Chapter 14
The glow of the streetlamps cast flickering shadows along the cobblestone streets as I make my way to Ichabod’s flat. My breath puffs out as a white cloud before me, but warmth builds in my chest at the thought of seeing him again.
I know better than to fall for the man everyone in town is whispering about, but the warning pales in comparison to how I feel in Ichabod’s presence.
But I have to know.
When I knock, it only takes a moment before the door swings open.
Ichabod stands there, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, no belt, his hair slightly tousled, as if he’s just run his fingers through it.
When he registers me standing there, his lips curve into a smile, but I can see a hint of worry in his eyes as they scan the street behind me.
“Katrina, what are you doing walking around after sunset? It isn’t safe,” he murmurs, stepping aside to let me in.
“Neither are you, apparently,” I say as the door clicks shut behind me.
I’ve been steeling myself for this moment all day. I’m here for answers. I’d defended him this morning, but I need to hear it from Ichabod. Not from Brom or the whispering town, or even my own spiralling thoughts.
When he’d opened the door, I’d felt bold, but now that I’m here, the conviction I had just a few minutes ago is beginning to unravel.
The warmth of the small space wraps around me, the scent of old books and spiced tea filling the air.
I turn to face him, my heart hammering against my ribs as he takes a step closer.
His fingers trail along my arm, a barely-there touch that sends a shiver through me.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” he says.
I realise he’s ignored my remark.
“I needed to see you.” I try to take a step back, to think more clearly. But there’s not much space between Ichabod and the door at my back. “There’s something I need to know.”
“Yes?” His eyes bore into mine. He stays where he is, not moving closer, not backing away.
I have to ask. I have to know.
But what if it’s true?
I thought I hated Sleepy Hollow. Then I met him. Now I don’t know what I hate more, this town or what it’s making me feel. Because what will I do if he confirms my fears?
“Katrina,” he says softly. “What is it?”
I can’t bring myself to ask. Not now, with him here, so close.
“It’s… nothing,” I say, my eyes darting to the fireplace to cover the emotions I know will be warring there.
He takes my chin gently and brings my gaze back to his.
“Katrina, you can ask me anything.”
I meet those piercing grey eyes. My mouth opens and I have to say it quickly before I stop myself again.
“There are rumours,” I whisper.
He doesn’t interrupt and I force myself to continue.
“People in the town, they’re saying… that you…” But I can’t bring myself to say it. Not outright.
His expression is unreadable as he drops his hand from my face.
“Did you come here to ask if I’m the killer, Katrina?”
I breathe in sharply.
“I don’t believe it. But I need to hear it from you.” I’m still whispering.
He says nothing but something flickers in his eyes. Fierce and aching.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the steady sound of our breathing, the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Without warning he leans in, bracing his hands either side of my head on the doorframe behind me, caging me, and his mouth finds mine.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, all-consuming. When we break apart, I’m breathless.
I look into his eyes, searching. Are they the eyes of a murderer?
“I have to know,” I whisper. “Please… tell me.”
His hands cradle my face, firm and steady.
“Say it’s not true. That you’re not what they say.”
“If I do, will you believe me?”
“I already do.”
“Kat, I swear to you, I have nothing to do with those deaths.” His voice is low but firm.
I search his face looking for any flicker of hesitation, any tell that it’s a lie.
I close my eyes and exhale, relieved
Then his hand is tilting my chin up, our gazes lock, and he kisses me again. Slowly this time, soft and tentative. But it quickly deepens.
His hands search my body like he needs me.
And I need him.
His hands slide to my waist, pulling me against him, and I let myself sink into him. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as the rest of the world melts away. There’s only this — the heat of his touch, the taste of him, the way his breath catches when I press closer.
He reaches down, undoing my jeans and sliding them off, and then draws my left leg up over his hip. He kisses roughly up my neck, and I can feel how hard he is through his trousers. I press my hips forward into him.
He slides a hand over my breast, massaging through my top. I’m not wearing a bra and he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I gasp as a jolt of electric shoots down my spine.
We break apart momentarily as he pulls away to undo his trousers, and then he’s back, lifting me up while I wrap my legs around his waist. My back slams into the door behind me and the wood shudders. I kiss his chest, his neck, making my way up to nip gently at his earlobe.
He moans when he feels how wet I am already. Not wanting to wait this time, I tilt my hips towards him, and he pushes inside me in one thrust. I cry out as he fills me.
His strong hands grip underneath my thighs as he thrusts, slowly at first, but he quickens his pace and soon we’re both panting, breath hot as we kiss.
He slides in and out forcefully, holding me up, pinning me against the door.
We press our foreheads together, slick with sweat and I look up into his face from under my eyelashes. I know I can trust him, I feel it.
Our lips press together fiercely. I retreat slightly, teasing his tongue with mine as I hold his gaze. I go to kiss him again but instead grip his bottom lip with my teeth, grazing the soft flesh, and feel him moan into my mouth.
I tip my head back as he pushes deeper, filling me completely.
I moan, but it’s stifled by him kissing up my neck, hungrily seeking my lips again.
I feel myself start to lose control and squeeze around him.
I dig my nails into his shoulders. He presses me harder into the door, thrusting into me, my thighs shaking as I attempt to grind over him.
I feel a bead of sweat roll down over my breasts, squashed against his muscled chest. I tip over the edge and he cums with me, pulsing and shuddering between my thighs.
We stay locked together, breathing heavily, my face pressed into his neck, my hands still gripping his strong shoulders.
Finally, he loosens his hold on me, and I slide to the floor on shaky legs.