what you are. You must look worth his effort, what he paid for you.”
Caroline gritted her teeth around the bit, the last words ringing in her ears. What he’d paid for her. How much had he paid for her? She’d never understand the totality of it — the debt, the protection money, the wedding dress shop, the college money for her daughter. How much had Caroline sold herself for to become this? The crop stung her thigh again and lifted her legs higher, exaggerating each step as she found her rhythm— awkward, mortifying, but obedient. Her breasts bounced with each sharp step. Her breath huffed through her nose in ragged bursts.
How much to become his pet, his pony, his plaything?
Anastasia led her slowly around the clearing, making her parade before the guests like an animal at auction. When she slowed, the crop corrected her. When her head dipped, the leash jerked her back into position. The guests whispered approvingly. And Anastasia? Anastasia gave no sign of pleasure or disappointment. She only worked Caroline harder, her commands crisp, her expectations merciless.
“Canter,” Anastasia ordered, tugging the leash.
Caroline moved faster, short, bouncing steps, round and round, her arms at her sides, her head held painfully high by the leash. She could feel every eye on her, measuring, judging, admiring. By the time Anastasia brought her to a halt, Caroline’s legs trembled violently, her throat ached from the strain of the bit, and her vision blurred with exhaustion. She stood panting, dripping sweat, the leash slack but the expectation to remain posed, poised still crackling in the heavy, humid air.
Anastasia circled her slowly, crop tapping thoughtfully against her own thigh. “Good,” she said, as if reporting on the weather. “I look forward to our training, Caroline. The derby will be here sooner than you can imagine.”
The crop slipped between Caroline’s legs like a lover, eliciting a shudder.
“And you will run for us like you’ve never run before.”
Author’s Notes: Just getting Caroline in the door had been my only thought going into Ethan’s house. Having her serve him, be his lover, had always been the plan until I realized the plan was wrong and Caroline would be much better served as a character who is mostly, if not entirely, ignored by Ethan. It’s here that I realized this was less a romance and more something else I hadn’t yet discovered.
Pushing Caroline into the arms of a pair of guests on the first night set in motion this transition into becoming the trophy and plaything for others — Ethan’s guests, his employees, perhaps even his staff. It lends itself to an eventual transition to the French Quarter in Act II and the introduction of the outside world that has not met or not forgotten Caroline — we’ll see evidence of both, and it will create myriad complications.
But a snap decision to push her into the arms of other guests, including Anastasia, and turn this into a training episode led to the idea of including a derby.
What better way to showcase the predicament Caroline finds herself in than to make her a trophy mare, so to speak? A ponygirl, something I’ve always had a thing for. To show Ethan’s callousness, apathy, and lack of interest, and to put Caroline through her paces a little longer, setting up the rest of the story. And just as Caroline begins to accept what she has agreed to, she shall unearth a secret that will put the heart of the story into motion.
This is an erotic noir after all…
Great my love