Ghosts

Watching my husband’s wonderful face when he talked was my singular obsession in life.

“What?” His voice was gentle, his smile knowing.

I shook my head and he caught my wrist in one of his big hands. “You want your husband to fuck you. Is that it?”

“Oh, Kimo…” I had no idea where our boundless need for one another came from. I had no idea whether right now it was psychological or physical or emotional. Our passionate, early morning romp on the sea grass matted flooring of our bedroom at the Kahuna Village seemed like a long time ago now. I needed him, I wanted him. He pulled me toward him, onto his lap, his scalding tongue roaming over my face and neck. He wanted me, too.

After a couple of minutes, with the sound of Jamie’s chanting and the merry chatter of forest birds drowning our soft moans, Kimo lifted me up and put me on the ground on my back. Pulling down my pants so that they dangled from one leg, his face reflected our mutual urgency and he knelt between my open legs, moving down to my cock and waiting ass. After giving me some long, lavish licks, his tongue stirred up so much heat in my ass that I drenched in sweat and panting heavily. It was as if I had a raging fever. He was hungry for the main course and my fingers shook at the buttons of his Levis, anxious to feed him. Neither of us cared any longer who caught us. We were two married men having consensual sex and my husband’s liberated cock sprang out, jutting straight for my ass.

“I need to be in you, Lopaka.”

His mouth sought out mine again and I tasted myself on his tongue, our souls…our bodies…rejoicing at this trial by fire. I almost screamed when he entered me. My legs spread to give him easier access to me. I was completely open to him and his gaze turned possessive and proud as he gave himself to me fully.

I reached up to take Kimo’s face into my hands and his eyes closed as he thrust himself into me. I felt him enter my thoughts and I knew his joy that only he could make me feel like this. He knew I was as hungry for his release, hungrier even than I was for my own.

“Come with me, darling, come with me, my Lopaka.” Kimo’s hand curled over my rigid cock and I held him tighter, and though he had never, ever taken his cock from me for any reason, I always held onto his ass in our final moments of coming for fear that he would.

“You always put me exactly where you need me.” His voice at my ear sent my orgasm spiraling, a shimmering that consumed us both as we came together. Our pounding hearts beat like the obake’s drums and Kimo laughed, licking up a trail of sweat at my neck.

“You are one hot fuck, my beautiful man wife.”

I laughed. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

A gust of wind rattled the windows and Martha slid farther under the covers. If it could get this nippy in early September, how would she manage January?

She’d check the furnace filters in the morning. And she’d better make certain the wood yard held plenty of firewood to last the winter. She’d have to get advice about that. She had no idea how much would be enough.

Natalie might know. Daniel Ford would certainly know. She turned over again and fluffed her pillow back up. The nerve of him, to be watching her when she hadn’t even been aware of his presence!

She didn’t doubt he could wield an axe handily. She shivered. Maybe she should’ve done more research before buying the place. Perhaps she should look into getting one of those cute gas fire places.

She needed to stay warm in the winter, and she wasn’t about to flee back to civilization any time soon. It had taken all her gumption and most of her inheritance to buy Purgatory Point; she wasn’t about to give up because of a chill in the air.

That decided, she closed her eyes and welcomed the drifting sensations of dozing.

He’d have strong hands. She’d have soft hands. Dan’s fingers. Natalie’s fingers. As if from a distance, Martha recognized her own soft moans. Her loins ached. It was an old ache, yet a familiar ache.

Her nipples pebbled and strained against the flannel gown. Fingers brushed against her inner thigh. She squeezed her legs tightly together, trapping them.

Whose fingers? Hers? His? Natalie’s? She was dreaming. She knew she was. She had to be dreaming. She let herself sink farther into the darkness.

“That a girl,” came a soothing whisper penetrating her fuzzy brain. “You’re a passionate woman. Let it out. Cherish your passion. Let me help. Let me touch you.”

“Natalie?” Martha whispered, unable to awaken.

A soft chuckle answered. “Not this time. Maybe later if you allow yourself. Now let me help you.”

The pressure of fingertips on her thigh matched the pressure building behind her loins. Her brow furrowed as another set of fingers caressed her taut nipples still protected by flannel. “Oh,” she moaned. She tensed and then relaxed. The fingers on her thigh slid upward to where she burned the hottest.

Martha bit down on her lower lip as a finger seeking more heat found it. She gasped and lurched up and down, helping to seat the intruder in her sex. “This can’t be happening,” she moaned, widening her thighs.

“But it is. You’re not pretending it isn’t, are you?”

Martha hesitated. The finger stopped its exploring. She shook her head in response to the question and to her overwhelming desire. She wasn’t even certain what she wanted, but she wanted with her entire body.

A mouth settled over the flannel that covered a breast. “Good God,” Martha whimpered. She heard laughter and then the magic emanating from her vagina overtook her. The finger deep inside moved incessantly. Martha shook. She didn’t know which would explode first, her head or her loins.

“God help me!” she screamed as her need, fulfilled, overflowed.

Exhausted, Martha shook herself awake. Her dream had been as vivid as a nightmare, but she wouldn’t deceive herself labeling it as such. It had been too incredible for that. She hugged herself trying to quiet her still trembling flesh.

