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No thought goes into it, I simply act as I slam my fist against the switch plate and turn the lights on and off in a quick sequence. That gets their attention. I fling the door open so hard it crashes into the wall with a bouncing thud. They all stare in my direction, mouths open in fear instead of pleasure, but nobody moves. I want them the fuck out of here, now. I march over to where his shoes are carelessly discarded and throw them onto the porch one after another, then I grab hers. Finally, their lust-addled minds catch up and register the danger.
We love a jealous man (and he’s a ghost)
As long as she remains in this house—and I intend to do anything in my power to keep her here—she’s mine. Mine to watch. Mine to worship. Mine to hurt. She can’t escape me. Not now. Not ever.
And if—no, when— I touch her next time, I’ll leave my mark, so she can never doubt how much I want her again. She’ll learn who she belongs to.
The word Mine is written on the steamy mirror. I’ve never moved so quickly in my life. My heart is at a gallop as I round the open doorway to the bedroom. Absolutely, the fuck not, I’m getting the hell out of here. I immediately start stuffing any clothing in reaching distance in my duffle bag. I grab Binx and run downstairs to pack up his essentials as I shove my phone to my ear. My heart picks up pace with each shrill ring.
Lol me
“Don’t let go; we wouldn’t want you to snap that pretty neck.” The gritted words ghost across my mind and send tingles straight to my pussy. What’s wrong with me that I’m turned on when I should be scared out of my mind and loading my shit into a moving truck. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.
I actually slept through the night for the last couple days. I blare my music, put up glowing Christmas lights while naked without a care—yes, in November—and sip on a pumpkin cider.
I couldn’t save my sister, but I will save Skye. If she wants to live like a wraith, I’ll become her grim reaper. I’ll give her a taste of death until she can no longer stomach the idea. Until she was afraid of it. Until she wanted to live.
When everything is ripped away from you, what’s left? Without societal norms, a long life to consider, and all the things anchoring me to the world I’d once known, I’m finding that what’s left is something far more primal. I’m hungry for affection. I’m desperate not to be alone anymore. I’m in need of companionship. My identity has boiled down to my most baser desires.
I’d never been a possessive partner, never saw the reason in it. But now, I’m relentlessly protective of her—jealous, greedy—my conscience corrected. Could anyone blame me? How could I not become obsessed with her when she is the only escape I have from the grief that haunts me. Eight months, hundreds of days, and thousands of hours all spent getting to know her. And I do. Know her. Better than she knows herself, even.
I know the most basic things, like the fact that her favorite color is black. But it’s not just any black. It’s the black of smoke and gauzy curtains. It’s the hazy kind of black that’s half-in, half-out. Just like her. Hair black, lips black, nails black, even her panties are black. The color suits her in every way.
I also know the most intimate things, like the fact that she’s severely depressed in a way that tells me she could end up just like my sister. She thinks she hides it well, but there’s no hiding from me. She relies on the usual coping mechanisms: self-harm, drugs, and alcohol to dull the agony. Her impending self-destruction isn’t something I revel in watching, but I can never tear my eyes away for fear that I’ll blink and she’ll be gone. Despite the darkness that bears down upon her like a heavy shadow, she does have some light in her life. She loves web and graphic design, so she can easily
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Then there’s her other love, her books. It’s so peaceful to sit here in silence with her as she loses herself in new worlds. She’s read so many since she’s been here that I can tell what types of scenes she’s reading just by her reaction. When her favorite characters are in danger, her brows furrow and she bites at her long, pointed nail. When she’s reading something scary, she pulls her shirt up to cover her mouth, as if it will hold in the gasp she eventually lets out every time. And when she’s reading one of her romance books, well, that’s obvious because she can’t help but touch herself.
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When she moved in, it changed everything for me. Part of myself that had been lost started to revive. This shared passion of ours has given me back so much—memories of my father and I singing along to Green Day when he’d pick me up from school, getting stoned with friends listening to Nirvana, driving with the windows down next to my sister with blink 182 blasting and the wind in our hair.
The thing is, she doesn’t need to ask, I’m right here and I’m well on my way to falling head over heels for her despite everything that makes it totally impossible.
She doesn’t understand how badly I yearn for her, but I’m determined to make her see. My need for her is a tightening collar around my throat that grows more possessive each day. Sometimes the linked chain pulls so taut, there’s no room for me to breathe. And because the other end is attached to her, my little wraith, I don’t even miss the air.
Yearningggggg
Now that I’ve found her, I’m never going to let her go.
Giving into temptation, I reach out; the stroke across her forehead is just a whisper shy of a real touch. I can’t feel the warmth beneath her skin, but there’s an undeniable magnetism between us. She doesn’t react, once again confirming that I can’t comfort her like this.
But I’ll have Skye any way I can for now, even like this.
I flick through my hanging clothes, starting with my extensive band-tee collection. A staple in my wardrobe, but there may be such thing as having too much of a good thing.
Just when I think I can’t stand the agonizing anticipation any longer, a familiar voice comes from the hallway causing me to jump in surprise. “Thirty, twenty-nine . . .”
“Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen . . .” His voice is closer now and I can hear the arrogant satisfaction as he draws out each number in a sultry taunt.
