Page 13 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

“It’s a head. Well, no. It’s a skull face.”

BELLE

I’m not waiting any longer.

What are you up to, you saucy, little strumpet? He stiffens, hovering the gloved fingers of one palm along my cheek while gripping the cane in the other. But I breathe a deep sigh of relief that he doesn’t stop me.

“What does it feel like I’m doing, Jack?”

My mouth waters at the sight of that bulge growing harder the more I work at undoing his belt and buttons. Thanks to his suspenders, I have to push his heavy leather coat off his shoulders, and I can’t fathom how he’s not sweating in everything. After jerking his leathers to his knees, I’m finally face to face with that massive shower throbbing in his drawers. It doesn’t look like a monster cock…so far.

Fuck, Belle, he says, voice so deep and gravelly.

“Soon,”

I assure him.

“This first.”

Does my girl want Sir’s cock?

Moment of truth.

Slowly, achingly, and terrifyingly, I peel down his drawers. I hope my other sigh of relief isn’t too audible. I don’t know why my thoughts took me to all sorts of crazy places. His head is cursed and gone, not his dick. As he’s shared, Jackson Elias Moore was and still is a man. A well-endowed man. Make that very well-endowed.

He’s not a monster with an orange cock topped with a mini pumpkin. Okay, I am clearly twisted to have that image in my mind. But he’s so damn hung, Jack has to lower one hand to lift his swollen organ. There’s something even sexier about the black-gloved hand holding the base.

As soon as I slide my fingertips along his inner thighs, Jack’s cock jerks. I flinch but don’t remove my fingers. Pre-cum already leaks at the crown. He’s so thick and rigid, the girth so broad with a prominent and powerful vein running down the length.

And is that…? “Jack, oh, my bloody pumpkins. The ridges and veins here…”

I trace them, noting the shadowy image they create.

“It’s a head. Well, no. It’s a skull face.”

Belle…he growls, his strong hand coming down to grip my hair and coil it around his fist. He says nothing else. I wish I could see his real face. Would his jaw be hard? Would he bare his teeth in a hungry, feral snarl?

He doesn’t force me down. Oh, the dominance is dripping off him with his hand practically strangling my hair, but his control is unwavering. Like he’s been waiting forever for this moment, and he’s not about to waste it.

I’m not either.

A tremor ripples through me—one part terror and one part thrill. My breath withers when I remember the last time face-to-face with a dick right before it was halfway down my throat, shoving, pumping, choking…bruising. The type of bruising that reaches deep into your lungs and leaves a scar.

Jack throbs again. No words, though I can hear the heaviness of his breath in our bond.

Slowly, I lean in and nuzzle my cheek along the side. His sharp hiss in my mind assures me the touch was as intense for him as it was for me. I marvel at the hard steel encased in silky skin, skin strained so taut over his beautiful length. I call it beautiful…because it is. The masculine core of the man I’m honored to know.

I rub my lips along the smooth side of his cock, planting tender kisses on one side, opening my lips in a light kiss on the tip, then repeating on the other side. I trace my tongue along that skull face.

Jack’s breath heaves, a subtle growl thundering through our bond. His muscles flex as he releases a deep groan.

I inhale his scent, loving his natural musk, which reminds me of leather, smoky cedar, and earthy vetiver. No pumpkin spice. That’s just silly.

Are you planning to play with it all night, my Belle? Or do you have other filthy intentions?

I smile with my lips still gliding along his flesh. His dirty talk surges heat to my center. I love every word. I love how he plays with me. And when he tightens his grip, gives me one firm tug until I’m arching my throat, and rubs the silky crown along my lips, I whimper softly.

Open, Belladonna.

Oh, god, I love that commander tone.

Parting my lips, I ease my tongue out and trace a slow circle around the tip. At his side, his fingers flex, straining the gloves and producing that leathery, stretching noise. The knowledge that I’m pleasuring him surges more wet heat to my core. His forearms bulge with muscle beneath his collared shirt. The same with his chest muscles under his leather vest.

Have you ever…?

I fold my lips around the crown. I don’t want to talk about whether I’ve ever anything. Instead, I suck him deeper.

Fuck, Belle! He grunts, deepening his tone. Yes, deeper now, sweet girl. Curl your tongue around the base. That’s my dirty girl.

His praise and instructions turn me on. It’s not just about what he can reap. He’s teaching me, training me. A slight prickle stings the back of my neck, but I shove it away, scratching at it because it’s nothing like my past. Jack wants this connection with me, this bond.

I curl my tongue as he directs. And twist it all around in a spiral pattern while sliding deeper. One more growl has my sex clenching, and I tighten my suction.

Fuck, do you know how much I wish I could see you? The longing passion in your eyes as you take my manhood?

My moan seems to vibrate around him, and he groans again. I could say the same if his brows drew low over his eyes with their deep, strong hoods. Or if a muscle ticks in his jaw.

This is intimate and sexy. He doesn’t just force me down, hard and short. He doesn’t stop giving me directions. Fondle my balls, oh!—they’re so firm but soft. Just two. Only two, thank goodness! Suck harder, faster, stronger. Touch me, Belle.