She’d orgasmed before, but… She threw an arm across her forehead. This one had been so explosive. So simple, and yet overwhelmingly complex. She shook her head. Since when had she become an analyst of orgasms?

Her nipples still tingled. Tentatively, she brushed a hand against a breast. Her eyes flew wide open and she started to a sitting position. The flannel covering her breast was sodden. She slid a hand between her legs. Wet. “Good grief,” she murmured to the night, “what is happening to me?”

Todd thrust deep, stilled, and waited. Eric knew from experience that Natalie was squeezing down on him hard and then she erupted. She called out to the heavens. Her hot breath scalded his balls. Todd grinned triumphantly at the mirror and Susan blew her husband’s reflection a kiss.

The three of them waited for Natalie. When she stirred, Eric began once again easing in and out of Susan, who had shown more patience than he’d expected.

“Bombastic, Natalie,” Susan said. “That must’ve been worth the wait. Looked like you’re enjoying my husband’s cock. And like a good boy, he didn’t come. Todd’s not short on patience.”

“He’s super,” came the hushed response along with a half-smothered giggle. Eric felt her lips brush his balls. “You seem to be faring quite well with your brother-in-law.”

“Certainly am,” Susan grunted as he gave her an extra strong stroke. “Both of our men are quite skilled at satisfying a woman.”

“The women aren’t bad either, right, bro?”

Eric nodded at his brother’s reflection and slowed his pace to match that of Todd, who was beginning again to inch out of Natalie and slowly glide back in. He gasped when Susan clamped her vagina tighter around him. Much more of that and he was done. “Don’t know about anyone else, but I’m about ready to pop.”

“Wait!” Susan declared, “I want you to come in my ass.”

“Excellent idea,” Eric said, holding himself in check and leaning over to nip at Susan’s shoulder blade.

“How about you?” Todd asked Natalie.

 “No,” she said quickly, “I’ll pass on that. I want you to finish where you are.”

“Good enough,” Todd replied. “I’m quite content where I am. We’ll wait for Eric and Susan.”

Eric smiled to himself. So was she saving her ass for him? Certainly someone as experienced as Natalie must enjoy anal play, but he hadn’t really explored that with her yet. There was so much more for them to try. He pulled out of Susan and clutched a butt cheek in each hand. Her anus puckered—just in case he might lose his way.

“You, Natalie,” Susan chortled, “may want to help him find the right spot.”

Eric closed his eyes as Natalie’s fingers curled around his straining cock. Susan had had a super idea for including Natalie. He couldn’t determine whose breathing had turned more ragged, his or Natalie’s, as she guided the tip of his cock until it found the exposed dark target. He eased in fractionally and Susan expanded to accept him.

“Wow,” Natalie gasped. “Amazing. His head disappeared.”

“Wait,” Susan whimpered. “I’m opening, but give me a moment. He’s going to fill my ass, Natalie. And I’m enjoying this immensely. I hope you are.”

“Stunning,” Natalie responded, “and your pussy is so wide open.”

“Then you might want to push a couple fingers in so she doesn’t feel abandoned.” Susan chuckled. “You may be surprised by what you find. Okay, big guy. I’m ready for you. Slowly. Bring him home.”

He nodded at the mirror as Susan’s mouth curved into a smile. They both knew she could’ve taken all of him before now, but she had Natalie where she wanted her. He eased on in. His groans matched those of Natalie’s as his cock nestled into Susan’s ass and pressed against Natalie’s two fingers buried in Susan’s vagina.

“Now,” he grunted to his brother.

They moved in unison with him fucking his brother’s wife’s ass and his brother fucking his lover’s pussy. The wails of both women soon filled the small alcove.

Eric tried to hold back, but was failing miserably. He didn’t know if it was Susan’s tight channel or Natalie’s fingers drawing him in deeper that forced him across a hidden precipice, but his thighs burned and his toes curled as he hurtled faster in and out the women’s clutches.

“Oh hell!” he shouted. “I’m over the top.”

Laughing, Todd exclaimed, “Me, too!”

“Joan, there’s something peculiar about this card. I get a tingling sensation every time I touch it.”

“Hmm. Let me see it.”

Billy handed it to her.

“That’s odd,” she said.

“Here,” said Billy, “Let me show you something.”

He took the card and slipped it into the front of Joan’s shorts.

“Oh, Billy,” she said. He had rarely done anything like that before.

“Just leave it there for a while,” he said.

They walked a little further.

“I’ve got a strange feeling in my pants,” said Joan.

“I did too,” said Billy.

“It makes me want to kiss you and make out with you,” she giggled.

“Me too,” said Billy.

“I’ll bet Susan is behind this, or Diana.”

“You think so?”

“You know we’re all witches, don’t you? Or at least we’re trying to be.”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve told me all that stuff before.”

Dreams reach across time and space, uniting two realms. Secrets whisper death, treasure plots an end. Will romance and danger keep a dreamer from claiming her treasure?

…My bed is going to be very cold you know.”

Sinclaire blushed even more fiercely. “I suppose mine will as well. I’ll miss your…attentions.”

Cole laughed, a low throaty sound, then bent his head and kissed her deeply. “Mmm, maybe you need some of my attentions right now.”

