Haunted Heroine

by Sarah Kuhn

  “I don’t think either of us have handled the unexpected particularly well recently,” I murmured, sniffling.

  His smile widened. “You are very correct about that. But we aren’t perfect, either. And baby . . .” He pulled back, his expression turning thoughtful. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I left you last time. And I’m sorry if anything I said or did contributed to you feeling like you couldn’t handle things. You are so strong. So extraordinary. And I wish you could see yourself as I do. I . . .” He shook his head, frustration passing over his face. “I had an irrational reaction to you mentioning Richard. I was jealous. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Evie. It provokes reactions in me that are not entirely logical.”

  “Lucy and Aveda said something like that,” I murmured. “That neither of us really had, you know, a serious relationship before this. We don’t always know how to . . . to do stuff. Or handle all the feelings that come up. And I’m sorry, too. I was hiding stuff from you and trying to magically fix our problems with sex, but I also wanted to feel close to you again. It broke my heart to not feel that way.”

  “I should not have dismissed your feelings the way I did,” he said, stroking my cheek again. “I couldn’t see beyond my worry for you, it overwhelmed everything else. And I think underneath it all . . .” He trailed off, his eyes searching my face. Like it was a puzzle he was trying to make sense of. “I think,” he continued hesitantly, “there is always an underlying fear for me that it would be easy for you to leave me. That you will find me unworthy, somehow. The only other person I had any sort of human connection with before was my mother—and it was all too easy for her to throw me away.” His voice broke and a muscle in his jaw twitched, his eyes going shiny with unshed tears.

  “Oh, Nate.” My own tears were streaming freely down my cheeks. I cupped his face in my hands and met his gaze, hoping he could see every single thing I was feeling. “That kind of scar doesn’t heal overnight—I know that better than anyone. But you have me, completely. I’m all in, forever. And . . . and you know it’s not just me you have now. You . . . we have a family. And it sounds like they’ve all been trying to get us to come to our senses and talk things out.”

  “Indeed,” he said, smiling slightly. “I have gotten a few choice words from Scott about this situation as well.”

  “We were both so worried about each other,” I said. “Trying to protect each other from our own feelings. But I want you to know, you can always cry on me. Like I just cried on you. You don’t have to hold it all in. You . . . we don’t have to be strong all the time.” I leaned in close, hoping he’d hear everything I was saying. I wanted him to feel as safe as I did, as protected. “I love you with everything I have. I love you so much, it’s overwhelming sometimes. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you know that, every single day. You’re the most worthy person I’ve ever known.”

  Tenderness lit his dark eyes again and my heart clenched.

  “I love you too,” he said, his deep voice rough and shaky.

  And then, because there was nothing else we could express in mere words, I leaned in and kissed him.

  He made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, then pulled me against his body. His tongue parted my lips, deepening our kiss. I sank into the irresistible wet heat of it, my greedy fingertips skimming up the muscles of his chest to stroke his neck, his gorgeous broad shoulders. Everything.

  It had been so long since he’d kissed me with so much passion, with such intent. We’d gotten close to that when we’d made out in my dorm room the other day, but this was a whole other level.

  His big hands drifted down my back and framed my hips, and he pulled me up so I was straddling him. I groaned low in my throat, my hands slipping under his shirt so I could finally feel his bare skin, the hard planes of his chest. Desire blazed through me, making me writhe against him. I was so starved for touch, for his touch. For his hands tangling in my hair and his tongue hot against mine. For all of it.

  “Evie,” he growled against my mouth. He pulled back, locking his eyes with mine. He was breathing hard and he looked so . . . hungry. I felt another stab of desire so intense, it made me dizzy. “I just realized,” he continued, doing his best to get the words out, “it’s late at night. And we’re in an office. With a desk.”

  “Uh, yes,” I said, my mind running a million miles a minute. It was really hard to focus on anything except how hard he was, that insistent pulse between my legs. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

  “No.” He leaned in and grazed his lips against my earlobe. I shivered. “It just made me think about your fantasy. The one you were telling me about the other day.”

  “Oh!” I yelped, memories from that moment flooding my mind, short-circuiting my brain. “I . . . um . . .”

  His lips moved to my neck and the words died in my throat. He pulled back and gazed at me, then he reached over and traced his fingertips over my collarbone. Just like the hot stranger in my fantasy. I shivered.

  “So I’m supposed to be a stranger,” he said. “And you’re . . .” His eyes skimmed over my Sexy Professor ensemble. “What is this you’re wearing?”

  “This is that Sexy Professor costume,” I managed. Want was coursing through my bloodstream now, making it difficult to form complete sentences. “Kind of perfect for that particular fantasy.”

  “Mmm,” he said, his fingertips drifting lower to trace the creamy silk of the neckline. My nipples tightened, two hard points against the delicate lace of my bra. I saw his gaze drift lower, taking them in. The material of this costume was so thin, he could pretty much see everything. He made a sound low in his throat, a groan that made me flush all over.

  “Here, let me . . .” I raised a hand to the buttons of my blouse, preparing to undo them. He caught my wrist and locked his gaze with mine once again.

