Page 95 of Hollow
He leans in, brushing his lips over my cheek. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers again, his voice raw, and the candlestick starts to tremble in my hand, the flame flickering.
Goodness. How will I survive him?
“Brom,” I say, but then he’s kissing me. His mouth is warm but tentative, unsure, as if he’s holding himself back. He parts my lips with a dip of his tongue, and I can’t help but moan into his mouth.
The candlestick falls to the floor, the flame going out, and Brom runs his hands up into my hair, holding me in place. His kiss deepens, licking into my mouth, long, slow strokes of his tongue that give me goose bumps, that make my whole body shake.
He’s so different than Crane in this way. While Crane is composed and aloof most of the time, he is wild in his fucking. While Brom is wild and moody most of the time, he is sensual in his kiss.
And it feels so good to be kissed by him. Something both familiar and new. I grab his shirt, my fingers wrapping around it and holding tight as I realize I finally have him back. My insides are burning up as he kisses me deeper now, this slow pull of our mouths, like we have all the time in the world. I never want this kiss to end. I want to drown in this sweet desire. I want to revel in our return to each other.
“Kat,” he says against my mouth as he pulls back slightly. “I never stopped thinking about our night together.”
Our lips break away, my breath hard, and I look at him in surprise. “What do you mean? Do you remember thinking about me?”
He gives his head a small shake, his eyes squinting in anguish. “No. I don’t remember. But I know. I know I was. How could I not? I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since I came back to Sleepy Hollow.” He presses his forehead against mine, his hands leaving my hair and ghosting over my neck, my collarbone, over my breasts, my nipples pebbling under my thin nightgown. “We were so much younger than we are now, but you left your mark on me. And now you’re fully a woman, Kat, and I want you. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything before. You make me such a desperate man.”
He continues to slowly rub my nipples through the fabric until the heat between my legs pulses hungrily, and he leans in, kissing my collarbones. It feels like being brushed by butterfly wings. “I think I might die if I can’t have you for my own,” he murmurs against my skin.
My eyes roll back in my head. I swallow hard, unable to stop from speaking the truth. “You can’t have me for your own. I belong to Crane too.”
He tenses, his fingers pinching my nipples hard as I bring my gaze to meet his. His nostrils flare, eyes flashing with contempt. “I had you first.”
His mood is like mercury.
“And you will always be my first,” I tell him. “But you know I’m with Crane.”
His upper lip curls. “I will make you forget him.”
I nearly laugh at how possessive he’s being. “You can’t make me forget him, Brom. You’re the one who…” I stop myself, licking my lips.
One hand goes to the back of my neck, gripping me there, the other grabbing my waist. “The one who what?” he says, his voice hard, his grip harder.
“You’re the one who has forgotten,” I tell him, feeling like this should be something Crane tells him, but at this point, I’m not sure how that will go. “You know Crane. You’ve met him before. In New York. You were in New York City, and you were calling yourself Abe, and you were with him. You were with him.”
His eyes widen briefly, like two black moons, and then his brows meet, and he shakes his head. “No. No. You’re mistaken. He’s mistaken!”
“Brom,” I say as his hand grows tighter at my neck. “I know you don’t remember, but that’s what happened. You were his lover.”
“Shut up,” he sneers, letting go of my neck and pushing me to the side. He goes to my bedroom door and closes it, and my heart jumps. He turns to face me. “I don’t know what game you’re playing.”
“Me?” I cry out. “You’re the one playing games here! Just before you showed up tonight, the headless horseman came into my room! He came in holding a head. Am I going to find out tomorrow that it was a result of your jealousy?”
His chin jerks in, indignation working his brows. “You think I’m the headless horseman? You really think I’m the murderer?”
“Well, are you?”
He strides toward me, and I back up until the backs of my legs hit the bed.
“Whore,” he snarls in my face.
“What?” I exclaim in shock.
He growls and grabs me by the throat, squeezing. “Dirty fucking whore,” he says.
Then he kisses me. The tenderness of earlier is gone. This kiss is deep and brutal. He’s taking and taking, tongue plunging in deeper, fucking my mouth.
My body betrays me. I should push him away for calling me that word, but some hidden part of me likes it. It wants to feel his wrath. It wants to be insulted. I can feel how wet I am already, the inside of my thighs damp. The thrill of danger is too beautiful.