“Maybe I do,” Sinclaire said, slightly shocked at her own boldness. Cole had certainly brought out the sex kitten in her. He situated himself between her legs and she could feel his cock growing hard against her. “Cole Rackam, you are incorrigible,” she murmured in his ear, while pulling his ass closer to her with both hands.

“I hope so,” he responded with an evil gleam in his eye. He leaned down again, one hand flat against her back, and took the flesh of her neck in his teeth. He bit, gently at first, then harder until she squealed. “Am I hurting you?”

“It’s okay. I like it.” She put one hand in his hair and drew him back to her neck where he bit eagerly, sucking gently to avoid a hickey, but using his teeth to bring her blood to the surface.

“You taste good, pretty girl,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warming that sensitive place until she shivered. “Where else can I taste you?”

“Cole, we’re in public. Shouldn’t we—” he cut her off by slipping a hand up under her skirt. His hands found their way to her wetness and soon his fingers were sliding inside her. He pulled her so she was perched on the very edge of the table, using him for balance. Dropping to his knees before her, he pushed her legs wide open for access.

From under her skirt, he said, “Another thong. My God you are hot.” He pulled the tiny scrap of underwear to the side and parted her lips with his hands. “Gorgeous,” he said, his voice hoarse and far away.

Sinclaire put her hands on the desk and tossed her head back, focused intently on his breath between her legs. Slowly, delicately, she felt the very tip of his tongue trace her pussy, from the very top to her vagina, dripping wet. She shuddered, a hiss of air escaping her lips. She could feel him smile, then dive in, tongue playing in her lips and folds. This man enjoyed performing. Her breath began to speed up until she was panting and raising her hips to meet his mouth.

As her excitement mounted, he responded in kind. First, he slid two fingers inside her, crooking them in that come-here gesture she loved. At the same time, he focused his attention on her clit, licking and sucking the swollen spot until she was shaking and struggling to keep her ass from slipping off the table all together.

 She pummelled her pillow in frustration as a door slammed down the hall, banging repeatedly in the wind until someone finally latched it properly. Ghosts? Huh!

“Annoying, isn’t it?”

Kate sat up abruptly and scanned the room, uncaring that her nightgown was low cut and the voice so very definitely that of a man. Deeply masculine, and warm with amusement, it caressed her skin, its lingering vibrations heading unerringly to her stomach.

No one.

She flopped tiredly back onto the bed, again staring at the pitted plaster of the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time a recorded voice had been used, supposedly that of the ghost. What was a first was the fact that the voice had appeared to be talking to her. Not mumbling about some wretched lost love, or carrying on about vengeance and retribution as the supposed ghost floated through a wall, but a pithy comment about the fake ‘ghost effects’. It was certainly different; she had to give the innkeeper brownie points for imagination.

“And the creaking sign does grate on the nerves after a while.”

Her stomach curled with pleasure. It was such a beautiful bedroom voice, the sort of voice that if he asked...well, she’d certainly have to consider.

Kaylee wished she had some popcorn. Watching Dirven strip had been enough to get her mouth watering, watching him under the spray of her own shower was almost too much to bear. Since she couldn't even touch herself, she had to hover and observe every nuance of his muscled limbs, the vee shape of his torso leading to narrow hips, and the hard thrust of his cock against the wash of the water.

Scooting close to him, she could hear the purr, and against her better judgement, tried to stroke that pulsing length through the water. It jumped as her hand passed through it, and Dirven looked down, surprised. She did it again, and so did his cock, this time leaking a dribble of precum in reaction to her touch. "Oh, fun."

Kaylee had tried to pass through a living being once, but he had been running from her at the time. It had never occurred to her to try again. Snickering, she walked through his body and clapped her hands at his shudder. Well, she tried to clap, her own hands passed through each other. "This is too much fun." She walked through him one more time and was rewarded with his groan.

I already had my coat off. Allan pulled my t-shirt off as well. “Brandon,” he moaned, coming close enough to flick his tongue out over one of my nipples, “you’re beautiful baby.”

Whether I was truly beautiful or not, he sure as hell made me feel that way. And when he undid the belt of his jeans and pulled them down over his hips, I’d thought I’d died and gone to heaven. His sight of his cock made mine do somersaults. I slid down on my knees, and took what I could of it in my mouth. Looking back, if it would have been today…shit…I could have done so much more with it. But, in spite of my promiscuity, I wasn’t all that experienced…and giving a blow job was still somewhat of a challenge for me…especially when it came to swallowing. However, Allan appeared to enjoy my amateurish sucking and pulling on his cock because he made appreciative sounds in his throat, and buried his hands in my hair.

My, how times have changed

Never mind that, smart ass.

Suddenly, Allan pulled me up into his arms, kissed me hard, and ran his hands all over me. Yanking on my pants, he tore them down over my hips and clutched my buttocks in his hands. “Brandon,” he murmured, kissing my neck, running his tongue down my throat to one nipple, then the other. “I want you.”

That made me crazy. We moved with each other across the floor to the pull out sofa, which of course, wasn’t pulled out. Allan pushed me down on it, and within seconds we were on the floor.

He ignored him, turning back to the computer screen. I’d love to see all of you naked. Shit. He couldn’t believe he’d just written that.

Really?

Oh yeah.

You’re incorrigible, Eric.

You’re so damn sweet.

