by Ranae Rose
John responded in kind, wrapping his fingers around Brom’s shaft and stroking him slowly, the gentleness of his motions at odds with their hard kiss. John’s hand slid easily, its passage lubricated by the little bit of moisture that had spilled from the tip of Brom’s cock – damn it, he couldn’t have helped it. It was so good to be touched by John and watched by Katrina; her admiring gaze was so strong, he could feel it. He thrust his hips, forcing his cock hard through John’s fist, all the while pumping his own hand up and down John’s shaft.
John took the hint and gave in, stroking Brom quickly. Brom easily could have succumbed to the sensation and let himself come, but he didn’t. He wanted to put on a show for Katrina, wanted to spill himself inside a warm, tight body – either hers or John’s.
Brom stopped when Katrina gasped again, pulling away from John because her soft, wordless exclamation was easily enough to send him over the edge. Despite the fact that John was no longer touching him, when he looked at Katrina he almost lost it.
She’d pressed a hand between her thighs and was touching herself hesitantly, slowly stroking the pearl below her golden curls. The sight of her tentative self-pleasure, the evidence of her inexperience – it all combined to send a spasm of pleasure through Brom’s body. “Would you like one of us to do that for you?”
She smiled coyly, her blue eyes twinkling. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind. It doesn’t feel quite the same when I do it myself.”
For all her inexperience, she was an effective seductress. Brom reached for her, his arm brushing one of her stiff nipples as he lowered his hand into her lap, eager to give her pleasure. She opened her thighs for him, exposing her sex, which was prettily flushed and glistening. He didn’t bother to hold back a moan as his fingers met her slickness, gliding over her skin.
John embraced her, stroked her, kissed her with lips that were still inflamed from being pressed against Brom’s. She gasped and shuddered between them, crying out as she climaxed.
“On your hands and knees,” Brom said after allowing her a brief moment to recover. He couldn’t wait any longer.
She obeyed, and he felt a surge of pride. God, she was the perfect bride. Her deliciously round bottom jutted at him, and her golden hair hung to her elbows, swinging as she peered at him curiously over her shoulder.
“Take her, John.”
John shot him an inquiring gaze, as if to ask whether Brom was sure. He couldn’t blame John for sensing his obvious eagerness, but he had something else in mind. He nodded curtly, and John laid his hands on Katrina’s hips, squaring up behind her. His grey eyes gleamed as his cock brushed the curve of her ass, and he wrapped his fingers around it, positioning himself to enter her. With a low moan, he slid slowly inside her.
She gasped, gripping fistfuls of the linens as John filled her. He rocked into her with slow thrusts, asking her if she was all right, if she liked it. She assured him that she was and that she did, pressing her bottom against his loins, burying him deeper.
Brom waited until John had established a rhythm before he positioned himself behind him and laid his hands on John’s slender, leanly muscled hips. John responded immediately to his touch, sighing as Brom’s erection pressed stiffly against his ass. Too lost in need to take the time to fetch anything else, Brom smoothed a handful of saliva over his cock, lubricating it before he pressed the tip against John’s entrance and eased himself inside.
John tensed at first, then moaned. Brom rocked his hips, settling deep into John’s channel. John moaned again and thrust against Katrina’s creamy white hips. Brom continued to thrust too, and though it took a few moments, they eventually found a rhythm that had them all gasping. Brom’s eyes tried to drift shut, as if to cut him off from sight and force him to focus only on the sensations that gripped him by the balls, making every inch of his body burn with the bone deep need for release. He kept them open – the sight of John making love to Katrina while he himself made love to John… He couldn’t get enough of it, would remember it for the rest of his life.
Katrina came first, bucking her hips against John’s several moments after he’d placed his hand between her hips and begun to massage the tender flesh beneath her curls. It set off a chain reaction – John groaned, thrusting into her with abandon, and Brom did the same, riding John as hard as he dared. Several earth-shattering moments blurred together in a haze of wild breathing and gasping, of warm, thrusting bodies. Then it was over, and Brom withdrew, his nerves still buzzing with satisfaction.
