Chapter 11
The world outside disappears in a blur of mist, adrenaline, and lingering fear as Ichabod ushers me into his flat. I’m vaguely aware that it’s small but cosy, with stacks of books and sheet music scattered everywhere. A fire is already roaring in the log burner in the corner.
“Sit,” he says gently, nodding to the worn leather sofa by the fireplace. “You’re still shaking.”
I look down at my hands and realise he’s right. They’re trembling. I press my palms together and tuck them between my knees as I sink down into the sofa.
“Thanks,” I manage.
Ichabod disappears into the small kitchen and returns a few minutes later with two steaming teacups. He hands one to me, his fingers briefly brushing against mine.
“Chamomile,” he says, sitting on the edge of the low coffee table across from me. “It should help to calm your nerves.”
I nod, taking a cautious sip so as not to burn my tongue. I feel the warmth spread through me immediately, chasing away the chill and steadying my racing heart. When I look up from the cup, Ichabod is studying me intently.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
The little flat suddenly seems very hot.
Looking into those intense grey eyes, holding the warming tea and hearing the gentle crackle of his fireplace, I start to feel as if I’ve overreacted a bit.
After all, what had actually happened? I’d gotten a bit spooked by the dark and the fog and tripped over the edge of the pavement.
My face flushes with embarrassment. He must think I’m an idiot.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m not really sure how I tripped over the pavement, to be honest. I’m not usually this clumsy, I swear.” I realise I’m rambling. “Thank you for catching me.” I place the cup down to balance it on my knee.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It was my pleasure.” But his expression turns serious. “It looked like you were running from… something?”
Oh god, what must I have looked like? Stumbling backwards because I was too busy looking for an imaginary horse in the dark.
And then being helped into his house, shaking like I’ve been chased down by a pack of wolves.
He’s made me chamomile tea, for Christ’s sake.
I most definitely feel like this whole thing has been one massive overreaction now.
“Oh, no, I think I just got a bit freaked out by the shadows,” I chuckle, trying to cover how mortified I currently feel.
Ichabod says nothing at first. Then he reaches for my hand. His touch feels grounding, steady.
“It’s all right, Katrina,” he says softly. “You can tell me. What did you see?”
“I…” I pause. I didn’t see anything, did I?
I thought I heard a horse, and for a split second, I thought I might have seen one.
But when I looked around, there was nothing there.
It must have been a trick of the light, brought on by me already feeling so on edge.
The mist had made it difficult to see beyond my own nose.
“What do you mean? I didn’t see anything.”
What does he think I saw?
“I thought I heard… something. Maybe hooves?” I continue, glancing up at him. “But when I looked, there was nothing there.”
He leans back slightly and draws a deep breath. “You don’t have to second-guess yourself, Katrina. It’s real. You’re not going crazy.”
There’s something in his voice that makes my stomach clench.
“What are you talking about?” I ask carefully.
He squeezes my hand ever so slightly. “I know you saw the Horseman.”
I blink.
“Saw the… what?”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat. He’s joking. Surely, he’s got to be joking.
But the look on his face tells me he isn’t, and I quickly cough to hide my laughter.
“I think I saw him the other night too,” he continues. “The Headless Horseman isn’t just a Sleepy Hollow legend, Kat. He’s real. And I think he’s back.”
I stare at him. The little room feels too hot again, like it’s pressing in on me.
“You’re serious?” I ask. “Ichabod, this doesn’t make any sense. A ghost? Risen from the dead and beheading people from his horse?” I try to keep my voice light, but it comes out strained.
“Yes.” He hesitates, his sharp eyes searching mine. “I grew up in this town, I’ve always known the story, but recently, things here have changed.” He exhales, his shoulders dropping slightly. “I’ve been researching him and it all fits, especially with the two recent deaths.”
“The doctor and the lawyer,” I murmur.
He nods grimly. “Both beheaded, just like the legend says.”
I don’t know what to say. At the time, I did think I saw a horse and its rider, if only for a second.