How do you know that? Haven’t tasted me yet.

I’d love to taste you.

Come and see me.

Oh shit. Did he just invite him to come and…ah… I can’t.

Why not?

I…I have company.

Send them home.

I can’t do that either. It’s work company.

Ahh. You’re a tease, Eric.

No. Well, maybe…but then your books have teased me enough.

Tell me about that.

They make me so hot. I get naked, I read your books, and I jack off.

Correction. You read sections of my books, and jack off.

Ha ha. Okay. That’s right. I read sections of your books and jack off. Is it true that you write from your own personal sexual experience?

Who else’s sexual experience can I write from?

I’m so damn horny right now talking to you. Does that make sense?

Probably not. Are you hard?

God yes.

Unzip your pants.

I already did that, believe me.

Take it out.

He licked his lips, and pulled his cock out of his open zipper. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Stroke it, Eric.

I’m stroking.

I’m there with you. I’m down on my knees just in front of your open thighs.

He swallowed, picturing Brandon Archer on his knees in front of him. His swollen cock pulsed in his fist. He closed his eyes for a minute, then, opened them again. Brandon.

“Hey eh…” Sky began, his heart beating hard in his chest. Those eyes looked down into his.

“So, you want to kiss me, Sky?” he said softly, the hand moving down over his ass.

Sky swallowed. “I… I… don’t…”

Rafe laughed softly, then, his mouth brushed against his. It was like honey, and wine, and…an immediate addiction. Sky melted against his hard body, letting that mouth take him to somewhere he’d never been before.

“You’re hard,” Rafe told him, rubbing Sky’s cock through his jeans. “I want to see it. I want to unzip your pants, taste it.” Rate's mouth was on his throat, his hands fumbling for his zip. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get into the car.”

He was being carried along, his pants unzipped before Rafe even got the car door open. Rate's body pressed him against the car, his hand reaching into his underwear to fondle his cock. His cock pulsed in Rate's hand. Overcome with passion, Sky said his name, grabbed his face between his hands and kissed him deeply. Rafe impatiently pressed him into the back seat and crawled on top. He pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans and up over his head while Sky watched.

He raked his hands up over Rate's chest. “Rafe…you’re so beautiful… I… love you…”

Rafe lowered his head again and kissed him, then, getting back up on his knees, he undid his pants and pulled out his erection.

The first time Sky touched his cock, he literally swooned. “Baby,” he said softly.

“Put it in your mouth,” Rafe urged. “God, I’m so horny, come on… suck it,” he urged. Rafe lowered his cock over Sky’s lips and Sky took as much of it into his mouth as he could. He started to suck on it, to really taste it, Rafe telling him to take it easy at one time, and to cover his teeth. “Don’t take it off,” he joked.

The mountains were lovely and they slept out under the stars rather than inside Samuel's luxurious trailer. In the morning, they bathed in the waterfall and made love. Samuel had stopped at a drugstore on the way and bought a fresh supply of lube and condoms.

"Fuck me here, under the water," Reese told him. He couldn't get enough of Samuel. He had a great cock and knew how to use it. And Reese hated to admit it, but he was much better at it than Danny had ever been.

Reese gripped the rock, the water pouring down on him as Samuel slipped his dick into his ass and pumped the hell out of him. At the same time, his hard body moved against his and his hands touched him in all the right places. Reese screamed out his orgasm, just to hear what it sounded like out there in the middle of nowhere. When Samuel pulled out, Reese took him down in the shallow water and kissed him all over. When he was hard again, Reese spread his thighs as he sat up against a rock and sucked him off.

They stayed naked out there most of the day. And when the sight of him made Reese hot again, he wiggled between his thighs and played with his balls, then licked them and suckled them until Samuel pleaded for mercy. "No attention for my poor cock?"

Reese smiled slyly. "I want to fuck you."

"You do, do you?"

"You have a delicious ass and it deserves to be invaded. I want to rape your ass."

He grinned down at him. "I think that might be a felony."

"Not with the willing, it's not." Reese laughed. "Play a game with me." Reese spread out on the ground and played with his own erection, looking up at Samuel.

"I'll do anything with you when you look at me like that."

"Putty in my hands," Reese teased. "Okay, I've captured you out here. You're my prisoner. I've always wanted to do this, so bear with me."

Samuel laughed.

"See that big rock there."

"Yep."

"Go lay on it on your belly and spread you legs real wide."

Samuel walked over to the rock and did exactly as Reese asked him. Reese was suddenly really turned on beyond reason. He walked over, feasted his eyes on Samuel's hard, round ass, then slapped it. "Beg for mercy."

"Please, please don't." He started to laugh.

Reese slapped him again, laughing. "No academy award for you. Your ass is mine, slut."

Samuel glanced back at him. "Fuck me."

Reese spread some lube on his fingers and roughly inserted two of them into Samuel's ass. He licked his lips, not able to wait. He quickly tore open the condom and rolled it on. "Your ass is so fine, so open. I'm going to spread you good, baby."

He went into him without any more hesitation. Samuel groaned, grunted and then began to respond to the pace Reese had set. It felt so wonderful being inside of him. "You're mine," he cried out before he realized it. Later, he wondered if his declaration had been premature. Samuel wasn't his. They'd only just met.