Panting breaths sneak past my lips despite my best efforts to hold them in. The clunking of his boots sends chills across my skin. He’s just outside my bedroom door. I swear I nearly pass out from anticipation as the long whine of the door announces his arrival before he does. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” he whispers.
AHHHHHHHHHHH
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he says as he closes the closet. I watch through the open edge of the curtain as he turns his attention to the bed. “I’ve been waiting so long to see you again. It’s been agony. Have you missed me?” He drops down and flips up the bed skirt. An impatient laugh leaves him.
“Little wraith, is that you?” The antagonistic tapping of his long, lean fingers on the hollow wood intensifies my need to have them between my legs. “If I come in there, am I going to find you wet and panting for me, like the needy little slut we both know you are?”
Icy hot desire flares back at me in those gray-blue eyes. I’m speechless as he grabs my wrist and pushes my fingers past his lips. My breath catches in my throat as he swirls his pink tongue around them until all of my juices have been wiped clean. A moan finally breaks through the awestricken silence. “You just couldn’t wait, could you?”
“Are you going to hurt me?” My voice drips with lust instead of apprehension. “I’ll give you exactly what you need, don’t worry, love.” His gaze searches mine intently for several intense seconds.
My stranger’s inked hand wraps around my throat, halting my words. The chill of his silver rings pressing into my sweaty skin makes me shiver. I take advantage of our proximity to admire him. He looks exactly the same as I remember–devastatingly good looking with his intentionally messy hair, chiseled cheekbones, and pouty lips, wrapped in the perfectly understated package of black denim and a cut-off tee.
‘violent delights have violent ends’. He would love Shakespeare. I file that tidbit away as he leans his head down to recapture my attention. His eyes are rolling storm clouds now.
“For not following the rules, I’m going to make you suffer.” The final word is a purr and the glint in my eye tells me just how well he understands what it does to me to hear him say that. “Bend over and face the wall.” He finally releases my throat.
“Look at how desperate you are.” A low laugh skates up the area of my thigh that’s exposed above my tall socks and I have to curl my toes not to jump at his proximity. He’s as silent as the dead when he wants to be.
“Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm,” he sighs, “I love that smart-ass mouth, but it’s like you’re eager for me to teach you a lesson.” I am.
Ahhhhhhhhhh
Fuck, I’ll pray to him if that’s what he wants. I’ll get on my knees, I’ll bruise them, bloody them, I’ll sit here all night if that’s what it takes. He’s the only who can give me what I need. It’s an insatiable itch that’s been torturing me for months. I need him to scratch it or I’ll lose my mind entirely.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, I’m going to bring you to the edge,” I whine in protest, interrupting him, and he lands another slap in the same spot. “I’m going to bring you to the edge,” he repeats through gritted teeth, “and then you’re going to go hide and think about what happens when you don’t play along. When I find you, maybe I’ll let you come.”
“Do you think I can make you cry real tears for me before I give into you?” He pinches my clit, punctuating his taunt. “I think you will, and I’m going to drink them all like a man left in the desert because that’s what I am without you, insatiably parched.”
“I know. It feels so good to let me take over and ease those beautiful, sick thoughts in that mind of yours, doesn’t it?” He strokes my clit in soft, teasing circles with his thumb as his pointer finger enters me.
“Take off the sweatshirt.” “But it’s freezing in here,” I argue. “Trust me, you won’t be cold for long.” He inhales deeply along the curve of my neck. “Now. Take. It. Off.”
Without tearing his eyes away, he rubs a thumb across my lower lip and starts counting, “sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight . . .” His voice is an impatient growl.
“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen . . .” he drawls from the shower.
“Ten, nine, eight . . .”
The shadow of two feet stretches forward. I slap my hand over my mouth just in time to muffle the gasp that escapes my lips. I shouldn’t have doubted him. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
“Ready or not, here I come.”
With a wicked glint in his eye, my stranger tilts his head and his smile stretches wide. “There she is.” He jumps down the remaining stairs with a heavy thump that makes me yelp.
I’m momentarily captivated by the pleasure of feeling her pulse jumping beneath my fingertips. It’s beating so fast I can feel it beneath the adorable thigh high socks she wears.
“You like our game, little wraith.”
“I know, and I’m going to make all the anticipation worth it.” I place my hands on her knees, lean forward and spit. A small gasp leaves her lips and it elicits a groan from deep within me.
Hot
“Sit on my face. I want a taste, too.” “Right here?” “Yes, right now.”
She gasps and drops the flashlight as my tongue swipes through her. I stop abruptly, clucking my tongue. “That won’t do. Pick it back up. I want you to hold on tight and let me see every moment of pleasure on that gorgeous face while I eat my fill.”
My mouth, chin, and nose are already soaked, covered in her.
For my first meal as a dead man, I couldn’t have asked for better. I can’t get enough. I swipe my tongue between her lips and spear it inside her, causing her to writhe above me. I open my eyes to capture the glorious moment of her slowly riding my face and I’m not disappointed by the view.
“Stop holding it in, I want to hear everything.” Her moan in response vibrates against my finger. “That’s my girl.”
