Page 21 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
Now, I will test Belle’s spirit.
My boots thud upon the hardwood as I guide her to the back of the carriage house, approaching that prominent saddle stand in the curving shape of a horse’s back.
“Why are we here?”
I turn to her and cup her chin.Do you trust me, my Belle?
She takes a deep breath while I hold mine. “Yes, Jack Moore. We may have known one another for two days, but whatyou have shared in such a brief time…I feel as if I’ve known you for longer. Like something out of a dark dream. Perhaps in another life…”
Be that as it may, I require your consent, your trust. I have made myself, my past, and my dark need known. I slide a hand around her waist, envisioning the plump flesh of her arse beyond that wool skirt.Now, I require your consent, your reception of the sort of acts you read of, ones you can only imagine in the darkest corners of your mind. Are you prepared for the dangerous rogue and not the gentleman?
She stiffens, and I brace myself, muscles hardening. “Yes, but under one condition.”
Name it.
Her hand flattens against my chest, and my muscles bulge all the more, my chest heaving with the breath that may only rise as far as my throat is allotted.
“Don’t get me wrong, consent is sexy. But I wantyou, Jackson Moore. Every part of you. The gentleman and the rogue, the darkness and danger. The only hard boundary I’ll draw right now is um…I believe in your day, it was called carnal consummation.”
I cannot help my rising chuckle, and I sense her vexation, a soft prickling as it were. My cock stirs in my breeches at the thought of unleashing the crueler, baser parts of my nature upon her.
“Consider all other boundaries nonexistent,” she declares, bolstering my hopes and my resolve. “Give me everything, Jack. And don’t tell me. Please. Moving forward, I want it to feel real and raw.”
You may regret this, Belle.I’m a goddamn throbbing storm of need.
“Don’t do that,” she warns with a firm tone. “How old are you, Jack?”
Thirty-six. Give or take two centuries.I smirk internally.
She pauses, and I wonder if she’s pursing her lovely lips, chewing on her inner cheek. “I’m almost twenty-eight. I’m a grown woman. And I’ve been through my share of…experiences. I know what I want. I am prepared for any risks or consequences. I love all manner of emotions. Pain, pleasure, hurt, love, longing. I want it all. No, Ineedit all. If the primary thing you want me to know about you is your balance of skill and identity, then please, accept this about me. For so much of my life, I never felt real. I never felt human. And I certainly haveneverfelt like a woman. Will you treat me like one?”
Bloody hell.I lift my cane to her chin, holding it there in a finality of a warning. A last choice.You are a woman, Belle. A beautiful young woman. But I will treat you as many things in whatever way I see fit. And I have had two centuries of never feeling goddamn real. You have brought me to life, and I will, in your words, make up for lost time?
She shoves me. Damnation! I catch myself on the bench behind me, but her anger is palpable. Her act was so unexpected, but it gets me harder than ever. And I feel my wrath and hunger scorching my blood.
“I already said yes. I named myonecondition. I gave you my consent.” With a calculated rage stirring in my blood, and my manhood growing harder, I advance toward her. “I told you something I’ve never told anyone. I asked you to treat me like a woman with free agency who may choose whatever the fuck she wants and needs. I told you what I wantandwhat I fucking need, Jack! But if you’re not man enough without your head?—”
I move in and grip her throat, chuckling at the sudden quickening of her pulse and the flush spreading down her throat. I spin her around, bending her over the saddle stand.
She doesn’t fight me. By thunder, she doesn’t kick her legs or spit or curse as I grip the coiled rope along the end of the stand. She says nothing as I bind her hands and fix the rope to the hook in the ceiling. Enough to stretch her arms while keeping her upper half curved over the stand.
The moment ofreckoning.
I may not have a heart,but my pulse still thrashes in my veins when I lift that gray skirt and gather it between her stomach and the saddle.
Well, now…her stockings do not cling to her bottom. No, they end at her upper thighs. If I didn’t know any better, I would think my sweet Belle was preparing for this.
Tonight, it’s good that I can onlyfeelher, cannot see her. The sight of her lovely, swollen sex, clad in wet lace, would be too irresistible. And none could fault me after two centuries. All control snapped. And I would make her love every moment. But as I do not know her past, I am grateful that I cannot see her.
I have no intention of taking her tonight.
First, I take her luxurious curls and weave them into a thick braid.Grooming a horse is a significant bond between owner and beast. I will groom you, Belle. But tonight is for the art of bringing you to the broke state. In this nature, in this environment, you will call me “Master” or “Sir”. Is that understood?
“Yes, Sir.”
Good girl.I use the same tone as I do with my Revenant, Revy.
I touch her. Her arse clenches. Damnation. So soft and plump but also firm. Gooseflesh erupts in my hands as I hook my fingers under the lacy edges of her bottom coverings. She trembles as I slowly, achingly pull them down to join with the stockings at her lower thighs.