Before Reese came, he pulled Samuel to his feet. With a foot balanced against the rock, he continued pumping into him, his hands pinching his nipples at the same time. He came with a deep groan of satisfaction, whispering his name against his back. Samuel leaned back against him and they stood there, rocking back and forth, holding each other. Reese never wanted it to end.

They stayed another night. Samuel fucked him out under the stars. Reluctantly, they decided to head back the next day. They arrived Sunday evening, at around nine thirty. The first thing they saw as they drove up the road was every light in the place was on.

"What's going on?" Reese gasped, hopping out of the truck and racing up the front steps. Samuel came right after him. When he walked in, he stood there, stunned. It was as though a hurricane had hit the place. The sofas were turned upside down, chairs were scattered across the room and the pictures hanging on the wall were all turned back to front.

Reese and Samuel looked at each other in awe.

Samuel was speechless as well.

"Enough!" Reese cried, his gaze searching the room. "Stop this, Ethan."

Samuel stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You think a ghost did this?"

"It has to be. Where is Hans? I'm surprised he didn't notice the lights were all on…and oh no," Reese cried out, "Hans? Hans, where are you? Samuel, run down and check his house."

Samuel raced out the front door.

"Hans?" Reese cried out, heading for the basement. He inserted his key and turned. The door stayed stubbornly closed. "Hans, are you down there?"

A voice called out. "Mr. Reese? Is that you?"

"Hans? Are you all right?"

"Yep, I think so. I got myself locked down here somehow."

"Don't worry. I'm going to get you out of there."

"The light is burnt out, I think. It won't go on."

"I thought that I just replaced that stupid light bulb," Reese replied, tugging on the door. "Damn it. Wait. I'll be right back." Reese ran into the kitchen and came back with a small crowbar. Maybe he could pry the door open.

There was a rumbling sound and someone called out again.

"Hans?" Reese struggled with the door, chipping off some wood and finally pulling it open. "Hans?" He took the stairs a little too fast and almost went flying. When he got to the bottom, he tripped over a body that lay in a huddle. Reese crawled over to him. "Hans? Are you all right?"

Hans groaned a little, then he reached out and clutched Reese's arm. "You're in danger here, Mr. Reese. Leave this place. He wants you gone."

"I'm not going anywhere," Reese said stubbornly as he pulled Hans to his feet. "Is anything broken?"

"I don't think so."

"What happened?" He put his arm around Hans and helped him up the stairs.

"I saw him, Mr. Reese. I saw him plain as day."

"Who?"

"Lincoln Pierce. He was holding Ethan by the throat, on his knees like. He told me to get out, but the door was jammed and I couldn't. I'm sure it was Lincoln who tore the place apart."

"No, I think Ethan did it. I think he was angry I left. He wants me to help him and I don't know how. I don't know what he wants."

"No one can help him, sir," Hans told him when they got to the top of the stairs.

"Hans, you got to talk to me. You saw it all. If I knew what happened here…I could…"

Samuel came in, out of breath. "Good, you found him. Are you all right?" he asked Hans.

"Fine. I may need a hand getting home."

"I'll drive you," Samuel offered. He looked at Reese.

"Go ahead. I'm fine. I'm going to try to put the living room back together. Hans, please, you need to talk to me. Tomorrow, okay?"

Hans nodded hesitantly. "Goodnight."

Reese began to put things back together, feeling such sadness. What did Ethan want from him? Then he paused. There was a piano playing, a voice was singing. It sounded like an echo, faded, but clear enough so he could make out the words. Live for the day…experience the pleasure…come with me tonight…I'll be yours until first light. Forget me tomorrow, baby. I'll be living for the day…

Reese walked slowly toward the ballroom, as if in a trance. The voice was calling to him like a drug. When he got to the entrance, he saw him, Ethan, sitting in the corner, his hands on the keyboard, singing those words in a voice truly blessed by the gods. He stared straight ahead, not appearing to see anything.

Reese swallowed. This couldn't be, but then he'd seen him before. "What do you want from me, Ethan?" He demanded, his own voice sounding sharp and desperate. "You ask me to help you, but I don't know how. Tell me how you died."

He stopped playing, smiled at him, then just vanished.

“Your gift is responding to me.”

Keiko shook her head and jerked at his coat. “What gift? It doesn’t do anything except let ghosts…hurt me.” Her gaze dropped to his coat, and she frowned. The coat seemed to be darkening right under her hands and becoming…black with red trim, and the buttons looked more gold than silver.

He pulled his palm from her belly to catch her chin, drawing her gaze to his. “You have the power to make the dead live and feel again. For a short time, anyway.” He released her chin, and set his palm back on her belly. “And it lives here. This is what those…creatures were after.” He looked into her eyes. “They wanted to feel alive.

Keiko frowned in confusion. “By biting me?”

He scowled. “They terrified you to make the gift spill into your blood. They bit you so they could drink your power straight from your veins.”

Clutching his coat, she shivered hard. “Like vampires?”

He snorted. “Without doubt. Vampires are supposed to be blood-drinking ghosts.”

She looked up into his eyes. “Is that what you want from me? To drink my power?”

His smile vanished, and an aching hunger filled his midnight gaze. He licked his lips. “Yes.”