But here in this warm, cosy room, it seems so unlikely.
I thought I had heard hooves but now I can’t be so certain.
If I had seen something, it definitely hadn’t been real enough to touch, just a whisper of a thing in the mist.
And the way it felt like death brushing past me.
I shake my head. But it couldn’t have been real. It couldn’t have.
Could it?
“But ghosts aren’t real. It’s just a story,” I say, unsure if I’m trying to convince Ichabod or myself.
He leans closer, his intensity almost overwhelming. “It’s not impossible, Kat. This is Sleepy Hollow. The veil between legend and reality here is thinner than you think.”
A chill runs through me as he says it, and I set my cup on the coffee table beside him before I spill its contents.
“But…”
“Kat.” He envelopes my hands within his larger ones. “You said it yourself — you heard something, felt something. Even if your mind won’t let you admit it yet. I know you don’t want to believe it, but it’s real. You can’t believe those two deaths in town are unconnected?”
“Well, no, of course not, but that doesn’t mean a ghost is behind it.”
But the conviction in Ichabod’s face is real. He truly believes what he’s saying. I want to argue, to tell him it’s nonsense and that I didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything.
But that whisper of a something did race past me. I didn’t just trip for no good reason. Did I?
I shake my head again, trying to clear it.
“I don’t know what to think,” I finally concede.
My voice feels small in the quiet of the room. The fire crackles softly, but the warmth isn’t quite easing the cold knot in my stomach anymore.
Ichabod glances at the golden carriage clock on his shelf.
“It’s late,” he says gently. “You don’t need to make up your mind now.
I know it’s a lot to take in.” He leans forward and brushes a strand of hair from my face.
His touch is feather-light and lingers at my temple longer than necessary. “You’re safe now.”
His words settle over me like a blanket. I do feel safe here.
But his words stir something else deep inside of me. I should pull back. I should question more. Question everything. But instead, I breathe him in, that sweet, woody scent. I realise how close we are. His lips are inches from mine, his eyes searching my face like he’s looking for permission.
“Whatever darkness is out there, it can’t get to you. Not while I’m here,” his voice is low, rough.
That undoes me.
He saved me. From what, I’m not so sure yet. But he was there for me. He found me in the dark.
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” I whisper.
“Then I won’t promise to protect you. I’ll just do it.”
My breath catches and I lean forward before I even know I’ve moved.
Our lips brush, tentatively at first, but then his hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, deepening the kiss.
His mouth parts against mine, and I feel the press of his tongue — not demanding, but inviting.
I open to him.
The world slips away. I forget the dark, the fear, I forget the Horseman.
It’s just us.
I sink further into it, but something stirs at the back of my mind. A whisper of hooves.
I break the kiss, gasping softly. My fingers are still in his shirt collar, the fire is dimmer now.
“Ichabod…” I murmur, unsure of what I’m asking.
He rests his forehead against mine for a beat, breathing hard. “You don’t have to believe me yet,” he whispers. “Just don’t turn away from what you felt.”
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 waistband of 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.
He keeps one hand tight on my hips and reaches the other under me, stroking my clit at the same time, keeping rhythm with his thrusting. Pressure is building deep in my stomach and I moan loudly. It’s not long before I’m shivering around him, ready.
He leans forward and kisses my back, the movement putting even more pressure on my clit as he skilfully works his fingers.
I cry out as the pleasure crashes through my body. He keeps pounding into me as I orgasm. His fingers are sodden. His shaft dripping. I grip the rug as my body shakes. It’s overwhelming and my head spins hazily.
When my body finally untenses, I feel him pull out of me. He grunts heavily, his cum hitting my back.
I collapse forward, breathing hard. He lays down beside me. The embers in the hearth crackle faintly as we lie, taking in each other’s bodies.
He kisses me gently.
Later, when we’re tangled together in his small bed, the fear of the night is a distant memory, eclipsed by the warmth of his arms around me. But as I drift into a restless sleep, the shimmering shadow of a charging horse haunts the edges of my dreams.