Page 13 of Headless Over You
I sneak through the gate, dressed in all black to blend in with the dark night. My vibrant red hair is tied back and hidden under a beanie. It’s quiet and creepy as I slink down the path to the front doors. Even knowing they’ll be locked at this hour, I try them anyway. I then move around the building and start checking windows. I’m about to call it quits when the last one gives way and creaks. It likely hasn't been opened in decades, the thought that it could be unlocked not even registering in the caretaker’s mind. I push it open just enough to crawl through. The rough brick scrapes my knees as I amble over the windowsill.
It’s dark inside and musty, same as it was this morning. I do my best to not disturb anything as I make my way through the pews. Taking the chance that no one is around outside because of the Horseman’s legend and his frequent sightings recently, I turn on my flashlight.
I’m not sure where to look, but I walk past the pulpit and make my way to the back rooms. A door is cracked open. Peeking inside, I slip in there first. It looks like a room for Sunday school, nothing more than coloring books and children’s toys. I step out and leave everything as I found it.
I try the next room, and the doorknob gives way before I press inside. It looks like an office, and to my dumb luck, there’s a glass case. Inside sits a skull with a beautiful metal cross necklace. It’s adorned with gems just like the one in the painting. To confirm my suspicions, I open my phone and flip through the historical society photos that I took. There, in the painting of Brom sits the same necklace. This is his skull in a morbid display. My gut turns. There’s no doubt that this is to constantly serve as a reminder for hatred and fear. That’s where this all truly stems from, after all. A scared population is an easily controlled one—fear of repercussions for speaking out, of deliverance at the hand of a perceived devil.
I investigate further, learning that this is Jacob Van Tassel’s office. Because of course it is. He keeps this here like some kind of disturbing trophy of his family’s accomplishments.
Does Kurt know about this?
Of course he does. He has to. It’s probably why he didn’t want me lurking around or speaking out against the lies.
I walk over to the stand and look for any lock or alarm. There doesn't seem to be one, and when I push on the glass, it moves without issue. Quickly, I lift it and try not to think about holding a human skull or the way the hard and smooth bone feels.
In the distance, a distinct neigh pierces the air. He’s there, waiting for me. Waiting for his freedom that only I can deliver.
I boltdown the street and break off at the forested path. Bushes scrape at my legs, but I don’t stop running.
“Brom! Brom!” Horse hooves meet my ears as I hit the bridge, and he rounds the corner. He dismounts and approaches. His shoulders are stiff as he peers down at the skull in my hands. “This is yours,” I say, handing it over to him.
The breeze picks up as he takes my offering. A light glows and swirls around the skull and his jack-o’-lantern head. Slowly, he morphs into the Brom I saw in the painting. His jaw is more chiseled, his cheekbones more pronounced. But it’s him without a doubt.
Before words can leave my mouth, he’s on me. His lips crash to mine, and my god, is it a kiss. His touch is searing as his hands roam over my body. He says nothing as he kisses me senseless. A more human tongue slides between my lips before he consumes my very soul. I’d happily give it to him. I reach up and touch his clean-shaven face. His skin is smooth, and my fingers trail toward his hair before they wrap themselves in the thick, curly strands.
“Brom,” I whisper against his lips. He holds me close, and I so desperately wish to hear him speak.
“Iris.” His voice is rich and accented with deep reverberance. My name hits me and rumbles through my core. “Bend over.” He turns me toward the bridge railing and pushes on my back. I’m staring at the stream of water as he rips my pants down my legs. “I’ve been waiting centuries for this. For you.”
Down on his knees, he spreads my legs apart. He pulls my hips back into him as licks through my soaked pussy. Dear god, he feels amazing. I squirm in his hold, but he only grips metighter. His hands nearly encase my ass as he works his tongue into me.
“Brom!”
“Scream my name, little bird. Scream my fucking name.” His tongue moves to my ass as his finger dips into my pussy. It’s overstimulating. It’s amazing.
“I’m gonna come!” I yell into the night. His fingers press on the bruises he left just the day before. The pain tips me over the edge and I come all over his fingers, shaking and rocking as he keeps pace. “I need you,” I whine.
“You have me.”
He stands, and I hear his belt as his pants slide down his hips. He’s inside me with a single thrust and he feels so damn good. His cock is thick and large, filling me completely and leaving me wanting more and more. My hips dig into the railing, and I hold on for dear life.
“You like it when the dead fucks you?”
I cry out as he punishes my pussy. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back to speak directly to me. “Answer me, little bird.”
“Yes! Yes, I like it when you fuck me.”
“What do you want?” he asks.Everything,I want to say, but I can’t get the words out as I tip over the edge of my orgasm and scream so loud the birds scatter from the trees. He might not be a vicious killer, but he’s my ruthless Horseman.
“Harder,” I choke out.
A hand comes down on my ass and I flinch. The sharp sting feels so good mixed with the pleasure he’s giving my pussy. His other hand comes around and squeezes my breast, pinching my nipple to the point of pain, and I’m there again. Discovering that I like it to hurt.
“Hurt me, Brom. Please, I need it.” Rearing back my head more, his hand connects with my cheek and I gasp, soaking his cock as my body quakes.
“Your filthy cunt takes me so well. So greedy and needy for my cum. You want that, don’t you?” The bridge creaks with his violent thrusts.
“Yes.”