  “No,” he rasped, his voice low and husky. “Let me.” His fingertips brushed over my collarbone again and drifted between my breasts. “Let me take care of you,” he growled in my ear. “Let me be in charge.” He toyed with the top button of my blouse, then flicked it open. I inhaled sharply. “You only have to feel, Evie—I know what you want. And I want to give you more pleasure than you can handle. I want to take care of you the way you need me to.”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”

  His hand slid under my blouse and cupped my breast, his big thumb stroking my nipple through my bra. Chills coursed through me and I closed my eyes, unable to think of anything but how good that felt. He buried his face in my neck, his tongue tracing patterns over one of my most sensitive spots.

  “Stand up,” he managed between kisses.

  “Why?” I gasped, my head swimming as he rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  He pulled back and gave me the most wicked grin.

  “I’m in charge, remember?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. He leaned in again, his lips brushing my ear. “And I’m going to fuck you against your desk.”

  “Holy . . .” I squeaked out, but I couldn’t get any farther than that.

  He got to his feet and pulled me up with him, then kissed me deeply and backed me up against the desk, his hands caressing my hips. I scooted my ass backward, so I was sitting on the edge of the desk, and wrapped my legs around him, pulling him against me so I could feel that beautiful hardness again.

  “How do you want to be . . . positioned?” he said, somehow making that sound like the dirtiest word in the history of the English language. All the air left my lungs. “Was your fantasy like this?” He gestured to our current set-up. “Or were you bent over the desk?”

  “I . . .” I gripped the front of his t-shirt, holding on for dear life. “I want you to decide.”

  He gave me another wicked grin. “Then stay like this—I want to see all of you.” He kissed me, stroking his palms up my thighs, his fingertips grazing my
sides, and landing on the neckline of my blouse again, toying with the flimsy material.

  “How attached are you to this shirt?” he murmured against my mouth.

  “Actually, I hate it,” I said, my words coming out all breathy and frantic.

  He didn’t waste any more words, just ripped my blouse open. Buttons flew everywhere, pinging against the hardwood floor. I tried to shrug the tattered scraps of silk off, but Nate grabbed my wrist again. “Leave that,” he said. “And brace yourself against the desk.”

  I bit my lip and grinned at him, lowering my hands to the desk. He framed my hips with his hands and peppered kisses along my collarbone, his thumb brushing the lace of my bra aside. When his mouth finally found my exposed nipple, I moaned.

  “Wait . . . shit . . .” I gasped, laughing a little. “God, this is the dorm room all over again, I’m so loud . . .”

  “I love it when you’re loud,” he countered, his teeth grazing the slope of my breast. “And you’re supposed to just let go, remember? Let me take care of everything.”

  “Yes, but . . . oh god, please keep doing that . . . we’re sort of in public, and I . . . I feel like I can’t . . .”

  He raised his head, his eyes searching mine. His hands moved to my thighs again and he pushed my skirt up until it was bunched around my waist. His fingertips skimmed the garters and the lace of my panties, sending little shockwaves through my entire system.

  “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, taking in my fancy underwear set-up. He lingered on the panties. “Can I take these off?”

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  I heard a rip, felt the lace tearing away, and then he held the delicate material out to me, bunched in his hand. “What if,” he said slowly, getting that wicked glint in his eyes again, “you had something to scream against? Would that make you feel safe—like you could truly let go and just feel?”

  “Oh god,” I whimpered.

  His wicked grin widened as I allowed him to gag me with the panties. “If you want me to stop at any point, squeeze my shoulder,” he said, stroking my nipple again. “Otherwise, keep your hands on the desk.”

  I nodded, barely able to contain the waves of desire coursing through me. He lowered his mouth to my nipple again, taking his time, swirling his tongue around the tip. I gripped the desk and threw my head back, moaning through the gag, giving in to the feel of his teeth grazing my delicate flesh.

  He moved lower, going to his knees, his tongue brushing my navel. I did as I’d been instructed, my hands clutching the desk in a death grip. My knees were wobbling like mad, and I knew if I let go or tried to stand all the way up, I’d just slide to the floor. He grinned up at me, sliding a hand up my ribcage to palm my breast. Then he leaned in and stroked his tongue between my legs.

  I screamed against the lace of my panties, wanting nothing more than to wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him even closer—but I also knew that if I let go of the desk, I’d collapse. His tongue found a rhythm, bringing me close to my peak over and over again, until I was practically sobbing with need.

  I almost cried when he got to his feet again, his fingers wrapping around my hips. I lifted one of my hands from the desk and stroked him through his pants, thrilling at how hard he was.

  With shaking fingers, I undid his belt, his pants, and pulled his cock free.

  “Put your hands back on the desk,” he growled. “Or . . .”

  I stroked him again and he groaned, his hands clutching the end of the desk, his knuckles turning white.

  “Or I’m not going to last long,” he finally managed.

  I did as I was told, but not before throwing him a wicked look of my own.

  He gripped my hips again and guided himself inside me with one long thrust. I moaned against the gag again, wrapping my legs around his waist, my high heels digging into his back. Then he started to fuck me, slowly at first, building to a rhythm of long, rough strokes. Each one sent a whole new wave of pleasure through me, escalating in intensity until I was completely overwhelmed.