I do. I glide my other hand along his thigh and behind, higher until I cup one iron-hard globe of his ass. I cry out when he flexes in my hand. More wetness floods my mouth, and I bob up and down, digging my nails into the flesh of his gorgeous ass.

Belladonna. His voice has lowered to an ominous tone, and my lips are suddenly wrenched from him, closing around nothing. I screw my brows low, confused, until he tips my head back and says, If you want to stop, if you need to stop, tap my thigh.

What?

Before I can so much as process what he’s saying, Jack tangles both hands in my hair and slams me down so deep, I’m choking. Choking and gagging, my eyes watering and burning from the pressure. No Halloween magic. But I don’t tap out. Not yet. He rocks his hips, thrusting wildly but rhythmically, still controlled.

I’m safe. I’m safe with this dangerous man. This is my choice. I am here because I want to be, not because I’m forced to be.

Goddamn, my summoner! Your mouth is so sweet, wet. Your throat is so tight. Damnation, so tight and hot. Keep going. Keep sucking. Or tap your fucking hand. And this all ends now.

He would end it, too. Jack would stop everything. The understanding of what he’s giving me makes me feel even more powerful and determined to suck him off. He’s spent the past week tormenting me and pleasuring me.

I would really like to return the favor.

So, I suck him harder. No, I eat him harder and faster—so damn honored to have this beautiful man with his dark, tortured soul in my mouth. He’s this flawless effigy of rugged brawn, the embodiment of the violent highwayman vigilante and irresistible aristocrat.

Belle…he growls and slides the tip of the cane beneath my chin, subtly lifting my head. I swallow hard, throat constricting around his cock. Look up. Look up and imagine I am watching you as you pleasure my staff with your lovely mouth. Imagine I control you with my gaze, not permitting you to look away. Imagine my response to your innocent but eager tongue.

I moan again, blinking back tears with more hot fluid dripping from my pussy. I imagine his eyes as dark green, maybe speckled with hints of light brown. A hazel? That sounds right. It feels right. I won’t ask. Once we restore him, for I must believe it is possible, I want his eyes to be the first things I see and learn.

A fresh breeze ruffles my curls about my cheeks. The ground crunches beneath my knees as I ease him out of my throat to catch my breath before plunging again, softly rubbing his balls with one hand and gripping his carven ass with the other.

Gasping and snarling, he circles his hips, stroking the inside of my mouth, my throat with his massive length. His control begins to waver, snapping to unleash his more carnal nature, a dangerous hunger that defines the other face of the double-edged sword that is Jackson Moore.

I love both sides, opposites I could never possess. Because I could never be such a paradox of light and dark to blend into a morally gray shade. No, I’m more like all the rich colors of autumn—reds, ambers, oranges, rich chestnut, and even the dusky shade of purple.

He quickens his pace, pistoning into me in primal, staccato thrusts. Do you see me, Belladonna? Do you feel me savagely fucking your throat? He bucks his hips, driving himself deeper. My lungs cave in, my throat burning with the need to breathe. The desperate ache to give this gift to him keeps me here. It makes me feel alive and powerful.

I want to stay here forever. I want him to shatter me and rip me apart until those pieces seal themselves to him forever. All the layers of this world peel back until nothing exists but Jackson Elias Moore claiming me here and now.

In just this short week, he’s obliterated all my preconceived notions about this world. He led me into his dark and beautiful world of curses, tragedy, and the supernatural. He’s given me magic, no matter how tortured and tragic.

I can’t imagine a world in which the Headless Horseman does not exist.

If it all turns out to be a vivid dream, I could turn into Cathy forever wandering the woods, searching for his haunted manor and listening for the galloping of hooves.

So, I hold onto him, I hold onto this moment for as long as I can…until he jerks, slamming his hips, his balls knocking against my chin, and he surges hot, thick bursts of cum. He pulls out at the last second, shooting more into my mouth. And every damn nerve ending awakens with my reward center lighting up like a million jack-o-lanterns.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod—bless his Halloween heaven-sent soul!

I swallow every last drop, marveling, dumbfounded. “Jack…”

I whisper because my voice has turned a little hoarse.

“Is that…? No fucking way.”

I cup my forehead, baffled and a little hysterical. I’m on a burst of balling laughter and crying tears of pure delight!

Taste something you enjoy, my Belle of autumn wanderlust? He fists himself, milking the last of his cock and painting my lips with his flavored seed.

Not just pumpkin spice. Pumpkin spice latte! The best I’ve ever tasted.

“How?!”

One little addition I bargained for with the diviner. If a summoner should arise, given how I possess no head, her giving “head”, so to speak, would be nothing short of a dream come true for her. Whatever you desire it shall be yours, my beloved.

My mind whirls with the possibilities. My skin tingles with anticipation. Apple cider. Maple syrup. Chai tea. Hot buttered rum. Warm, sticky caramel. Mulled wine. The autumn sky’s the limit!

Fuck, Belle. You seem to have broken me. He grips the base of his shaft. It’s still huge and fat, refusing to go down.

So, I go down instead.

Back down.

Way down.

By God, woman! By thunder and the devil!

With the aftertaste of pumpkin spice on my tongue, I slide my lips down the base of his staff, determined to reap all the rewards of cozy and comforting flavors of fall like an autumnal rainbow.

Dream. Fucking. Come. True.