They all lay down together, nearly as close as they had been only moments before. Katrina claimed she was well, looked and sounded well, though she said the insides of her thighs trembled a little from the exertion. Brom touched one, running a hand from her knee to her hip – it was true. He rubbed her soft skin in a soothing gesture, stilling the trembling muscles.
John seemed content to drift in dreamy silence, his eyes hooded – and no wonder, after what he’d just been caught in the middle of. Brom ran a hand over John’s back, leaned in and whispered that he’d never felt anything so good. He hadn’t, and he’d probably never feel anything better, though he fully intended to relive what they’d just done – perhaps another night, sometime soon. But now, sleep beckoned, almost as irresistible as the two people he lay beside – the two people he’d do anything for, and couldn’t imagine being without.
* * * * *
John lay beside Katrina, his entire body tingling pleasantly with the aftermath of his, Brom’s and Katrina’s lovemaking. It had been incredible, the pleasure mind-numbing. He could still feel the phantom tightness of Katrina’s body and the warm ache where Brom had been inside him. He’d dreamed of them both hundreds of times, and yet, he’d never known such a balance was possible – giving and taking, thrusting and absorbing, all at the same time. His cock was still half-hard, though he was quickly succumbing to exhaustion. The day had been long, and what they’d just done had sapped the last of his energy. He still had the presence of mind to reach out and extinguish the candle on the bedside table, pinching the wick between his fingers and plunging the room into darkness.
The only illumination was the faint glow of moonlight, which filtered through the window, weakened by a cloud that had passed over the moon. John closed his eyes only to open them moments later when the soft sound of muted hoofbeats reached his ears.
Who would be out riding after dark in Sleepy Hollow, risking encountering the horseman? Perhaps Dirck or one of his men, out to do more damage? That thought had John staring wide-eyed toward the window. They’d wrecked the schoolhouse, and he hadn’t heeded their crude warning, but had instead spent the day laboriously repairing the damage they’d done. Had someone come to victimize Brom’s house next?
John slipped out of bed and hurried to the window. Looking out from the second story, he had a decent view of the property behind the house. He squinted, straining for any sign of a horse and rider. There was none to be seen, and the sound of hoofbeats was gone. After spending several long minutes with his fingertips pressed against the cold glass, keeping a careful watch, he turned for the bed. Maybe the sound had been of someone passing by on a legitimate errand, or maybe he’d imagined it all together – he was extremely tired.
He was a couple short steps from the warm haven of the bed when the window rattled, causing him to jump, whirling automatically in the direction he’d come from.
The moonlight had been blotted out, making the room much darker and eerier. Still, the lack of light had nothing to do with the viciously cold chill that raced down John’s spine, or the way his muscles stiffened, rendering him immobile as he stared. One moment seemed to stretch forever as he watched a shape pass by the window, dark and four-legged: a horse and rider, their bulk blocking the moonlight. The rider was a headless mass of dark, billowing clothing, the edges of his image softened by a haze of fog that seemed to travel with him. John didn’t need to stare at the empty space above his shoulders where fog swirled, because he knew in his gut who the rider w
as – after all, his horse was running on air, its hooves striking out at nothing as they cantered past. With one last whip of a midnight-black tail, they were gone, and the moonlight shone through the window again.
John stumbled back to bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he reached automatically for his throat, pressing his hand against it and massaging, attempting to work some heat into his chilled skin. He slid into bed and beneath the linens, where the heat of Brom and Katrina’s bodies enveloped him, so welcome that he sighed. The sound came out ragged, edged with the horror that was roiling inside his gut. As Katrina wriggled in her sleep, pressing her soft body against his, he remembered the confession she’d made before the wedding, of how she’d thought she’d seen a horse and rider go by her second story window. It had chilled him to hear the tale, even then, before he’d personally encountered the horseman. Now it froze him, leaving him powerless to do anything other than stare at the window, unable to look away, lest the horseman return. Beside him, Katrina shivered. Brom laid an arm over her and over John, embracing them both. John lay still and took what comfort he could in their presence, deciding to wait until morning to tell them what he’d seen – they needed rest, and he needed to think.