  The desk shook beneath us, rattling with every thrust. I gripped it harder, closing my eyes, losing myself in the sensation. I felt his tongue against my nipple again, then his whole mouth, taking me in . . . god.

  And then he slid a hand between us and started to touch me, right where I needed it most. Every part of me felt so stimulated, so pleasured. I felt taken care of. It was what I’d always wanted from this fantasy, to be able to let myself go and not worry about anything and . . . just . . . feel . . .

  I threw my head back and screamed against the gag, holding nothing back.

  “Evie.” Nate’s voice was rough with desire. “Open your eyes—look at me, baby.”

  I opened my eyes—and realized there were tears streaming down my cheeks. I met his gaze, and was transported back to that moment right after we’d found out we were pregnant—our eyes locking as he slid inside of me. Feeling so connected. So free.

  God, I loved this man. This man who went out of his way to give me everything I needed. Who wanted me to feel taken care of and protected and safe. Who loved me beyond all measure, who gave himself to me as fully as I’d given myself to him.

  Who made me feel like I could let go. Because he’d always catch me.

  He thrust into me hard, one long stroke. Just pleasure, nothing else. And then he pressed his fingers right where I needed them and everything exploded into bright light.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “MY GOD, EVIE.” Aveda collapsed onto her dorm bed, laughing. “I know you set out on that mini mission to Richard’s with the goal of empowering yourself, but you really went above and beyond.”

  I grinned at her, propping myself up on my pillow. After living out my fantasy with Nate, I’d returned to our room and fallen straight into bed, sleeping more deeply than I had in ages. Now a new day had dawned, and Aveda was demanding all the details.

  She sat up and held out a hand, ticking off her fingers. “I mean, you discovered a shrine to you, engaged in a whole conversation with Ghost Richard, and then had mind-blowing desk sex with your hot husband. That’s very overachieving of you.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know that all of this counts as productive since I was so freaked out by Ghost Richard I didn’t ask him anything useful,” I countered. I was technically still in bed, not totally awake yet. “But the last part was . . .” I flushed, and couldn’t stop the satisfied grin from spreading over my face.

  I’d sent Nate home afterward, both of us promising to keep talking. To be honest with each other. He was still worried about me, but assured me that he knew I could handle whatever the rest of this mission held (even if I didn’t exactly know that myself). My feelings were still messy and uncontained, all over the place. Nowhere close to perfect. But I was starting to be okay with existing there, just letting all those emotions unfurl inside of me.

  “I’m glad it was,” Aveda said, waggling her eyebrows. “I’m so happy you two were able to get there. And that you fulfilled one of your longest held fantasies in the process.”

  “Thank you for talking to both of us,” I said earnestly, meeting her eyes. “Really. I mean, ultimately we needed to talk to each other to make things right. But you and Lucy and Bea and Scott . . . you were all there for us. It really helped.”

  “Well, of course,” she said, waving a hand. “We’re always here for you, Evie—always. That’s what family does. And you have certainly been there for all of us in the same way. Now.” Her brow furrowed as she shifted into business mode. “What do we think is going on with this Richard thing? Does everything you discovered mean all of this was his doing—that he somehow summoned the demonic energy that’s powering the Morgan College ghosts so you’d return and . . . what? Get back together with him?” She shuddered.

  “That’s certainly what his ghostly form seemed to imply,” I said, gnawing on my lower li
p. “First of all, I think we need to try to track him down—there’s a chance that ghost wasn’t actually him. It could have been an echo ghost, like the ones we encountered.”

  “Which means he was at Morgan Hall at some point,” Aveda said. “But it doesn’t sound like Ghost Richard acted like the echo ghosts who chased us—they were more like snarling, zombie-type beings. You had an entire coherent conversation with him.”

  “True,” I murmured. I gazed up at the ceiling, then let my eyes wander to her Heroic Trio poster. “What if . . .” I frowned into space. “What if the Richard Ghost is more like Ghost Victoria?” I said, feeling out a theory. “An apparition of someone who’s still technically alive. What if . . .” I closed my eyes tight, trying to get all the bits of information to come together. I thought back to our conversation with Victoria, how she’d seemed at peace with so many aspects of her Morgan experience . . . but you could tell she had regrets. That she still thought about this place. That there was so much that she wished could have been different . . .

  “Annie,” I said slowly, “remember how Tess was talking about paranormal energy: how they think it’s remnants of human feelings that were left behind, those emotional resonances? What if the remnants are somehow tied to regrets that person had? Unfinished business? Stuff that would make a spirit really want to haunt a place.”

  “Hmm,” she said, her face taking on a thoughtful cast. “Let’s think back to all our ghosts. Theater Ghost is still mad at her parents. Courtyard Ghost is rightfully pissed at all the terrible men on her wagon train. Ghost Victoria obviously has regrets tied to this place. Clementine Caldwell . . . well, she’s my favorite petty bitch, and petty bitches never let go of anything ever.”

  “And Richard,” I breathed, the weight of certainty settling in my chest. “Well, the real Richard apparently never got over me, given the shrine and all. So obviously there’s some regret there.”