Page 11 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

BELLE

Aweek passes. A blessed week with Jack.

No, I couldn’t sit down for a week, but I don’t care. What we shared that night transcends anything this world could ever offer me. Anytime I accidentally brushed against a wall too much, the flare of pain reminded me of our time. Jack hasn’t spoken of it since, and I haven’t pressed him. Just like he hasn’t pressured me. No suggestive implications regarding his revelation.

He’s been a perfect gentleman. We learned “hide and seek”

is a good method for following the laws of the curse. We’ve played the game in the bookshop, in the woods, on his grounds, and in the manor.

After the brief hunts, we take walks or spend much-needed quiet evenings in the bookshop. I’ve described all the fall-themed decor from small pumpkins substituting as book stands to twinkle lights wrapped around birch wood bundles. Or autumn-leaf garland.

Spooky but chic decor is my favorite. I share how I found vintage bottles and made potion bottles with aged labels, nestled hollowed-out skulls with glowing artificial candles inside. He helped me hang lanterns along ceiling hooks. Together, we filled mason jars with sprigs of fragrant herbs, jars entwined in twinkle lights. I even perfected my shelfie wall behind the counter.

One of my unique additions was a black faux rib cage with roses and marigolds bursting from the bones.

Once a year, during October, I’ll display my favorite book I will never sell, the greatest gift Mimi left me. A rare, first US edition of the wild Gothic tale of romance and betrayal, Wuthering Heights. With the antique carefully preserved in the glass case, I decorate the shelf with rustic pine cones, knit pumpkins, and tin candles. Bundles of colorful autumn flowers, a quill pen or two, a vintage typewriter, and ornate teacups adorn the two shelves below it.

Due to the rush of tourists and my other project, I’ve stuck to simple baked goods for customers. Pumpkin bread, apple cinnamon muffins, brown butter blondies. I buy pumpkin spice toffee, caramel apples, and homemade caramels in bulk from our local vendors, fill bottles to the brim, and leave them right by the register for an insta-mood buy. Autumnal crystals nestle in stands nearby—healing moonstone, passionate garnet, joyful citrine, soothing amethyst, and more.

I serve coffee and apple cider during the fall.

Mimi laid the groundwork, but I’d love to think she’s smiling down on me with all the ways I’ve brought Belladonna’s Bookshop to life.

Every night, Jack helps me clean the shop—like he is now.

He never sleeps and spends hours memorizing every nook and cranny. I love how careful he is with his steps and relies on the cane for the rest. I’m more than grateful for the help. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I notice Mortimer rubbing against his pant leg again.

In the kitchen, we do dishes, and I’m relieved that the shop will be closed tomorrow.

Thanks to Jack massaging oil with aloe into my bottom every night, my ass is all but healed. He knows it, too, since he takes multiple opportunities to touch me as he passes. A sweep of his side, his fingers subtly curving onto the fabric over my butt.

He’s been holding back. And it’s getting annoying.

Sometimes, I wish he’d just slam me against the nearest wall and grind against me. If something doesn’t happen soon, I might need to climb up his six-foot-three frame and start dry-humping him. With how exhausted I am, if he wanted to take advantage of me, I’d have no power to contest.

I still love his gentlemanly ways. Over the past week, he’s come to my rescue with a fluffy pillow anytime I started to sit down. I curl up in his lap, and we take turns reading poetry. Okay, I read while he recites it with flawless memory and tone.

One benefit to his lack of head is that he can’t see the project I’ve been working on all week for him. I’ve tirelessly labored over the piece, reinforcing the layers with a worthy frame. If he asks, I tell him I’m knitting another scarf or blanket, which I keep next to me in case he checks.

I can’t wait to show him tonight. Not show. Ugh!

Another not-so-subtle brush of his knuckles along my bottom. My skin prickles, and I lose it. Hands plunged in the soapy water, I flick my wrist to send a little splash his way.

He startles, chest bolstering, shoulders tensing. What the—he pauses, his whole body turning toward me. Did you just?—

“Uh-huh,”

I confirm with mischief lighting up my blood.

His breath quickens in my head, growing heavier. I glance down at his gloved hand as he clenches it and reaches to retrieve his cane from the back door hook. Uh oh.

Tsk, tsk, tsk, my Belle. Only just healed, but so eager for Sir’s punishments.

The second I try to leap out of the way, he catches me, seizing my waist and dragging me into the bookshop. When I playfully poke his sides and try to escape again, he plucks me right up from the floor and throws me over his shoulder, knocking the wind out of me and scattering my curls in front of my face.

