She tried to imagine what sort of noises he would be making, if he had a mouth with which to do so.He rides seeking his head. Deep groans, she decided, closing her eyes and trying to hear it, biting down on the meat of the digit in her mouth once more. She smelled the brackish weeds that grew along the brook, smelt the wet grass and the recently overturned earth in the churchyard, smelt the iron of blood, gleaming like rubies at the edge of his axe blade . . . but he smelled like nothing at all, a realization that twisted her heart, her hand tightening around his cock in response. He wassolidand present, and she couldn’t reconcile that he was anything but that.
Katrina wondered if he’d had a lover before his death, if there had been someone to stroke his cock before he had marched off to war, someone he had fucked soundly before sailing across the sea, far away from his home, to die in a stranger’s fight. She wondered if he had been married, if he had been the father of children, or if he had been the type of man who fucked every girl in the village.With a cock like this, it would have been a lucky village.
His knees had bent slightly, and she had the feeling it was only his phantasmal dignity that was keeping him from thrusting into the tight ring of her fingers. He needed more, and so did she. She squeaked in surprise when he scooped her up, her hands and mouth both suddenly and simultaneously empty.
Her heart jolted when he walked them through the gate of the churchyard, her hands clutching at the front of his coat. The arms around her were strong, thick with muscle, enveloping her with no trace of roughness, and she closed her eyes, refusing the reality that come morning he would be just another dead thing in this church yard. The stone wall he sat her upon was narrow and cold, and she gasped again when he pushed up her skirts with insistent hands.
Brom Bones’s touch was not as careful, his hands not as gentle against the tender skin of her inner thighs — not compared to the gloved fingertips that ghosted over her legs, teasing her thighs until they parted for him. She desperately wished he had a head when her own dropped back and he leaned in, one of his thick, leather-encased fingers sinking into her cunt with little preamble. Katrina was positive he would be kissing her if he did. Lips at her jaw, teeth at her throat, kissing her neck, his mouth a trail of fire as he stroked her slick heat.
He surely must have had a lover or several, and if he had been someone’s husband, his wife had been lucky in her marriage bed. His wrist thumped against her, the finger inside her curled to rub against her inner walls with each pump. When he added a second finger, she moaned, opening her legs even wider. The thumb that had been in her mouth, coated in her saliva, was now coated in her slick, rubbing circles against that little pearl of nerves in a way that told her he knewexactlywhat he was doing, and how much pleasure she would derive from the action.
She couldn’t help the small, kitten-like mewls that issued in almost a non-stop cadence from her throat as a band of pressure winched her tighter and tighter behind her navel. She began to lift her bottom from the stones, raising to meet his hand rhythmically, certain she could feel the deep vibration of that dark chuckle again.
Something was happening. She had begun to pant, her breath catching every time the pad of his thumb rolled over clit a certain way, like a lightning bolt down her spine, and what she suspected didn’t seem possible. Katrina cried out again, unable to silence herself and uncaring who might have some seeking the source of her noise. She had only ever experienced the pleasant shiver of completion on her own, and didn’t think it was evenpossibleto reach that pinnacle with a man. She enjoyed being fucked by Brom Bones. The thickness of his cock felt good inside her, and even better when he moved. He would light a fire within her, fanning the flames with each deep roll into her, one she extinguished on her own, with her fingers and occasionally the aid of her sugarhouse handle. That she was experiencing that same stomach-quivering sensation here, now, withhim!seemed preposterous.
Katrina was positive he would have been chuckling again in satisfaction if he’d been able, when she fell apart beneath his hands. A rolling wave that started the in pit of her stomach lifted her from the stones as he fucked her with his hand, reverberating down her legs until she saw stars. The pulsing between her thighs centered on that little button of pleasure he rubbed with his thumb, pulsing, pulsing until her heartbeat matched the rhythm and she was one throbbing ball of light, canting her hips against his hand as she’d done on the pommel of her saddle, sagging against the no longer freezing cold stones when it was done.
The first press of his fat cockhead to the lips of her sex, once he’d lowered herself to the grass beside the wall, made her eyes roll back. Just as big and thick as Brom Bones, just as she’d suspected, but more deliberate in how he wielded the hard club of flesh. He pressed into her slowly, stretching her walls until her body felt as if it had conformed to the shape of him, as tightly molded as his leather gloves. Slow and steady, as if he were relishing the tight squeeze of her cunt as much as she was enjoying the full pressure of his cock . . . until his patience for slow and steady was abruptly exhausted.
Katrina realized she was well on her way of joining that endless circle of senselessness when his hips slammed into her, burying his thick cock to the hilt in one hard thrust. His hands had been gentle and were gentle still, but his cock was a wild beast that needed satisfying, a spirit with unfinished business unto itself, and a staid, polite fucking was clearly not on its agenda. Curling her arms around the thick, tree trunk-like the girth of him, she closed her eyes and tried to hold on, all she could do.
He bottomed out on every thrust, a relentless hammering of his hips, and on each forward press, she was certain he would split her in two. The fat sac that hung behind his cock was heavy and full, slapping obscenely against the curve of her behind. She wondered for the first time, as he withdrew from her slowly, if his balls would empty themselves within her like any other man once he reached his peak. She had never needed to consider the ramifications of lying with a man who only had a corporeal form a few nights out of the year, and she knew she ought to be distraught at the notion. Instead, every slap of his bollocks against her skin only made her quiver with a feverish excitement.
