Page 17 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

BELLE

Inod against his chest, tracing his tattoos again. It gives me a center, something to focus on instead of the demons of my past. I trade Thaddeus’s voice for Jack’s tattoos. I’d traverse every inch of his inked skin if I could.

Yours was the choice of one who has no choices. A choice born of grooming and deception is no choice. Consent is not black and white, he assures me, circling back to one of our earlier discussions. I hold onto his deep and velvety voice. As we have discussed, the world exists in many shades of gray. And I am the darkest of gray. You may have a black stain of your past. But, by thunder, my Belle! You have reclaimed so much; you shine like a goddamn diamond! A rare one that was formed under the greatest of pressure. His grip on me tightens, strong and steady. You shine despite the darkness of your past.

Holy Hecate, the floodgates are opening again, and I can’t help the tears from escaping. No one has ever described me like that. Mimi called me her flower because…Belladonna.

And I…I am responsible for mine. My pride, my ego, led to the nooses around my wife’s and children’s throats. Although others bore the blame for their attacks on my family, especially Edmund Thorne, I chose the life of a highwayman. My wife and children did not. Unlike me, my beautiful Belladonna, you were caught between a rock and a hard place. You need no absolution. You did not deserve such a burden. Not when you were rising just above childhood. But if it would ease your conscience, you may accept my word, such as it is.

“Jack…”

How could I not gush? I wipe my tears on his chest and part my lips, rubbing them against his chest first.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Damnation, Belle, you must never say such a thing. Perhaps, like your earlier analogy, we are much like Heathcliff and Cathy. But know this, Belladonna Holloway…

His tone turns insistent, darker than ever as he urges my face upward. For the first time, I truly imagine what his head must be like. Cheekbones sculpted by the gothic master artists of old. The dark and handsome tragic heroes who live on in the hearts of romantic girls like me.

May we agree that we are both flawed, with our own demons and darkness, both broken and in need of understanding—for is not understanding the greatest gift of love? If I can love without a heart, without a head, then let it be said that I loved you, Belladonna Holloway, with all that I am. My long-lost heart. And my soul.

This isn’t rational. It defies everything I’ve been taught. It defies the laws of progressive feminism. But maybe it’s fine when I’ve always been that romantic, that unique individual who never fit in. Maybe I can be the hopeless romantic and the strong, progressive woman. When women can be anything they want, then why must I choose?

I don’t know if I can say the words yet, but I feel them with every molecule of my being. So, I whisper them to myself first. I need to feel it deeply first. So deep, it transcends the boundaries of nature. That is how I’ve always been—always seeking the beautiful and fathomless things of this world.

“Okay, Jack. Understanding. Of the heart and soul. But…”

I smile when he tenses, and I can’t help but lower my hand to his cock, which has not grown flaccid this whole time.

“I still want to have sex with you.”

A dark chuckle ripples through our bond. Soon, my Belle. But you must heal first, my sweet summoner. Please grant me this. For, when it comes time for us to unite, I fully intend to fuck you until you cannot walk. I will not do so in your present state. It should take but a few days for you to heal. Rest assured, it is worth your patience.

“How worth it?”

I will ravish you.

My heart swoons!

FIVE DAYS LATER

Jack is driving me crazy!

If there is such a thing as too noble, Jackson Elias Moore embodies that definition. He’s fucking insufferable! He rubs salve on my bruises every night. I’m a quick healer. The marks faded after the third day. But he has simply maintained a steady presence, cleaning the shop with me at night.

The night he put me to bed, he disappeared for some time, and I assume he returned to the place in the woods where we were attacked. I didn’t ask questions. I’ve already been on edge the past few days, dreading, hoping, praying they don’t come back. They could assume Jack was a random masked vigilante who scared them enough to give up.

A dark voice in the corner of my mind spreads ice through me. Because when Thaddeus wants something, he doesn’t give up. It’s why he didn’t pursue me much when I escaped. He got what he wanted on the honeymoon. He probably moved on to the next girl and the next. Now that he’s learned about what happened after I left, I know he won’t stop.

But I feel safer. Because I am safer…with Jack.

The past few days, we’ve also cleaned his manor together and explored the grounds, seeking wherever his heart may be hidden. I knit him another pumpkin head, and during downtime, I read to him in the evening while sipping my tea. One time, he approached my chair to discover I may have been sitting in nothing but my open-knit sweater.

I loved how he tucked the end of the riding crop beneath my chin and informed me my punishment would be greater once I healed.