I don’t kick and scream or struggle as he carries me up the wrought iron staircase to the second level, but I do lower my hands along the base of his sexy back until I grip his ass. He flexes. Holy hotness, steel glutes! Where do they make fucking men like him?

He was a highwayman, you silly, starry-eyed bookworm.

I love how he smacks my ass at the top of the staircase as if to reinforce how I’m healed, and he’s about to enact some punishment.

When he lowers me back to the floor, my cheeks hotter than ever, Jack grips the back of my neck and slowly turns me toward the corner bookshelves with the stepladder right in front of me.

Is my Belle going to be a good girl for Sir?

He gives my neck a gentle nudge, and my breath hitches before I nod, “Yes, Sir.”

Good. Select a book on that shelf. And read to me.

I wonder where he’s going with this, but I know better than to ask, which would be a form of disobedience. It’s no coincidence that he brought me to the smut section—a genre I love but naturally have upstairs out of sight from children. Around the corner from these shelves, three swinging egg chairs offer the perfect place to read said smut.

Maybe I displayed a few more fall/Halloween-themed books. And maybe, I instinctively and daringly curve my fingers around a short and very smutty one that clearly proves I have a twisted imagination.

Jack doesn’t speak, but I feel him grow harder as I open the book—Jack: Halloween Monster Erotica by Layla Fae—prop it on the stand in front of the stepladder, flip a few pages to the smutty part, and begin…

“You will get down on your knees,”

he said, slowly, savoring each word, “and you will suck my cock, and when I come in your mouth, you will swallow every drop of my cum. And you will enjoy it.”

I can practically feel my Jack tilting his invisible head. What a naughty, filthy girl you are, my lovely Belle.

I can’t help but grin from ear to ear as I continue:

Her mouth watered, and her mind sparked with curiosity. What was he hiding in those pants? Was that just a normal, albeit large, human penis? Or was it something else entirely? She had to find out.

Jack’s breath heaves in my mind. I can’t help but wonder the same about his cock. It feels normal. Large but normal.

My breath hitches, and I grip the stepladder as Jack’s gloved fingers raise the hem of my burnt orange-colored dress. He tucks them into my belt, and I shiver as he peels my thin, black leggings down until they gather at my knees.

Fingering my bold accessory since I rarely wear thongs, he chuckles darkly through our bond and adds, Someone has been longing for Sir’s attention, hasn’t she? Look at you…His fingers roam across my pussy, which has already ruined the flimsy fabric with its wetness. So eager. So ready. So responsive. So…mine. My Belle.

Does he want me to answer? Since he didn’t tell me to stop reading, I take a deep breath and go on, reading about Suzy kneeling, her mouth watering as he unzipped, cock springing free.

“Suzy forgot how to breathe. She stared at the monstrosity in front of her, disbelief and fear flowing through her veins, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her clit. Because Jack’s cock was not a human penis. Mmm…”

I whimper from him shifting the thong aside to expose my pussy, but he gives my wet lips a warning slap. “Ow!”

Whimpers and cries are not permitted when you are reading, Belladonna.

Oh, god! It gets me so hot when he scolds me with my full name.

“First of all, it was orange. It might have been a trick of the flickering candlelight, and Suzy looked up at his pumpkin head just to compare the hue of its skin to that of his cock. Yep, definitely orange.”

I swallow hard, thankful he allows me to breathe in between reading.

“Jack, please tell me, is your cock oran?—”

Something hard prods at my entrance, cutting off my words. It circles once for him to collect my fluids, but what…?

The moment I try to look down, Jack grips the back of my neck, thrusting my head back up.

Read. And do not move. Steady now, girl. Shh…

Oh, bloody pumpkins! That’s the voice he uses for Revy. A firm but soft encouragement, affirmation, and praise.

Licking my lips, I read on, “Jack looked at her with feral intensity, his fire blazing so hot, it was white.

“Suzy gulped, growing wetter at this monstrous sight, and returned to studying his cock.

Its head was the most terrifying, because how could anything with such a wide girth ever fit inside her? The head’s base was bulbous?—”

Oh, god, did I just say “bulbous”

out loud? My cheeks redden from the mortification, but I’ve never been so turned on.

“—and pulsing like a living heart, the thin orange skin stretched taut across the swollen organ. The rest of the head was cone-shaped like a sharpened pencil, with a round hole right at its tip. The hole pulsed, too, opening and closing as if in a sucking motion.”

As the hard object pushes deeper until it slides inside me. I press my lips together, working hard to cage the moan in my throat. My vision begins to blur. Whatever it is, it’s cold, metallic, and round.

Is that…? Is he…?

Oh, hell!

Such a dirty girl sucking Master’s cane into her sweet nether garden.

