Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 655(@200wpm)___ 524(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 655(@200wpm)___ 524(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
I really thought he was going to murder me. Rape me and slay me and I don’t know when I’ll be able to shake that feeling. I hope soon. Because I don’t want to lose him as my friend, I don’t want him to stop being Brom to me.
And yet I already feel the distance, the panic that sweeps in when I think about him touching me. It scares me, saddens me, and makes me so glad that I have Crane to protect me, even though he’s protecting me against my own best friend.
There is still so much to sort through. The reason he left Sleepy Hollow to begin with. Pastor Ross? Why was Brom made to run but the pastor stayed around for at least another year? Why was the pastor not punished for his actions, an adult in that situation, but barely eighteen-year old Brom had to leave?
And why didn’t he tell me? That’s what hurts most of all. He didn’t trust his truth with me. I would have understood. I wouldn’t have judged him. Why did he bed me, take my virginity, and then leave me to spend the next four years wondering if I was tainted goods, if I had done something to make him go?
Did he tell you?
I gasp and spin around on the bed, staring at the empty space behind me where I swear I heard a woman’s voice. My heart beats wildly in my chest and I press my fingers there, swallowing hard. I must have imagined that.
Did Ichabod tell you what he did?
Now the voice, whom I can only assume is Crane’s ex-wife, is coming from in front of me. I whirl around as a cold breeze ruffles my hair, threatening to blow out the candle.
I’m not about to stay in here alone now. She might be a jealous spirit.
I get to my feet and hurry to the door, feeling this cold dark presence at my back like an oncoming storm and I’m stepping out into the hall. It’s pitch black and I light my fingertip enough for me to find Crane’s door.
I open it and step inside his room.
And my mouth drops open.
Crane is behind Brom who is bent over the desk, pants around his ankles, a tie in his mouth. Crane’s jacket covers his rear but his trousers are bunched around his thighs as he slams is hips into Brom and there is no question what he’s doing to him.
Brom lifts his head to look at me and his eyes flash with pain but whether it’s a physical or emotional pain I’m unsure. Then Crane takes Brom’s head in his hand and pushes it down on the desk.
“Stay down,” he growls at him and the command makes me feel like I’m unraveling. To see such a big brawny man like Brom being ravaged by Crane like this is mind-blowing, like every last innocent part of me has been thoroughly corrupted.
For a moment the room is filled with only the sound of Crane’s animalistic grunts, the creak of the desk, the gasps escaping from Brom, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, and I think maybe I can back out of the room without disturbing them, without disturbing this.
But then Crane pauses, his hands tight on Brom’s hips, and his head tilts to the side, gazing at me from the corner of his eye. A strand of black hair sticks to his sweat-damp forehead.
“You don’t have to leave, Kat,” Crane says, his voice low and guttural, missing all that smooth silkiness that I’m used to. “Not if you don’t want to. But if you want to stay, I’ll ask you to shut the door.”
I close the door behind me, making my choice to stay.
To watch.
To see.
I slowly walk toward them and Crane pulls out only to thrust back inside Brom and I’m feeling dizzy at the sight and the lewd slick sound of it all. I look at Brom and he lifts his head off the desk against to stare at me, his face flushed. Furrowed. He lets out a garbled cry against the tie as Crane pushes his head back down.
It’s then that I realize it’s not physical pain I’m seeing on Brom’s face. He’s enjoying it. From my angle I can see his cock under the desk, the long hard length of him. No, the pained expression comes from emotional pain. It comes from humiliation. Because that’s what Crane is doing, isn’t he? Screwing him while he’s leashed and bound and bent over his desk.
“Does this turn you on, sweet witch?” Crane says in a raspy voice and my eyes are glued to where his own cock disappears into Brom, shiny with oil, and, goodness I might need a dip in a cold bath.
“I’m merely curious,” I manage to say but my voice betrays me with how husky it sounds.