In the evening, he takes me riding. A gentle ride, no more than a trail ride at a steady walking pace.

I’ve fallen positively in love with Revenant, aka Revy. Tonight, I help groom her alongside Jack.

“Slow, tender circles with the brush, much like paying boon to a beautiful woman’s pearl of the divine…”

Jack alludes, and I bite my tongue, blushing profusely but working to appreciate the moment with his beautiful horse.

He turns his knit head toward me, and I can’t help but smile sweetly, a contrast to the twisted Jack-O-Lantern expression. I’ve always been an avid smiler. But ever since Jack, I’ve smiled more and more every day.

I offer Revy a fresh helping of straw, and she gratefully accepts. Smiling, I pat the side of her head while rubbing the bristled brush with my other hand. Horses were a prominent fixture in the cult. Our house was closer to the central part of town, but I would sometimes help Ms. Greene with her horses.

I muck out Revy’s stall with Jack.

I love riding with him. I smile every time, unable to help my imagination run wild with thoughts of his highwayman days. I never ask him about them. I know he blames himself for his family’s death.

I also haven’t asked him more about his…more intimate times with his wife.

What is your favorite book, my Belle?

I roll my eyes.

“Seriously? How could I possibly?—”

Indulge me.

“I mentioned how Mimi found me a first-edition copy of Wuthering Heights. It would be that one. I wish I knew more about The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I never could have thought I’d fall right into its story.”

He was a fallen soldier. I am a woeful example of a thief.

“Vigilante,”

I correct.

You still think too highly of me, my Belle.

I shrug and sift my fingers through Revy’s mane.

“Same could be said of you, my Jack.”

He pauses. My heart does a flip when he approaches me, riding crop in hand. My blood catches fire when he nudges the handle beneath my chin. Do you require my riding crop upon your ample fanny to remind you of how much higher above me you are?

“Far be it from me to deny you, my Headless Horseman.”

I practically burn my eyes right through that pumpkin head.

Hmm…perhaps I will deny you when it is clear you wish it so much.

Dammit.

Be that as it may, I have another desire to fulfill…Something I have been preparing as you have been healing.

After Revy knickers and flicks her tail, nudging my shoulder, I smile, finish brushing her, then return the grooming tools to their proper places.

More heat nestles between my thighs when I pass the saddle stump where he first spanked me.

Will he do something similar when we first fuck? Or does he have something else in mind?

Jack offers me his arm on our way out of the carriage house, and I take it while leaning my head on his shoulder like normal.

I love how our fingers tether, even with his gloves.

I want you to know this, my Belle…Jack begins with a firm assurance in his voice as he leads me to his manor.

My dress swishes ever so slightly in the breeze as we walk.

This evening, I opted for a feminine, lace-up corset dress in soft linen, the color of burnt orange to flatter my auburn curls, which I’ve woven into a side French braid.

Sweetheart neckline, short sleeves, and flared silhouette.

Black stockings and ankle boots as usual.

A French braid tied with a red ribbon.

These days have been my happiest, ones filled with such hope that I never could have imagined.

And despite the wretched darkness of my past, my brief time with you, Belle Holloway, has saved me from the gaping maw of that black hole like the sun shining beyond the eclipse.

All my skin tingles when he rubs my knuckles with his gloved hand.

When he lowers his knit head to brush the soft wool along the back of my hand, I imagine the touch of his lips, full and sensual.

Everything he says and does thrills me as he leads me to the front doors of his manor.

The crisp evening breeze rustles the autumn leaves, casting a whirlwind of radiant colors into the air.

At the doors, he stops, urging me to stand before him with his hand on my waist and the other cupping my chin.

I grow warmer with every second.

Please do not misunderstand, my Belle, he continues, his voice deep, silky, and confident.

I loved my wife.

I loved my children.

I loved my lifestyle and the people in it.

But these few days spent with you have proven to transcend my past life, the good and the ill.

It is my most ardent belief that you bear magic within your soul, Belle.

I may be bound to one curse, but I am an utter and willing slave to the spell you have placed upon me.

My skin beneath his hand at my waist grows hot.

I lift my fingers to settle upon his neck.

His breath grows heavier in our mental bond.

Wherever my heart lies, it beats for you alone, Belladonna Holloway.

A soft whimper escapes my throat. My throat constricts from my emotion and the rising of tears. Melting. Swooning. Gushing. Heart fluttering. I waver between them all. And who could blame me?

When he opens the manor doors, my breath hitches.

The faint scent of smoke engulfs my senses.

The air itself seems to shift, thick with history and quiet elegance.