A twinge of jealousy struck a note deep in her belly, and she tried pushing away the ridiculous thought. She wasn’t jealous about his admiration of another woman’s boobs, was she? After all, she’d pointed them out to him.

Together they watched in silence as the woman bowed her head and placed the pudgy man’s shaft in her mouth. Licking in short, swift flicks, Lottie swirled her tongue around his manhood until he squirmed in pleasure. With an expression of boredom on her face, she cupped his balls and increased her attack on his tip. The older man reached down, gripped Lottie’s hair to hold her in place, and uttered a guttural growl.

Embarrassment flooded Tammy and she avoided Jonas’s eyes. “Uh, granted she has a lot of the attributes I wanted in a body, but is she what I think she is? Are you offering me a hooker’s body?”

Jonas chuckled, making her even more disconcerted than before. She watched Lottie and the man trade positions so he could lap up her juices, and experienced a whole new level of mortification. She swallowed and felt the moisture flow between her legs.

“Why, Tammy, I’m surprised you’re not more liberal than this. She’s simply doing her job. Don’t ya’ll have whore houses in this time? I mean, in this day and age is anyone sensitive about the relations between a man and a woman? I wouldn’t think so. Not, at least, according to what I’ve seen on the large televisions called movies.”

His heated gaze bored into hers and she felt the wetness under her armpit match the damp warmth in her panties. Weird. No man, not even Brad, ever made her feel this awkward about sex. Granted, she didn’t participate in sex as much as she used to, but others doing so had never bothered her…before now. Why did Jonas make her feel so discombobulated? And where had she gotten the word discombobulated?

"Johnny, please."

Christine arched her body higher, using her legs to push her hips up as his tongue whipped over her pulsing nub time and time again. Her breath quickened as his hands slid higher, kneading her breasts while his thumbs played on her nipples. "Eat me harder, Johnny."

He obeyed her command, sucking the juices from her snatch. Even the sound of him devouring her sent another shockwave of release coursing through her body.

The man never stopped. How could he keep his mouth on her so long? Christine absently wondered at his stamina and smiled. Who cared? As long as he kept biting and sucking, she wouldn't complain.

"Oh, Johnny. I don't know if I can take much more." She lifted her head to glance at him and caught the corners of his mouth barely visible above her curly hair. He answered her by intensifying his hold on her, making her body shake with his attack.

At last he let go of her, rising above her to stare into her eyes. "I've missed you, baby, so much."

"I missed you, too, Johnny."

A buzzing sound startled her, but she vowed to ignore it. Nothing would get in the way of being with Johnny. Not tonight. Tonight would be the night they made it. Tonight he'd stay.

Her hands slid up his arms positioned on either side of her and came to rest on his mountainous shoulders. "I'm so glad you're home." Yet, even as she said the words, his face wavered.

Stunned, she stared at him as he grew less solid, more transparent with every second. "No! Johnny, don't leave." Her hands fell through his shoulders and she grasped air where once his arms had been.

The insistent buzzing grew louder as Johnny disappeared.

"No! Johnny, don't go!" She woke with a start and sat up, panting as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She glanced around at the bedroom, the bedroom she'd shared with her husband--her deceased husband--and stared at the closed window. The morning sun cascaded through the glass, warming the thin blanket she clutched to her breast, yet she felt nothing but the cold ache of loneliness.

Again. She'd had the dream again. And as in previous times, she'd awakened and lost her Johnny.

"Damn!" Grief mixed with anger as she threw the pillow at the buzzing alarm clock, knocking it off the nightstand. Reaching to the other pillow, she took the picture of Johnny lying on top, held it tightly against her chest and sobbed.

They made their way past Anne as if she wasn't even there, moving to the bed. The sun was on its way down, descending rapidly as afternoon turned to dusk. Warmth gave way to a chilled sea breeze, but the two lovers didn't seem to notice.

Anne watched with open curiosity as Shawn set Lynette down on the bed. She edged her way toward the pillow with her elbows. Her smile was bright and teasing as she reached the pillow and settled back, beckoning for her husband to join her.

Shawn knelt on the bed, inching forward before dropping a hand on either side of Lynette's hips.  Their lips met in a passionate kiss. Anne gasped when they made contact and a chill danced down her spine. It was as if she were in the midst of their embrace-feeling both sides of the excitement-the electricity of their joy.

Shawn's lips were rough to Lynette's smooth-the contrasts continued. The wife's gloved fingers graced a cheek already marred with whiskers. His jaw tightened at the contact as he shifted his weight to the side-a motion that made Anne lose her balance and lean against the wall. It was as if two entities had come to reside in her body and the sensation was absolutely overwhelming.

Minutes passed as the two teased each other with tiny licks and kisses. They escalated to gasp-filled open mouth affairs, tongues mingling amidst audible breaths and inarticulate desperation. Anne felt warmth fill her body in a way that she only ever experienced before feeding.  These two beings, alive, dead or otherwise, were providing her with more emotional nourishment than she had ever received at the hands of a lover.

Something snapped. Shawn began to clumsily work at Lynette's garment. Anne could feel his starvation to feel her bare skin-to explore the entirety of her body with thoughts that might have made the vampire blush had she not experienced them so many times before.