Sometime soon, I must teach Jack more modern terminology. But the romantic in me can’t help but appreciate some of the terms from his era. But I recently looked up a few, and if he starts using anything like “Jack nasty face”, we’re gonna have words.

Inner muscles clenching around the cane handle, I feel every textured inch of the intricate silver. My breaths quicken as his other gloved hand spreads me more.

Keep reading, my Belle. I wish to hear those lovely, filthy words while I fuck you with my cane.

I drip more, nearly coming from his words alone.

“A droplet of creamy, orange fluid slid out of it, and Suzy’s breath caught in her throat. How did he taste? Would Jack taste different?”

I turn my chin just slightly.

“Jack, how do you taste—I—ow!”

I squeal from him giving my buttocks a hard pinch. The cane grinds against my hot inner walls.

Try again.

When Jack digs the cane in deeper, I gasp, clamping down tighter, harder, stronger. All of me grows hotter, and I rip at the buttons of my sweater dress. Desperate for air, I undo as many as I can until the sides of the dress part at my navel. He doesn’t chastise me. Instead, he merely slides his gloved hand along the side of my waist until his fingers collide with mine…just beneath my bust.

“Her tongue darted out and caught the drop of Jack’s precum before it fell to the floor. Suzy moaned in pleasure. He tasted like pumpkin spice syrup, only with a sharper tang, more ginger, less sweetness. Its texture was creamy, and it slid down her throat like melted chocolate.”

Oh, wouldn’t that be grand?!

Jack’s roguish fingers move up and grip the fabric at the shoulders. They tug. I grab hold of the stepladder for balance, pulse thrashing, blood burning from him ripping the sleeves down until they collect at my elbows, exposing me more. My breasts have grown so heavy, and with my chest heaving, they’re nearly bursting out of the thin lace.

The more time I’ve spent with him, the sexier the lingerie I’ve chosen, always longing for his touch…and his words regarding my wardrobe, especially my “lady’s underthings”. I imagine smirking at him. Tempting him. I imagine him seeing it.

I imagine impressing him more. So, I read the next sentence.

“She looked up at the flaming pumpkin with a mischievous smile.

“You taste like Halloween,”

she said.”

I do my best to focus on the reading, but his gloved fingers tease the lace edges of the bra, tugging at them but not quite pulling down the cups. His thumb rubs the nipple prodding the fabric. Then, he begins to pump the cane.

I hiss, stammering, “F-Five protruding, horizontal ridges ran around it, circling the sh-shaft at even distances. Sh-she bit her lip, thinking how th-they would f-feel when he thrust into her. She’d feel ev-very ridge against her o-opening, pushing inside, and with every inch, he would stretch her wider and wider.”

He increases the pace, pistoning that silver cane in and out, sliding it all the way to the edge of my opening…His control is so unfair when I’m ready to shatter and then melt into a puddle of pumpkin spice latte goo.

I rush through the next words to avoid stammering, arriving at, “Jack thrust in her open mouth, filling it with the head of his cock, while her palm cupped his sack, heavy with his balls. All four of them. Oh, god, Jack!”

I shriek because he plunged the handle back in with a single, pronounced thrust.

He slaps the swell of my breast, tears the delicate lace, and pinches my nipple in a punishing warning.

“Sir, I’m sorry, Sir.”

I am quite eager to hear the rest of the story, Belladonna. Another brutal thrust. I’m practically gushing. He doesn’t grind again, and I’m sure if he did, I’d probably come right away. He doesn’t have four balls, does he? Oh, lord, have mercy on my sinner soul!

I swear I hear him chuckle.

My words scramble through the next part. I know I missed a paragraph. Or two. Or three.

“For an unfathomable reason, she didn’t gag as he pushed himself deep inside her mouth. It must have been his Halloween magic.”

Jack rubs the pad of his thumb upon my nipple, stimulating the flesh, which has a hypersensitive line right for my clit. He might not have a tongue, but Jack is beyond skilled with his fingers. I’m convinced every part of him is Halloween magic!

Working the swollen nub from side to side, circling it with his finger, pressing his thumb along the clit with the lightest pressure…

“Sir, I’m-I’m so close…”

He pauses with the cane. Continue, Belladonna.

“Jack’s both hands gripped the back of her head, and he thrust frantically with groans and grunts that made the whole room vibrate, the floor shaking slightly under Suzy’s knees.”

My Jack caresses my breast, testing the weight…seeming to know exactly how to stroke, tease, and make me long for more. I close my eyes, licking my lips from his touch that is like worship on the parts of me that were made out to be the forbidden fucking fruit of the first sinning temptress. Jack’s touch is…erotic and beautiful. Nothing like the quick groping from several of the boys in my community.

