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

BELLE

Holy, big, pumpkin dick!

How does he manage to hide that massive shower in those tight breeches? I consider how ironic the term “giving head”

has become. Not that I stopped him from giving me the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever had—straight out of a smutty dark romance novel. Except, I’ve crossed way beyond the territory of simple definitions of dark romance.

This is paranormal and fantastical.

Soon, sweet summoner, I will introduce you to my riding crop…

Bloody pumpkins!

I know I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do. I should stay. I should learn more, ask questions, take a tour of his haunted manor. Hell, I could ask him to remove his breeches and show me that shower…for research purposes.

But I’ve already endured more sensory overload than any sane woman would dare to explore in a lifetime, let alone in an hour. My pussy is still warm and tingly from his bewildering ministrations.

His presence is intoxicating, his power terrifying and alluring. I’m afraid that one more step toward him will tip me over the edge into a world from which there’s no return.

Part of me wants to disappear down his dark, gothic rabbit hole. My body, my emotions are saying yes. But I pull my hand from his raging hard-on and touch his chest, my breath hitching when he clutches my hand in his gloved one and rubs my palm.

The rational part says to retreat.

And my heart…it’s overwhelmed and confused and just wants to breathe. I’m breathing too quickly. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. His iron-hard place. I want to bask in all the delirious sexual emotions. But if I don’t leave now, if I don’t find some clarity in all these twisted thoughts and emotions, I’ll never make sense of all this. And I want to—for both our sakes, since I’ll be interacting with him every night through October. It’s only the 1st.

“I’m so sorry, Jackson. I just—I have to go.”

I start to tug away from him, moving off the wall.

Belle…He tightens his grip, and I shiver when his bare knuckles stroke my cheek.

“Please, it’s not you.”

I flatten my hand on his chest in reassurance.

“I promise we will see each other again. Tomorrow, of course. You could come to the bookshop after closing, and we could share tea, and oh, god, I’m sorry. I’m flustered, and I don’t say the right things. You can’t have tea, and I should have known better than to?—”

Belladonna, he deepens his tone like a scolding parent, and my blood chills until he cups my chin to finish, I would be honored to share tea with you…however impossible for me to partake.

I pause, taking a moment to close my eyes and center myself and my fluttery heart.

“If I could, I would kiss your cheek. But please let me go for now.”

I will, my Belle, but wait just a moment. He raises his gloved finger before turning away and walking with purpose to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. I purse my lips, curiosity feathering across my nerve endings as he opens it and withdraws a velvet black cloak.

Despite your penchant for dark, tragic romances, I would prefer if my woman were not so unclothed as she runs like Cathy with the wuthering wind gusting through her lovely curls.

Heat sizzles my blood as he drapes the cloak around my shoulders and fastens the silver clasp at my throat. At some time, I’ll need to ask him how he knows literary references he shouldn’t.

“It’s beautiful.”

I roam my fingers across the lining.

More than fitting for my summoner.

I smile, wishing he could see it.

“Careful, Jack. You run the risk of my believing you to be a romantic hero and not a rogue in the night.”

Trust me, Belle…He tucks my curls behind my ear. I still have many ungentlemanly plans for you.

I bite my lower lip, needing, but also fearing to know.

“How ungentlemanly?”

My heart leaps in my throat.

He closes in, grips the base of my ass, and tugs me to him faster than I can blink. I let out a little yelp with his mammoth cock pressed against my lower belly.

Unsavory, my sweet summoner. Quite unsavory indeed.

When I get back to the bookshop, I go around the back entrance, unlock the door, turn off the alarm with my security code, and drag my worn-out self upstairs.

Jackson was insistent upon escorting me home to the border of the woods within eyesight of the shop. It’s a perfect little tourist spot right on the edge of the town’s “welcome”

sign. Considered a local haunt, thanks to Mimi, I have more than enough business during the fall and winter months. Spring gets a little slow, but it always picks back up for summer reading. And crystals, tea, and incense are regular purchases.

Poetry readings and local indie author signings also bring in some revenue. I prefer to promote them on the main displays instead of the viral sensations, which are often only viral due to prior marketing money. With the over-saturated market and too many filling the pockets of the 1% of popular authors, I love to give any emerging, underrated ones the best chance. Mimi was adamant about this, too.

An upstairs guest room became my bedroom when I moved in with Mimi. She had a house on the opposite edge of town, but she spent more time at the shop. Once she passed on and left the deed to me, I sold the house and used the funds to pay off much of the shop. A few more minor mortgage payments, and it’s mine.

I am truly living a dream. I just had to escape a lifetime of a nightmare first. Now, I’ve landed in the middle of another dream, one so lovely, dark, and deep.

After removing the cloak and putting it on my door hook, I sigh, appreciating my bedroom with its vaulted ceiling, antique bed with a canopy of sheer, gauzy curtains, and twinkle lights all around the frame and bedposts. Herbs dangle from the ceiling. Multiple incense holders and essential oil diffusers rest on the narrow ledge lining one side of the room, along with dried rose petals and crystals.

Mini pumpkins are my latest decor. Real and ones I’ve knitted.

Knitted…hmm, I thread my brows, wondering if my burst of inspiration idea would work, but I’m too tired to consider it now.

Instead, I pull back my floral comforter, slip into bed without changing out of the nightgown, and I fall into a sleep full of dark and lovely dreams of haunted houses, galloping ghostly horses, and a silhouetted phantom wielding a riding crop chasing me through the woods.