Patrick’s lips hungrily descended to mine. His hands roamed freely across my curves, cupping my double D cups. I grabbed hold of his firm buttocks and was ecstatic to discover he wore no bulky long johns under his wool slacks. The luscious curves and bumps outlined by his slacks were all him.

Thank heaven for the cold and our clothing barriers or else I’d be sorely tempted to… to… No! We couldn’t do that—could we? This was a school for heaven’s sake!

“Take this off,” he commanded me, tugging at the hem of my turtleneck. “I want to revel in your fantastic knockers, you beautiful, sexy, love goddess.”

Another inner voice nudged me further: Is there anything wrong with asking for something for myself every now and then?

No, there isn’t, I decided at last. I gave of myself all the time. Didn’t I deserve to enjoy the attentions of an incredibly attractive man once in a while?

“You don’t think my boobs are too much?” I asked.

Patrick shook his head no and slowly licked his lips. I sat up and slid the silky top over my head.

“I thought about having reduction surgery once, but I chickened out.”

He reached over and unhooked my bra, instantly freeing my full, round breasts. “Hmm… I’m glad you did. How can you ever have too much of a good thing?”

Wistfully, I thought of myself in the safety of heavy black robes and veil. Remembered myself kneeling in prayer, content in prayer, content in the silence I’d been more than glad to obey, in the name of what I’d thought I wanted.

Then.

“Fuck!” I said, surprising even myself with the vehemence inherent in the way I said it. “Fuck!” I cried. “Fuck!” I shrieked, now aware of milky streams that spewed from between Gardner’s fingers. Steaming streams of primitive moon-milk, that erupted headlong from the tip of his shaft and spattered across my exposed thighs and abdomen, and all the gasping, wrenching and grasping private areas between.

“Fuck!” Somehow, I found strength to close my eyes.

Somehow, knowing what I’d never been precisely told, but what I’d at some long-ago time intuited with my own kind of primeval knowledge, I tried to steel myself for the invasion of that inconceivably massive flesh into me. I tried to tighten myself. Tried, with another kind of primeval knowledge, this one utterly hopeless but there nonetheless, to fix myself so that I would be able to resist. So that I would be able to prevent his invasion with what little sentience remained to me.

But my body would not cooperate. The folds there…the gaping maw and the striving lips, the aching depths and the steadily streaming inner reaches, would not be tightened. Loose, soft, they would not be denied that which it had already been ordained they would have.

“Fuck?” I was sobbing openly. Sobbing with all the broken heart and dashed hope for which I’d never had the chance to sob before. Sobbing for what I wanted, what I could not have…all the many and varied, completely incongruous things I might never have.

Almost against my will, I reopened my eyes. “You’re so innocent.” Gardner’s voice had changed. Had become thin and thready, had seemed to take on the kind of pulsing beat that had driven the scalding moon-milk from him.

He still massaged himself…massaged with fingers that seemed to have lost much of their strength and most of their direction. “One day I will understand your innocence,” he vowed in the same thready and unsteady tones. “I promise you I will understand why…how…a woman of your age, in this day and age, can still seem like some kind of medieval…”

Nun.

He didn’t say it.

As if the notion was ludicrous.

And I remained powerless, with only that one repeated, pleading and cajoling word locked to my brain and my lips, to tell him how frighteningly close to the truth he’d just come.

“Fuck,” I whispered all but pleadingly.

And he laughed. “One day, soon, I will do to you what you want me to do.”

Damn, I thought for sure I went off the side of the road. Ouch. Wesley felt his forehead gingerly. I must have hit the windshield. But I had my seatbelt on. How’s that possible? And I had the strangest dream. I took the seatbelt off, jumped out of the car and fell against something hard. I guess it didn’t happen that way. He groped for the belt, but it wasn’t around his shoulder. Maybe it came loose when I braked. The engine was still running, the wipers working like mad, fighting with the snow. He peered through the cracked window for a sign of the other car, but saw nothing. I guess the other car was okay and drove on. Bastard, for not stopping to see if I was okay! Oh well, now to try and get this thing going again.

He revved the engine carefully, slowly inching, until he felt the tires grip. He knew exactly where he was because of the large boulder he could barely make out on the side of the road. Straightening up the vehicle, he drove on. He knew he didn’t have far to go. Joy filled him as he thought about his partner. Just minutes away and they’d be together. He heard the sound of a loud engine somewhere in the distance behind him. “Right, now the snow plough comes. Just a tad late…”

The log cabin was decorated with Christmas lights. They winked at him as he swung into the snow-laden driveway. The bright red, blue and green lights, made the snow look like cotton candy puffs.

Wesley sank knee deep in snow when he stepped out of the car. He groped in the backseat for his bag, but couldn’t find it. “Oh, well, I’ll look for it tomorrow,” he muttered, and hurried to the cabin. Something didn’t feel right. He felt dizzy, a bit disoriented, and his legs wouldn’t move as fast. “Man, I must have hit that window hard.”

The door was locked. Wes lifted the brass knocker and let it fall against the door several times. “Mm, did Ty move that thing up higher?” The door opened and Ty stood framed in the doorway, looking as handsome as ever. He had on a white knit ski sweater that showed off his dark, handsome face and black hair. Ty was taller than Wes, but now he seemed to tower over him.