Ever since we united to clean the surroundings, it’s transformed from a dark and abandoned relic to a hopeful sanctuary, alive with new life and purpose, promising a better future.

The massive front door groans as it closes behind us, sealing us in a world of shadows and warmth.

Saying nothing else, Jack guides me through the grand foyer, past dark wood-paneled walls and portraits that seem to watch our every move.

The atmosphere is haunting and romantic with the scent of burning wood growing stronger…and something softer, like spice and vanilla.

He opens the door to the sitting room.

“I love this room,” I remark.

It’s timeless and intimate, and the flickering glow of an enormous stone hearth greets me. I wonder how….hmm, I suppose we weren’t in the carriage house too long.

I know…

His voice seems to suggest at something else, and I take in the sensory feast around me.

The fireplace dominates the room, casting dancing shadows along the high ceiling.

Flames crackle and pop, spreading warmth everywhere.

On each side of the hearth, a large arched window spills the seductive sunset and the autumnal woods. A lovely, large fresco painting rests on the wall above it.

Butterflies in my stomach swoon at the care and attention Jack has put into preparing this room.

A surprise for certain.

There are thick, plush wool blankets draped across the floor, waiting to wrap us in their softness.

In front of the fire, a worn leather chair sits near a stack of old, well-loved books, their spines cracked with years of use.

I may have peaked at his extensive book collection on more than one occasion while we cleaned.

He would startle me, catching me in the act of reading.

“Jack…” I gush.

On the hearth’s ledge, a kettle simmers, its steam rising in lazy tendrils, perfuming the room with the familiar scent of ginseng.

Oh, lords! Ginseng is associated with more erectile function and overall sexual satisfaction for men.

And it boosts women’s libido, increasing arousal, desire, and satisfaction.

I force myself to stay two feet on the ground.

Or I fear I’ll float away into the pages of a gothic romance novel.

Candles flicker on the mantle, their flames casting a warm, golden light, and the air is rich with vanilla, cinnamon, and patchouli.

My breath quickens at the knowledge of the aphrodisiacal aromas.

“Oh, Jack!”

I take both his hands and press myself against him.

“Is this happening? Is this really?—”

Yes, my Belle. I have done my best to resist all your sweet advances over the past few days. I care not if it’s impossible with no sight. Every touch of your body, every thoughtful sigh and sparkling laugh, the sensual fragrance of your skin and hair, every brush of your form has conspired against me. He caresses my face while sifting his other hand through my hair, unraveling the ribbon and spilling my curls down my chest and back.

I battle tears with everything he says and does.

You possess me. Body, mind, soul. I have already given my long-lost heart to you, my Belle. If you will have it.

Oh, god, I adore him! Overjoyed, I throw my arms around his neck.

“With all my heart, Jackson Elias Moore!”

I hear his dark chuckle in my mind as he swings me around once before setting me on the ground and cupping the sides of my neck, tilting my jaw upward. Do not get too carried away, my beloved Belladonna. Believe that I will fulfill my promise to fuck you until you cannot walk. And ravish you. If you are mine, your pleasure is mine to command. All boundaries?—

“Take them!”

I whisper.

“Take them all. Sir.”

My beautiful good girl. Come…

He takes my hand and leads me to the fireplace, where he lowers me to the floor. I take a moment to brush my fingers along the wool throws while he prepares the tea.

I notice the books sitting nearby and smile at the lovely mix of autumn-themed smut, dark romance, and gothic classics.

Now…he hands me the mug before planting himself with his back to the antique sofa, parting his legs, and directing me between them. Until the night is dark and the final ember is burnt out, you will read to me, my Belle. And I will rouse you accordingly. No whimpers or cries will be permitted as usual. When the time comes, I will fuck you hard and fast, an impassioned coupling. Only then, you may scream to your lovely heart’s content.

Provided everything the diviner stated was accurate, my head will return. You are not permitted to look, but I will spend all night ravishing you, Belladonna Holloway. I will kiss and mark every part of your exquisite flesh. I am utterly starved for you. Thirsting like a half-dead man in a desert seeking his paradise. Is everything clear?

At first, I nod, wide-eyed, heart beating so hard, it’s desperate for him to jump my bones. Remembering he can’t see, I manage to croak from my dry throat, “Crystal.”

Good. Now, select a book. And read. For, I long to lose myself in your words as you enthrall me until I cannot control myself, and I utterly forget the meaning of what it is to be a gentleman.

I scramble to snatch up the first book I can, open to the first page, and part my lips to read…