Page 48 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
"I would expect no less," I said wryly. "And I will do the same for you."
"I will respect you." He freed another button, at my waist. "And I will devote myself to your pleasure, first and always."
Longing fluttered inside me, and a tingle of sensation raced down my spine when he kissed the back of my neck. "You know we shall be the scandal of Sleepy Hollow," I said, breathless. "Everyone will think us very strange."
He shrugged. "They already do. And they will think it even more when we set the slaves free. Do you care what they think?"
"I used to be very conscious of it. I was always trying to be liked, to be wanted. But even when they all seemed fond of me, they watched me as if I were some strange creature masquerading as one of them. As if they could sense the differences between us—and not just the fashions I wore, or the position of my family—but the real differences, deep down." I sighed as the last button popped from its hole.
Eamon parted my dress at the back and pulled it down, over my shoulders. Then he laid his hand between my shoulder blades in that comforting gesture I had come to love.
"But I never needed their acceptance or approval," I continued. "As long as one person in this world understands me, and loves me as I am—I never need to care what others think of me." Eamon kissed the soft skin behind my ear, and I smiled, triumphant, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I can do what I want now. And what I want is you. All of you." My other hand circled behind me, finding the crotch of his pants and squeezing gently.
Eamon rumbled his approval. "Well, then, wife, I think you should divest yourself of all this finery."
"My husband speaks! I must obey." Smirking, I tugged my arms out of the gown's tight sleeves and shed every other piece of restrictive clothing I had been stuffed into all day—until I stood in the center of a mountain of crumpled fabric, wearing only a pair of scandalously lacy drawers.
Eamon swept me clear of the puddled skirts and swung me onto the bed. "I see the appeal of these now." He ran his finger under the edge of the drawers. "Their presence heightens the allure of what is hidden beneath." The naughty finger drew a line right down my center, and I squirmed, sucking in a sharp breath. "Eamon, do not tease me."
"And by that you mean 'please Eamon, tease me.' " He moved his body over mine. "I plan to make this last a very long time."
"Is that so? You were rather quick to your pleasure last time."
"Well, we have all night, and the rest of our lives. We can do this again—" he kissed my forehead— "and again—" a kiss to the hollow of my throat— "and again." A long kiss on my lips.
"Remove your clothes," I ordered. "Now."
He obeyed, while I watched, reveling in the sight of his immense shoulders, deeply cut collarbones, and sleek chest muscles. His stomach was so dramatically ridged I could have used it as a washboard, and I yearned to trace those angular hips and run my hands down those powerful legs. The sheer glorious size of him loosened every muscle and joint in my body, until I was practically puddled on the bed.
Finally Eamon came to me. He washed over me like a tide of fierce love, flooded me with his heat and his caresses, until I was liquid fire under his fingers. I burned, and craved, and whimpered, while he swept his hands over my breasts and nuzzled my neck and laid a series of hot kisses down my stomach.
Then he stopped.
I opened my eyes, furious at the interruption. His cheekbones were scarlet, his beautiful mouth parted with indecision.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I want to do something, but—I am not sure it is right—"
"Eamon." I sat up and stroked his face, and danced my fingers through his black hair. "I told you, everything is allowed. Everything is right. Tell me what you want to do."
He met my gaze then, and his eyes were dark with sinful promise. "I want to kiss youeverywhere. I know how your mouth tastes, but I want to know how all of you tastes. If you will let me."
Oh sweet heaven. The parts of me that he wanted to taste tingled withyes, and when I kissed him I whisperedyesinto his mouth.
Whatever reprobate instinct gave him the idea, I exalted it, praised it over and over in my mind while he indulged his impulse. Now and then he looked up at me for confirmation, which I could hardly give because I felt the euphoria approaching. My hips twisted, my legs writhed, my insides ached for something more, for a fullness.
I seized Eamon's head and pulled his face up to mine.
"Now," I hissed savagely. "I need all of you."
"I don't want to hurt you—"
"I want everything—I don't care if it hurts."
"Katrina the Irresistible." He grinned, but his voice was shaky with his own urgent desire. "How can I say no?"
I gripped his hips and guided him, my teeth clenched and my gaze fixed on his face. There was a beautiful violence in the way we collided together, merging in the way we were meant to—and the burst of pain seemed only fitting, because it was our way, he and I—pain and sorrow mixed with our pleasure and joy.
"I love you, Katrina." The Horseman's eyes blazed into mine, and I thought I saw the echo of real flames in them. I smiled, and I called himfiend, andlover,and other vicious and tender names, while we crashed together, galloping toward the brink of rapture, off the ledge into the wild delirium of night.
THE END