“Oh my God. Come in,” Tyler said, reaching out for what Wes thought was going to be a bear hug filled with love. Instead, Ty put an arm around his shoulders and helped him inside.

As Duane and I were shown to a quiet corner of the main dining room, what stood beside our table for two raised the hair on my arms. I saw a trunk, the trunk, the exact same one I’d seen in my vision. It’s bigger than I’d imagined, built of wood with an external steel skeleton, its timber dented but polished, its metal brown yet smooth. It looked travel-worn, but still serviceable for future generations. Three words best describe it, sturdy, resistant, ageless. Two fancy hasp and staples secured the lid with old-fashioned padlocks. It sat on four old metal wheels with wooden guards and hard rubber tyres. Even empty, how one would lift its bulk by the metal handles bolted to each side beggared belief. The top’s hinges matched the decorative hasps. Its face divided down the centre into two doors, which I assumed swung out to either side. Its size amazed me. Four feet tall, five feet wide and four feet deep, a trunk like this is big enough for a world-traveller, big enough for a lifetime of souvenirs, big enough for…many things.

I frowned when I recollected the vision of a bundle hefted into the trunk. Would it be clothing? I mused as fingers of intrigue crept up my spine. Or a more sinister item, a body, perhaps…

Excitement clenched deep in my gut and kicked my brain into hyper drive. A body in the trunk means murder, which, if the body were Herbert Stokes, would explain why he never returned home. If it were murder, the culprit remained uncaught, unless Albert’s father, Kenneth, chose to keep the truth secret, as a parent might to protect the young. Why keep the secret in his adulthood…unless Kenneth killed his father. No. Not likely, unless Kenneth went on the cruise from which Herbert disappeared. Perhaps Herbert killed someone else and, to avert discovery, jumped ship and…disappeared. But who would he kill and why?

If someone opened the trunk at the end of Strathmorgen’s voyage, the body, whose ever it might be, should have been found, which means newspaper articles would exist, unless someone covered it up. If this is the case, someone should try to uncover it. Because I found the luggage key tag, I presumed the chosen someone was me.

No. I shook my head. I’m neither brave nor skilled in detection outside Internet research. I could concoct a hundred valid reasons to support my unsuitability for the task. Too busy. Not enough money. Too busy. No skills. Too busy. Other obligations. Too busy, too busy, too busy. I wouldn’t know one end of a sleuth from the other or where to begin. I cannot, and will not…

Although preposterous, the notion of an undiscovered body in a trunk, and how my mind created a murder mystery around a piece of printed cardboard, struck me like a kick in the shins. I laughed aloud. “I need to keep my wild thoughts caged.”

Duane raised his eyebrows at my unexpected outburst. “You always talk to old luggage?”

To confirm my mind’s fantasy flight, I wanted to touch the trunk. This particular trunk is in the here-and-now. It’s a hard, solid, real thing—an ornament in a pub whose décor is intended to convey its modern day visitors’ imaginations back to a more genteel time of discovery, danger and romance. This trunk is an immense item of luggage neither containing Herbert Stokes’s body nor belonging to him. Even though it’s a twin to the one in my mind’s eye, its presence here is coincidence and touching its inert form will provide proof. It’s a wood and metal box, nothing more.

I reached forward to stroke its worn smoothness. Before my hand reached it, a powerful blue spark arced between my fingertip and the trunk’s metal skeleton, emitting an audible crack. A painful sting shot up my arm. Wrenching my hand away, I looked at my shoes. Rubber soles. The floor’s timber parquetry. “There shouldn’t be any static electricity,” I muttered.

Duane squinted even more oddly at me as I shook my tingling hand.

“What happened?”

“It bit…uh, bit of static.” I nearly said, It bit me.

I saw his hands bound to the headboard, naked, sweaty body pressed to dirty sheets. His erection pounded against my lips and then mine inside of him. Our bodies twisted and contorted together under unflattering yellow lights. It was not the lovemaking that sent a shiver of pleasure through my loins though. It was the image of beautiful brown eyes dilating from the poison rushing through his veins. His body jerked, convulsing in pain. His knuckles had become white as his hands clenched into fists.

Jack had fought the toxin in his body even while in excruciating pain. His penis had stood erect against the well-defined contours of his stomach, glistening with the remnants of wet kisses and sticky pleasure. His face twisted in agony. My breathing became heavy and I pressed my hand to my thigh as if to stop the throbbing against my leg. It was the dying that turned me on, the pain of it all. Jack had been on the edge of the abyss and I had pushed him in, watching him fall into darkness. I pushed my plate away from me and swallowed the bit of food in my mouth. I was done with dinner, swallowing had become difficult and the throbbing in my loins could no longer be ignored.

I should have felt something. This was the man I had loved, the man I had shared my life with for years. Why then was their no guilt? Through instant replay I watched him die over and over and only felt the rush of sexual adrenaline. The dead eyes came back to me again—soft, dilated, brown eyes. A single glistening tear trailed out of the corner of his eye onto the dirty pillowcase.

It was almost as if I could reach out and touch him. His flesh had remained hot even after his last breath had slipped across taught pink lips. Sweat had rolled down his chest and settled into the curvature of his belly button. I remembered staring at him for the longest time—like a painting hung in a museum. He had become a work of art to me. If anything, I treasured him more now then I had when he was alive.