* * * * *
For once, John didn’t bring an appetite to the breakfast table. He ate anyway, appreciative of the effort Katrina had put into the meal. She appeared tired, though she’d slept solidly through the night; there were dark circles under her eyes, and as she set food on the table, she yawned.
“Are you feeling well?” Brom asked, clearly having noticed the same signs John had.
“A little tired, perhaps,” she said, sinking into a chair.
“Trouble sleeping?”
“No, I slept wonderfully.” Her lips curled in the briefest of smiles, and just like that, John could feel the soft warmth of her body against his. He’d lain awake for half the night, enjoying the comfort of her and Brom’s nearby bodies despite his worries.
“I think it’s the chill that’s exhausting me – it’s such a cold morning.” She frowned pensively at the kitchen window. “The coldest of the year; it’s a wonder there’s no frost on the ground.” She attempted a smile again. “It’s a perfect day for staying by the hearth and baking pies. Shall I make apple or pumpkin?”
Brom stared across the table at John, and their gazes locked. Brom’s was dark and brooding, assessing when he glanced back at Katrina. John did the same, noting that her normally creamy skin looked rather pasty.
“It’s no cooler than it was yesterday morning,” John said. The kitchen fire was crackling nicely, and he was quite comfortable in his shirtsleeves. Katrina was fully dressed, wearing a pretty pink gown that normally brought out the rosy tint of her cheeks and lips. Today, it didn’t. “Perhaps you ought to go back to bed instead of worrying about baking – you seem to be coming down with something.”
Katrina’s smile flickered, though she waved away his suggestion with an airy gesture. “Oh, I’m well enough to bake. You needn’t worry.”
“Katrina.” Brom leaned in his chair, pressing a hand against her brow. “You feel warm. But you always feel warm to me. John, what do you think?”
John rose and stood by her chair, leaning to press his cheek to her forehead – something his mother had done for him when he was a boy. It was true that Katrina was always warm – it was one of the things he loved about her body – but this wasn’t the sensual heat of a healthy woman. No, it was too hot, and had a burning edge to it. He straightened, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You’re fevered.”
Brom frowned deeply, and the gesture carved lines of dissatisfaction around his mouth. “To bed,” he declared, rising and scooping Katrina into his arms in one effortless motion.
She protested at first, still exclaiming about possible pie fillings, of all things. Her skirts hung over Brom’s arm, exposing her calves – it would have been a perfectly enjoyable sight if John hadn’t known she was ill. As it was, he had no room in his mind for lust. He was too worried.
“No,” Brom said firmly, striding toward the stairs. “I won’t hear another word about pie. You’ll not step one foot out of bed until the fever’s gone.”
God willing, that would be soon… John unclenched his fists, wiping his damp palms on his breeches as he glanced guiltily at the table where his breakfast waited. Katrina shouldn’t have gone through the effort of preparing it. At least he could take her hers – she’d need her strength, after all. He picked up her plate and cup and headed for the stairs.
Brom deposited her on the bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She’d stopped protesting and looked more exhausted than ever as her head hit the pillow.
“Here, I’ll help you with your breakfast,” John said, doing his best to fight the unease that had beset him. God, if it was something serious… He sat down on the edge of the bed, balancing the plate in his lap. Apparently trusting John to see that Katrina didn’t slip out of bed, Brom left to feed the animals.
John passed most of the morning at Katrina’s bedside with a heavy book in his lap. He’d fetched his belongings from the Jansens’ home yesterday after working on the schoolhouse repairs, and though the exchange had been awkward, he was glad he hadn’t postponed it. Katrina seemed to be enjoying his reading from his favorite book of poetry, and he hadn’t liked being separated from his books in any case. “Is there a particular piece you’d like me to read?” John asked, holding a page, poised to turn it.
