His lips find mine again.
I want this. I do. But I can’t quiet the voice that tells me my life is becoming far too intertwined with Sleepy Hollow.
Ichabod’s eyes search mine. “You keep pulling away.”
“If I don’t, I won’t want to let go,” I breathe.
“You don’t have to,” he chuckles darkly.
“But I don’t want to belong to this town.”
“Then don’t. Belong to me.”
He leans back in and kisses me gently, hands cupping my face. His lips are soft and I feel myself relax under his touch. I hadn’t realised I’d been so tense, but now my fears from the night start to dissolve away.
He slides his hands down underneath me, lifting me from the chair, firm but gentle, and turns, laying me down on the rug in front of the hearth. The rug is woven wool, rough but warm from the fire.
He presses his lips to mine once more before withdrawing. We lock eyes and I recall his promise to protect me. I trust he will. The question is from what.
But the thought is chased from my mind as he lifts my jumper, uncovering the swell of my breasts and nipples that are already hard. He takes one between his teeth and tugs gently. A jolt of pleasure runs down into my core. I sigh as he releases it and begins kissing down my stomach until he reaches the waistbandof my jeans. He pauses. I lift my head and he’s looking back into my eyes. I raise my hips ever so slightly from the ground, and he makes quick work of removing my jeans, until I’m laid bare in front of him.
He breathes roughly, looking down, exploring my body with his eyes.
The fire crackles gently next to me, and my stomach clenches. Not from fear this time, but from want.
I let my knees fall open, inviting him in. He lowers his head between my thighs and I breathe deeply as he begins to work his tongue masterfully. Slowly at first. He’s hardly touched me but I can already feel myself dripping, ready. He adds more pressure, working faster, rhythmically circling his tongue. I breathe more heavily. Gradually his tongue swirls faster, I writhe underneath him, tension building in my lower stomach.
He pulls away with one long, hot, teasing lick. Moving back up my body, kissing as he goes. My stomach. My breasts. My neck. My skin tingles where he touches me. My fingers find the buttons of his shirt as he hovers above me, and I help him remove it.
His lips capture mine in a deep kiss. I’m lost in it now.
Everything else forgotten.
He lifts away ever so slightly, panting as his forehead rest against mine. His eyes drill into me.
“Do you want to belong to me, Katrina?” he asks huskily.
I’m too lost in the moment to consider saying no. “Yes,” I breathe, arching up to press my body against his. My breasts push against his firm chest and I reach to grip his toned shoulders, but he catches my wrists in one hand, the other undoing the fastenings on his own trousers. His eyes never leave mine. He raises my hands over my head and pins them to the rug beneath me, kissing me intensely.
I can feel the length of his shaft, already hard, pressing against my thigh. Lifting my head from the floor, I try to kiss him harder, my hips pressing up into him. He pulls away, grinning. I try to kiss him again, and he lets go of my wrists, grabs my waist, and flips me over so I’m on all fours.
He grips my ass. I turn to look over my shoulder, watching as he kneels behind me, holding his thick manhood in one hand, the tip already glistening as he strokes himself expertly. I’m ready to give myself to him. For him to take me. To devour me.
I arch my back, pressing my chest into the floor and stretching my arms out in front of me. Opening my body to him.
He grabs my ass again, making it shake as he moves behind me fully. Gripping my hip with one hand, he uses the other to glide the head of his cock against my entrance. It throbs, already swollen, wanting more.
He pauses before rubbing against me again, parting my lips. I hold my breath, waiting for him to sink into me but he withdraws just as his tip presses into my centre. I moan softly, eagerly. Impatient, I press my weight back into him, wanting to take him inside me, but he controls my efforts with ease, holding me firmly.
Just when I think I can’t take any more of his teasing, he finally pushes inside me. Agonisingly slow. I press my face into the rough wool rug, crying out. A mix of pleasure and pain. He fills me completely.
I relax around him as he rocks his hips, sliding in and out, slowly. Pleasure pulses with each thrust. Each stroke pushes me into the floor and the friction sends shockwaves through my already sensitive nipples.
I moan as we move together, him pushing forward and me pushing back.
The intensity from the fire causes sweat to bead and trickle down my spine as Ichabod continues filling me, deeper and deeper.
Even in my wildest daydreams, I hadn’t imagined it could feel like this.