I put them out of my head. I focus on Jack. On my sensitized clit that he’s inflaming, my soaked cunt that he’s caning, and my breast that he’s massaging.

Steady, girl. Are you still with me, sweet summoner? My beautiful Belle…do you wish me to stop?

“No!”

I nearly screech, digging my nails into the sides of the stepladder, probably getting a splinter or two.

“Please don’t stop!”

I beg, blinking through the haze of need and hunger.

Then, read.

“F-Finally, J-Jack thrust harder, and his sweetness burst inside Suzy’s mouth. Sh-she swallowed as fast as she could, but it kept co-coming and co-coooming, dripping down her chin, flooding her mouth with the taste of pumpkin spice.”

You want me to fuck your sopping, wet quim with this cane? He slowly thrusts the handle in deeper. You wish to weep and gush as I drive you mad, sweet girl? Are you imagining my tongue here? He rubs my wet clit again.

I clench hard. More blood rushes to my cheeks, competing with the molten liquid in my pussy.

Do you imagine my lips here? Suckling from your lush, abundant breasts? He curls his thumb around my nipple. Do you wish it was my cock instead of my cane driving hard into your drenched flesh? He starts to slide it out, but I clamp down harder. Ahh, yes, there’s my good girl, precious dirty girl wanting my manhood inside her pretty quim. Such a greedy girl.

The filthy words coming from his masculine voice, so deep and velvety, nearly send me over the edge. He grinds the cane in deeper.

“When no more cum came out, and Jack’s balls felt slightly lighter in her hand – although still round and full – he slid out of her mouth with a growl.”

One more thrust, and I know I’ll be there.

The fingers at my clit and breast retreat.

I battle every urge to moan.

A powerful hand coils around the base of my throat, gloved fingers firmly touching the curvature.

Give me your words, Belladonna.

You love when I own you and use you as such, don’t you? Your sweet, soppy sex is ready for my cock, isn’t it? Do you know how hard I am for you? I aim to drive you mad, but you have driven me madder, my Belle.

I am a man possessed.

A manic, daft Jack.

Goddamn exploded in my pants last time. I am a man and a monster damned to hell and back for what you have aroused in me. A dark, possessive growl thunders into my mind.

Suddenly, he spreads my legs more, his broad shoulders anchoring my thighs.

Then, warmth and flesh…they rub against my clit.

But it’s not his finger.

Or his hand.

When I glance down, I gasp, ragged breaths escaping because he’s using his neck on my clit!

One.

More.

Deep. Thrust.

“I’ll fuck you now, wiiiitch!”

I scream through the last word of the chapter, I scream my orgasm.

Every last muscle in my cunt clamps down on his cane.

I scream his name again and again as he leans back, his fingers capturing my clit again while he curls a thumb around my nipple with his other.

Hot electric tingles break out all over my skin.

Rocking against the cane handle, I clench my teeth around my cries until they fade into gasps from the aftermath that has led me to shake.

He slowly slides the cane out.

I double over but throw my hair over my shoulder to see him.

My wetness glistens on the edges of his neck.

He rises, rubbing my slickness across his gloved fingers.

Is he imagining what I would taste like? My legs still shudder, but I flick my gaze down to the sizable bulge in his pants.

You made quite a lovely mess, Belladonna.

He gestures to the floor beneath me.

If it’s possible, I flush more because I’ve never creamed myself, but the evidence is all over the floor, and my thighs, for that matter.

My skin still tingles, and I wonder if it will feel like static for the rest of the night.

“Would you like me to…help, Master, so you don’t um…make a mess of your pants again?”

Thanks to the story and my vivid imagination, I can’t wait to confirm or not confirm all manner of thoughts and theories.

He throbs. Oh, god, he visibly throbs, and my imagination runs wilder.

Soon, my Belle.

But not yet.

If you touch me now, you won’t leave this bookshop without walking bow-legged.

My eyes widen at the implication.

I cup my forehead where a sheen of sweat has grown.

There’s little point in putting my leggings back on.

It feels like a cool brush of relief to take them and my boots off.

Just as I prepare to untuck the dress from the belt, there is Jack.

I bite my lower lip and whimper from the sensual act of him taking a handkerchief to my thighs and pussy, wiping the fluids from my skin and privates.

As he rises, I flare out the dress but don’t button it.

I’m even more turned on when he places the wet fabric in his breast pocket and says, I will not be washing this.

I am saving it for when my head returns, and I will smell the fullness of your sweet and erotic essence.

Before I combust again, I gather up my leggings and boots and take his hand.

“Come with me.”

To the ends of the earth…

My heart melts.