Page 52 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
“Yes, Sir,” she says, softening, trusting, knowingI am the only one who can give her the rapture she seeks—and the delicious sin dredged right from the lustful pits of hell.
After retrieving my crop, I take a moment to admire her. Her body silhouetted against the soft bedding, the ropes framing her like a work of art. For these moments, I let in her past…and mine. Rage and fury and bloodshed for the man who abused such a woman, so exquisite in her authenticity. Aged grief from all I have lost and the pain of broken legs and heavy limbs as I tucked three bodies into their eternal beds in the earth.
I let it all in.
Belle shifts her head to the left where I stand, aware of my body heat, our breaths synchronized. Every muscle in my body bulges with unquenchable fire. Not being inside her is torture, but it’s a necessary torture.
“Tell me, Belladonna,” I say, my voice darker, offering the control. It lies within her command. “Beg me now. Or I will untether you and make love to you as the gentleman before the dawn’s light. Who do you want? The gentleman or the highwayman?”
She purses her lips. My soul hangs a thread above them.Please don’t say the gentleman, my Belle,I plead silently, distantly, but giving her the ultimate authority as my lover, my lady, my queen.
Her breath hitches. She parts her lips. “Take everything, Jack. And give me all of you. Give me everything.”
Thank all fucking gods, angels, and demons!
There is precious little time before dawn. But I still drag the end of the crop along her belly, memorizing every curve and every contour. It’s unfathomable that I am here. My need to mark her is stronger than ever. When my head is gone, I will touch her, tracing every delicious mark of my possession. They will confirm this is not simply a dream. She is not a dream.
They will make it raw. And real. This must be real. She must be real.
I stroke the crop along the curvature of her throat. I give her no warning. The moment she begins to arch, I bring the crop down, landing an even strike upon the soft upper flesh of herright breast. She hisses, then arches her back, her desire on full display before her whole body softens against the sheets.
Fuck!—this woman was made for me. Her utter trust surges more blood to my cock along with the sight of her pink, swollen quim.
I reward her with a strong suckle upon her breast and a tracing of my tongue along her lips.
Strike!
Belle leans her head slightly to the origin of my last strike. She’s searching for me. No, she’s hunting me, as blind to me as I was when she uttered the blood summons. By thunder!
Grinding my hand around the crop handle and cracking the leather of my glove, I lift the crop high—she shivers—and masterfully land a sharp lashing on her left tit. A gasp leaves her mouth.
I love her responses, how she rocks her hips, straining with the ropes, then softening and settling. Like watching a flower open its soft petals and submit to the punishing pleasure.
I give her that punishment…rain down blow after blow upon her, careful not to break the skin or swell the flesh too much, I slap her stomach, slam the crop upon her thighs, and strike her breasts until the buds are hard and red as rubies.
Belladonna Holloway wears my marks with such beauty and honor. She breathes through the pain or keens from it, relaxes all her muscles, and performs again like the beating of a heart. Her heart. My…
I swing the flogger, slapping it against her nether folds. The feminine scream she unleashes gets me harder. My cock is throbbing with my control, my balls begging to explode in her. My blood burns.
Another strike upon her most sensitive nerves. Tears stream down her cheeks.
“Jack!” Her whisper is a prayer. “Sir!”
I throw the crop and undo the rope hold on her wrists. I sink my fingers into the soft, plump flesh of her thighs and lick her one last time. Her screams of bliss and tender hands tangling in my hair nearly have me losing control. I have but a threadof control left. So sweet. Sweet torture as I breathe in her scent and taste her one last time.
The hope of times to come.
Sweat coats her skin with a shimmery sheen as the gray light of pre-dawn creeps through the slit in the curtains.
I rip the very curtains down!
Returning to Belle, I grip her hair, claim her mouth, and spear my tongue inside, taking what is mine. Her swollen lips yield to my every gesture, kissing me with desperation between her erratic breaths—because all this will soon disappear.
Mouth sealed to hers, I line up my crown with her entrance and slam my staff hard. A deep and brutal thrust that sends tremors down her legs. Convulsions erupt inside her pussy. Good God almighty!—her sex sucks me in deeper, tightening. The hot pressure shreds my last nerve.
I fuck her through our conjoined release and beyond. I fuck her to the next quake following the last until her screams must reach the ears of every ghost in the mountains. I tilt my jaw, holding her here, holding onto her taste, the touch of her tongue, the plumping of her supple, pouty lips.
I fuck her raw. I fuck her real.
