Page 53 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
I let it die. I let it all die as I rise stronger, no longer shackled to the chains of my past. I bound her. She freed me. What more perfect power exchange could exist?
Her nails rake down my back, hard. My summoner is making her own marks now, holding me here in only the beautiful way BelladonnaMoorecould. Damn any reservations to bloody hell. She is mine.
A deep growl of protection, possession, and ownership. I’ve done more than claim her. I’ve driven the stake so deep into the goddamn ground that no other man may claim it. No other man will. I’ll fucking destroy them.
“I love you, Jack.”
When she shatters before me and all around me, screaming my name from the pleasure spiral, a golden beam of sunlight splinters through the window, illuminating her form for a blessed few seconds. The sheer perfection of her body, marked by her lordand master. The hot, wet grip of her pussy and the inflamed, rosy flesh stretched around my staff.
For a few blessed seconds, nature grants me the vision of my Belle in the throes of her elation. Unmatched by any other, this vision is the most breathtaking.
I slam balls deep inside her, shooting my seed into her, marrying us in spirit.
This truth is engraved into my very soul: I love her. Fiercely. Viciously. Monstrously. For the curse renders me a monster, a horrid, headless beast.
And this beauty is my summoner, my savior. She is thehuntressof my heart. May all the spirits gift her with the fate to find it.
Transformed, rebirthed with her—my touchstone, the center of my existence—I take her in my arms. And though my head is gone with the morning light, I have never felt more whole.
21
“What exactly are you accusing me of, Sheriff?”
BELLE
Ihave a notifiable spring in my step as I prepare the shop for closing time . Twenty minutes till.
Heat tangles in my cheeks, and I feel like I’m glowing. I guess that’s what happens when you’re having mind-blowing sex every night for the past week. My insides grow warmer when I think of Jack arriving soon. Sometimes, he lingers all day, a regular fixture sitting in the back chairs with his knit pumpkin head, looking like a realistic Halloween decoration. He scared the stuffings out of Mrs. Kravitson once when he turned his head as she checked out a nearby shelf.
This evening, I’m wearing a dark blue flared skirt with double-lined, large buttons extending from my waist to my thighs. A red, lightweight, short-sleeved cardigan. Black stockings I can’t wait for Jack to peel off and find the surprise thong. Red, lace-up Oxford heels, vintage, complete my ensemble. Well, and the fun newsies cap.
I’m just picking up the dishes when the bell jingles above the door, signaling a customer. Setting the dishes down, I leave the sitting area and wander back toward the front.
I stop in my tracks. My blood chills. My face pales. Swallowing a hard knot, I try to keep it together as Sheriff Tanner practically marches into the bookshop, in full uniform, and lips pressed into a grimace. He’s definitely not here for pleasure.
“Good evening, Sheriff Tanner,” I say respectfully, moving toward the counter. “I’m afraid it’s almost closing time.”
Tucking his fingers into the waistband, his gun a few inches from his hands, he says gruffly, “I’m here on official business, Miss. Crowley.”
I stiffen, unable to help but wince at my former last name. Mimi helped me officially change my last name, and I took hers.
I do busy work, determined not to let him ruffle me. His greasy black strands are slicked back and curling just under his ears. But it doesn’t make his eyes any less intimidating. Or his 6’2 bulky frame.
“I’m not sure what official business you may have with Belladonna’s Bookshop.” I scrunch my brows, refilling the caramel candy jar and straightening my business cards.
He advances toward the counter, carrying the scent of cigarette smoke with him. “I was recently apprised of a criminal act when you were present. Something you failed to report.” His brows draw low, prickling me more.
“And who informed you of this?” I lift my chin, deadpanning with him.
“I believe you know very well who, Miss. Crowley.”
“Holloway,” I correct firmly. “Belladonna.”
He makes a sucking noise with his teeth, barely acknowledging me, his eyes centered far lower than they should be. Another pig of the patriarchy. One well connected with the Covenant.
Sheriff Tanner’s lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile, more a sneer. “You can call yourself whatever you like,” he drawls, “but you’ll always be Miss Crowley to me. Can’t run from your roots, now, can you?”
I clench one hand on the other side of the counter, fantasizing about using the taser I have hidden under the cash register. I find it’s a very effective stress-relieving coping mechanism.
