Hot Blood


 
 
 
 
 
 A NineStar Press Publication
 www.ninestarpress.com
 Hot Blood
 ISBN: 978-1-64890-614-5
 © 2023 AE Lister
 Cover Art © 2023 Natasha Snow
 Published in February 2023 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.
 
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at [email protected].
 
 Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-64890-615-2
 
 CONTENT WARNING:
 This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers. Depictions of Smoking, discussion of auto accident/collision
 Hot Blood
 The Braided Crop Ranch, Book Four
 AE Lister
 Table of Contents
 Dedication
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 About the Author
 To my awesome readers and the members of Lister’s Loop on Facebook.
 Chapter One
 AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION
 or
 How to Rise to an Irresistible Challenge
 EDITING DIGITAL PHOTOS to make fruits and vegetables appear perfectly ripe, juicy, and seductive was not where I thought my life would end up.
 When I’d chosen photography as the focus of my fine arts degree at the University of Waterloo in Southern Ontario, I had imagined somewhat more exciting subject matter. But most of my assignments these days involved long hours spent hunched on my elbows in the dirt, taking alluring shots of farm produce.
 On my very fancy and expensive computer monitor, a ray of morning sunlight bounced off the red skin of a plump tomato. I’d tried several filters and a range of exposures to get it just right, but something wasn’t working.
 I clicked on another set of tools and looked for a different approach. While I perused the list, my phone pinged from where it lay on the desk.
 I glanced at the screen to see a text from an unknown number:
 Mr. Lambert, is it OK if I give you a call in a few moments? My name is Adam Marsland. I was given your name and contact info by Jaden Stevenson. I’m looking for a photographer.
 Since referrals had gotten me to where I was in my life at the moment—a recognized purveyor of outstanding photographic interpretations of reality—I texted Mr. Marsland back immediately.
 Of course. Give me five minutes.
 I input Adam Marsland as a contact and stood from my chair. My neck cracked when I stretched it to the side, and again when I repeated the motion in the other direction. I was only thirty years old, but sitting in one position for too long was bad for anyone. I reached my arms up and over my head, feeling the pull in my muscles.
 Moving into the kitchen of my small condo on Toronto’s East Side, I grabbed a tumbler, pressed the button on my fridge for cold water, and watched the stream of liquid splash into the glass. It would be fortuitous if Mr. Marsland could offer me a contract for some images. I was booked up until mid-June but, after that, things looked a bit sparse.
 I carried my drink to the living room window and gazed out on the city. Living on the fifteenth floor afforded me the luxury of a stunning view, even if the square footage was small. At least the finishes and upgrades in this unit were of the highest quality and done according to the latest trends. I’d been able to furnish the tiny apartment with quality pieces, like the Eames chair and a tan leather love seat from West Elm, since I didn’t need many.
 When my ringtone sounded, I walked back to my desk, put the glass down, and pressed the answer button, remaining on my feet since I’d been sitting for the past hour and a half.
 “Mr. Marsland,” I said.
 “Mr. Lambert. Good afternoon. How are you today?”
 “Fine, thanks. What can I do for you?” I asked, taking a sip from my glass.
 Mr. Marsland cleared his throat, and I heard the click of a pen. “I’m hoping you can come to my ranch and take some photos for me. You come highly recommended.”
 I smiled, because it was always nice to hear that. “Thanks. Jaden mentioned me?”
 “Yes. He thinks you’d be perfect for what we need.”
 “I’m pretty booked up at the moment. What time frame are we looking at?”
 “I’d need you to spend part of the summer here, if you’re available, and interested. You’ll be compensated well and we can put you in a room at the main house during your stay.”
 Perfect.
 “I do have most of the summer free at the moment. Are you talking three weeks? Six?”
 Papers rustled on Mr. Marsland’s end. “Six weeks. From mid-July to the end of August.”
 I walked back to my computer and put the glass down beside it. “And I’d be photographing horses? Riders? The landscape, too, I suppose?”
 There was a pause, and he laughed. “We’re not that kind of ranch, Mr. Lambert.”
 I narrowed my eyes at the red tomato that had tortured me with its saucy round form all morning. Mr. Marsland’s comment intrigued me.
 “Call me Oliver. And what exactly do you mean?”
 “The name of my…business…is the Braided Crop Ranch. We’re really a club, of sorts, with a resort hotel on the premises.”
 Hmm. “Oh. And you offer riding as part of the resort experience?”
 Mr. Marsland laughed. “No. No riding. Only ponies.”
 “I’m sorry. I’m a bit confused about—”
 “We’re a fetish ranch, Oliver. Pony play. Human ponies. In leather harnesses and other…accoutrements.”
 I blinked quickly, my eyes flitting from the tomato to the