The top of his neck still bore the mark of his horrific, life-ending injury — blackened skin, the severed stump of his spine poking through the ruined flesh like a white dollop of cream. If she needed a reminder that she was, in fact, fucking a ghost, there it was. Katrina squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to refocus on the way her breath was beginning to hitch, the pressure within her growing, like a wineskin slowly expanding as it was filled. The head of his cock was touching something deep inside her; some hidden, secret recess only he had ever discovered, and each time he did, the world went black.
The noises she was making would surely attract the attention of every man, woman, priest, and child in the hollow, but she was far past the point of caring. Her core had begun to tighten in warning, a hitching contraction that matched the hitching in her lungs, her breaths coming out in uneven pants, punctuated with a high moan every time he hit that spot within her, which he did with each thrust of his wide hips. She was going to come again, Katrina realized.
She’d never managed to reach her peak with a partner before, and now here she was, about to do it twice in succession, her cunt quivering as if it wanted to suck him in even deeper.
She had no idea how long he was going to be able to rut against her, but control was rapidly slipping from her grasp. His cock head kissed that spot within her on every deep thrust, his body scraping against that little button of nerves, already sensitive from the way he had rubbed it, and the combination was too much for her to withstand.
When she tightened around him, Katrina was concerned that she had decapitated him a second time. Her muscles seized, locking around his cock like a vise, her spine rippling with the force of her pleasure. If his cockhead had been severed, she would take the blame. Felled on the battlefield for a second time. It had certainly been a more enjoyable experience than his first decapitation, she wagered, and if he had plans on chopping off her head, at least she had experienced having her innards rearranged in such a way.
Despite the way her body clenched, his remaining head seemed to escape unscathed. Instead of reaching for his axe, his hands tightened around her wrists, pinning her to the cold earth as he ground against her, uneven jerks, and she wondered if he was filling her with anything at all as his cock erupted.
All too soon, he was pulling out of her slowly. She felt splayed open, and Katrina supposed that in a way she was. Her position in the grass was certainly immodest — her legs stretched open, her skirts pushed up around her hips and her shift along with it, and in a graveyard no less. More than that though, she felt as though she had been stripped bare, right down to her soul. She felt eyes upon her, heard the clicking tongues of the town’s deceased old harridans, the mutters from those whose front doorstep she laid upon.
The veil is thin and they all had something to say, would be all leaving the churchyard the following night, she realized, seeking. Seeking what, she did not know. Love, breath, a whisper of who they’d once been. He was more substantial than all of them, but then again, he always was. Most of these souls were confined to their graves, but the Horseman rode nightly.Fucked like a harlot, right in front of the lot of them.
“The body,” she croaked, suddenly remembering the drunken man. “You can’t leave it there. Not another one. They’ll blame me, close my school. I-I don’t want to be made to leave.”
His huge hand palmed the side of her head, and she sucked in a breath, holding it and squeezing her eyes shut. Maybe this was it. She reminded him of his purpose, and he was about to pick up that axe. Instead, his gloved thumb moved in a soft circle around her mouth once more, before tracing over her cheekbone. He had fucked her harder than she’d ever been fucked before, and Katrina was unsure if she could even stand, but his hands were gentle still. That short bob of acknowledgment again, and indication that he heard her words, carefully pulling her into a sitting position.
She thought perhaps he was going to leave her then, now that his supernatural lust had been slaked, but she was quite wrong on both accounts. He turned her like a doll, up on her knees in the cold grass, skirts pushed up over her hips once more. His cock was not yet satisfied, she realized, her mouth dropping open when the rigid length of it pressed to her opening once more.
She would make him take care of the body. Katrina didn’t like to think that made her an accessory, an accomplice to the crime for the second time, but she needed to know that it was off the road, the head along with it. Everyone knew she crossed town in the evenings, and it wouldn’t do for a trail of corpses to litter her path. She quite liked Sleepy Hollow, and had no intention of leaving, not yet. Not now.
As the horseman sunk into her again, covering her with his huge body and seating his cock within her until she felt the press of his balls against her once more, she decided there was nothing that could make her leave. Not Brom Bones, not Hans Van Ripper, not the council or the magistrate. A gloved hand pressed to her center, trapping her clit between two leather-encased fingers, squeezing as he gave her the first deep thrust of his cock. They would brand her a witch if they knew what she’d done, what she was about to do again, which she contemplated doing several more times at least until his form was insubstantial once more . . . But they would need to learn first, and Katrina had no intention of making it easy for them.
Her back arched beneath him, a high, breathy moan escaping her at the deliciously deep angle. The men in the village could all go to rot, for she’d have no need for any of them after this, none of their cocks would ever satisfy her.
Life tethered to death, all she had ever known.
“Isupposeyououghtto be getting ready to leave soon for the Van Ansel’s party? Will Brom be coming to call?”
Katrina looked up in surprise from the cupboard where she was re-stacking the dinner plates. Across the kitchen, Annika Van Wees was scouring a pot, grinning cheekily at her.
“You have such lovely hair. You ought to curl it and leave it hanging down your . . . wait, what are you wearing? Do you have a dress? Something with a bit of décolleté? Don’t you dare come out in one of those burlap sacks these old biddies put their daughters in. If you’re going to hide everything worth looking at, there’s no sense in going to a party at all.”
