Page 10 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
“I read. A lot,” she mumbles, then shrieks when I twist my fingers deeper inside her.
Have you been pillaged here before, my sweetsummoner?I dare to lower one ungloved finger to her rosebud, so damn wet. She is my little savage.
“Erm…it’s complicated.”
I pause…waiting to hear more, but all I hear are her heavy breaths, feel her arousal dripping from her well. To prevent her from second-guessing these moments, I do not torment her further. With one more spearing of my fingers, I curve them upon that inner knot while maintaining vigil on her swollen, feminine pearl.
“Jackson!” she screams, clenching and convulsing and shuddering all around my fingers, digging her nails into my flesh and tensed muscle.
Once her sobs finally subside, I retrieve my fingers, wishing more than anything that I could but taste her release. For now, I rise, pivot my hips against her, so she may feel the evidence of my desire. I cup her breast, fully intending to pleasure these beauties soon.
“Sweet Jesus!” she gasps, whimpering again when I take her palm and press it to my breeches.
Tell me, my Belle, would you have preferred more gentlemanly grace?
Bloody Christ!—her daring fingers curve around my manhood, and I touch her lips, eager for her response…
5
I still have many ungentlemanly plans for you
BELLE
Holy, big, pumpkin dick!
How does he manage to hide that massive shower in those tight breeches? I consider how ironic the term “giving head” has become. Not that I stopped him from giving me the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever had—straight out of a smutty dark romance novel. Except, I’ve crossed way beyond the territory of simple definitions of dark romance.
This is paranormal and fantastical.
Soon, sweet summoner, I will introduce you to my riding crop…
Bloody pumpkins!
I know I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do. I should stay. I should learn more, ask questions, take a tour of his haunted manor. Hell, I could ask him to remove his breeches and show me that shower…for research purposes.
But I’ve already endured more sensory overload than any sane woman would dare to explore in a lifetime, let alone in an hour. My pussy is still warm and tingly from his bewildering ministrations.
His presence is intoxicating, his power terrifying and alluring. I’m afraid that one more step toward him will tip me over the edge into a world from which there’s no return.
Part of me wants to disappear down his dark, gothic rabbit hole. My body, my emotions are saying yes. But I pull my hand from his raging hard-on and touch his chest, my breath hitching when he clutches my hand in his gloved one and rubs my palm.
The rational part says to retreat.
And my heart…it’s overwhelmed and confused and just wants tobreathe. I’m breathing too quickly. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. His iron-hard place. I want to bask in all the delirious sexual emotions. But if I don’t leave now, if I don’t find some clarity in all these twisted thoughts and emotions, I’ll never make sense of all this. And I want to—for both our sakes, since I’ll be interacting with him every night through October. It’s only the 1st.
“I’m so sorry, Jackson. I just—I have to go.” I start to tug away from him,moving off the wall.
Belle…He tightens his grip, and I shiver when his bare knuckles stroke my cheek.
“Please, it’s not you.” I flatten my hand on his chest in reassurance. “I promise we will see each other again. Tomorrow, of course. You could come to the bookshop after closing, and we could share tea, and oh, god, I’m sorry. I’m flustered, and I don’t say the right things. You can’t have tea, and I should have known better than to?—”
Belladonna,he deepens his tone like a scolding parent, and my blood chills until he cups my chin to finish,I would be honored to share tea with you…however impossible for me to partake.
I pause, taking a moment to close my eyes and center myself and my fluttery heart. “If I could, I would kiss your cheek. But please let me go for now.”
I will, my Belle, but wait just a moment.He raises his gloved finger before turning away and walking with purpose to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. I purse my lips, curiosity feathering across my nerve endings as he opens it and withdraws a velvet black cloak.
Despite your penchant for dark, tragic romances, I would prefer if my woman were not so unclothed as she runs like Cathy with the wuthering wind gusting through her lovely curls.
