roughly, hearing a groan that made him feel a little lightheaded with desire.
“Now. Kiss me where you know I want to be kissed most,” a voice said, playful but passionate.
He moved down, taking his time, lips nibbling and gliding over skin. Delicate but firm hands ran through his hair, guiding his head down, down, down.
Soft curls greeted him and he smiled, parting warm skin. She was pink and slick and he brought his mouth to her, tasting her, sipping her. Legs draped themselves over his shoulders, hips began to thrust at him, and he reveled in her. He licked around and around, wide circles, then smaller, smaller, before he finally concentrated on that firm, sweet spot.
When he felt her start to climax, his slid a finger gently but firmly inside her. She was hot and tight and when she shouted, he smiled.
She pushed him back, hair obscuring her face. Ran her fingers down his stomach, a trail of fiery desire. She touched him where he was hard and ready. And then she laughed.
She pushed back her hair and it was Taylor, resplendent and beautiful.
“Do you want me, Anton? Do you want me now?” she asked.
“Yes. I want you. I always wanted you,” he said.
“Good,” she said.
Her lips were soft against his collarbone, he could feel her warmth against him below, but she moved away. She kissed down his chest, bit softly at a nipple, then swirled her tongue around his navel.
He watched her as she looked up and clasped him in her hand. He was harder than he had ever been in his life, pulsing against her palm. She opened her mouth and began to slowly descend over him. Down, down, he could feel her breath against the tip…she was almost there….
And then he woke up.
Anton was uncomfortably hard and he groaned against his pillow. He hadn’t had a dream that intensely erotic in years. It figured it would end without orgasm. He lay back, early-morning light filtering in through his window, thinking about Taylor, feeling himself staying hard and aching.
He was going to have to do something about this.
He was going to have to do something about Taylor Harlow. Today.
***
Sweethollow Library was a surprisingly large and modern building in the middle of town, on the corners of Main Street and Hill. When Taylor was a kid, the library had been a two-story building down the block with bad lighting and not a great selection of horror stories, Taylor’s passion. This spot now occupied by the library had been a bank and laundromat. Obviously there’d been some improvements in the last decade.
Inside was well lit, warm, and spacious. There was a children’s storytelling corner and a large area for sitting and reading for grown-ups, and while it was still two floors, they were now packed with every kind of book for anyone.
Taylor was looking for the archives and a helpful young girl with blue hair showed her to the area they kept the old newspaper files in hard copy and on the computer. She sat down and got to work.
Someone had been pretty thorough at documenting the history of Sweethollow, scanning newspapers and even local journals that had been donated, as far back as the Revolutionary War. There were all the usual sorts of pieces on the Deathless Rider, mostly cute pieces about local superstitions and tying it all to Halloween.
What was suspiciously lacking were documents about the deaths that occurred roughly every ten years. It wasn’t exact; some years went by and nothing untoward happened to anyone. But Taylor knew that strange deaths had gone back at least as far as the war and continued after. Whether it was deaths that just happened to occur around the same time or ones that were actually connected to the legend, there were almost no files, articles, or even journal entries about them. Which was very odd considering how much the town relied on the legend. It seemed like they’d want people to think it was an ongoing “ghostly” phenomenon. Upped the tourist attraction.
As she combed through files, she
“Now. Kiss me where you know I want to be kissed most,” a voice said, playful but passionate.
He moved down, taking his time, lips nibbling and gliding over skin. Delicate but firm hands ran through his hair, guiding his head down, down, down.
Soft curls greeted him and he smiled, parting warm skin. She was pink and slick and he brought his mouth to her, tasting her, sipping her. Legs draped themselves over his shoulders, hips began to thrust at him, and he reveled in her. He licked around and around, wide circles, then smaller, smaller, before he finally concentrated on that firm, sweet spot.
When he felt her start to climax, his slid a finger gently but firmly inside her. She was hot and tight and when she shouted, he smiled.
She pushed him back, hair obscuring her face. Ran her fingers down his stomach, a trail of fiery desire. She touched him where he was hard and ready. And then she laughed.
She pushed back her hair and it was Taylor, resplendent and beautiful.
“Do you want me, Anton? Do you want me now?” she asked.
“Yes. I want you. I always wanted you,” he said.
“Good,” she said.
Her lips were soft against his collarbone, he could feel her warmth against him below, but she moved away. She kissed down his chest, bit softly at a nipple, then swirled her tongue around his navel.
He watched her as she looked up and clasped him in her hand. He was harder than he had ever been in his life, pulsing against her palm. She opened her mouth and began to slowly descend over him. Down, down, he could feel her breath against the tip…she was almost there….
And then he woke up.
Anton was uncomfortably hard and he groaned against his pillow. He hadn’t had a dream that intensely erotic in years. It figured it would end without orgasm. He lay back, early-morning light filtering in through his window, thinking about Taylor, feeling himself staying hard and aching.
He was going to have to do something about this.
He was going to have to do something about Taylor Harlow. Today.
***
Sweethollow Library was a surprisingly large and modern building in the middle of town, on the corners of Main Street and Hill. When Taylor was a kid, the library had been a two-story building down the block with bad lighting and not a great selection of horror stories, Taylor’s passion. This spot now occupied by the library had been a bank and laundromat. Obviously there’d been some improvements in the last decade.
Inside was well lit, warm, and spacious. There was a children’s storytelling corner and a large area for sitting and reading for grown-ups, and while it was still two floors, they were now packed with every kind of book for anyone.
Taylor was looking for the archives and a helpful young girl with blue hair showed her to the area they kept the old newspaper files in hard copy and on the computer. She sat down and got to work.
Someone had been pretty thorough at documenting the history of Sweethollow, scanning newspapers and even local journals that had been donated, as far back as the Revolutionary War. There were all the usual sorts of pieces on the Deathless Rider, mostly cute pieces about local superstitions and tying it all to Halloween.
What was suspiciously lacking were documents about the deaths that occurred roughly every ten years. It wasn’t exact; some years went by and nothing untoward happened to anyone. But Taylor knew that strange deaths had gone back at least as far as the war and continued after. Whether it was deaths that just happened to occur around the same time or ones that were actually connected to the legend, there were almost no files, articles, or even journal entries about them. Which was very odd considering how much the town relied on the legend. It seemed like they’d want people to think it was an ongoing “ghostly” phenomenon. Upped the tourist attraction.
As she combed through files, she
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