Katrina’s cheeks flushed a little, pink blossoming against her pale skin. “I’m afraid I must confess something – I didn’t read the entire book. I returned it to you early, pretending I’d finished it as an excuse to see you.”
John smiled faintly. “Your secret is safe with me. I’ll just start about a quarter of the way through and keep reading then.” He turned a few pages. “Did you read this one, about the ship lost at sea?”
She smiled too. “Yes, I did. It was lovely though – read it again, won’t you?”
He did. “I’m sorry,” he said when he finished.
Katrina gazed back at him quizzically, resting with her cheek against her pillow.
He held up the book in reference. “I’m sorry I worried you. What I tried to do that night…well, I regret it.”
“You’re just now apologizing?” Brom appeared in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “You could have spared yourself my anger if you’d said you were sorry at the time.” His words were serious, but there was a teasing light in his eyes.
“I highly doubt that,” John replied. “Your temper is infamous.” He didn’t say it out loud, but the truth was that he’d only recently come to totally regret what he’d attempted that night. Afterward, he’d pined for what he couldn’t have, wondering if he, Brom and Katrina wouldn’t all have been better off if he’d succeeded. But now he knew how wrong he’d been, and it was painful to think of what he would have missed out on.
Brom pretended to scowl as he crossed the room. “How is she?” His voice was surprisingly soft as he settled on the edge of the bed, smelling of hay and horses.
Katrina smiled at him. “Not feeling particularly well at the moment, but things could be worse.”
“They could be better too,” John said sharply. “Her fever is worse.” He’d been feeling her forehead regularly, and there was no mistake that it was warmer than it had been at the breakfast table that morning.
Brom pressed a hand briefly against her brow, frowning as he pulled it away. “John.” He tipped his head toward the door and fixed John with an I-need-to-speak-with-you gaze.
“One of us must fetch a physician,” Brom said, cutting to the chase as they stood in the hall outside the bedroom. “Now. If we wait, her fever may grow even worse.”
John nodded. “Of course. I’ll go.” He cast a wistful glance over his shoulder at Katrina – the idea of leaving her side while she was ill made him nervous. But there was nothing he could do for her that Brom couldn’t, and he’d
already spent the entire morning with her while Brom had labored.
“Take Torben,” Brom said. “He’ll carry you to the physician’s home quickly and without much trouble.”
John nodded. Torben was a spirited horse, though compared to Gunpowder, he was heavenly to ride. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can manage, with the physician.”
The day was cool but sunny, and many of Sleepy Hollow’s inhabitants were outdoors, tending to chores or animals, or simply staring as John rode by. Everyone would recognize Brom’s horse, and riding through the village on its back brought the change John had so recently made into perspective. He’d never amble through the village on Gunpowder again – thank God – and would never board with one of his pupil’s families again, either. At least, he couldn’t imagine doing so – not now that he had Brom and Katrina. For the first time since he’d left home to be educated and begin a teaching career, he felt as if he belonged. Despite how right it felt, a slight sheen of sweat dampened his brow.
If anyone knew the truth of his living arrangement, that Brom had taken him in out of much more than simple pity or friendship… Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Not at the moment anyway, because he was too full of worry for Katrina to fret over anything else. By the time he reached the modest home where the local physician lived, it was a welcome relief not to be alone with his own thoughts anymore.
“He’s away at a birth,” the physician’s wife informed him when he knocked at the door and asked.
“Isn’t that usually a midwife’s affair?” he asked, surprised. He was no expert on such matters, but why would anyone send for a physician when the village boasted its own midwife, who was reputedly very skilled?
His wife nodded, shrugging simultaneously. “Usually it is, but the midwife is miles away at another birth, and Robert Van Dyck’s wife went into labor last night.”
