HauntMe

by Lena Loneson

  There hadn’t been any progress on the case in the past few years but he’d always been kind to her.

  Minerva had cursed Bram, wished him to hell a thousand times for getting himself killed and for losing their house and forcing her out of a promising acting career and into the phone psychic business. She’d found a talent and risen through the ranks to combine her intelligence—what better to scam people with?—and the natural charisma she had as an actress to start her own show. Adding sex to the psychic mix made her something new, something perfect for her edgy, hip network courting the eighteen-to-forty-nine demographic. She couldn’t complain—it was a hell of a lot of fun and occasionally she helped people.

  Bram’s death had been the start of an amazing career. And she’d trade it all to have him back.

  “Bram?” Minerva felt silly calling out to a ghost in her backyard. Where did she think he was hiding, in the pool?

  There was no answer. She stared at the water for a long time, letting her tea grow cold. Then she closed the computer and moved inside. Might as well take that shower.

  She was careful to turn on the house alarm again behind her. The woman saying “Armed” sounded like an old friend.

  Chapter Six

  Bram

  He watched her typing, frustrated that he couldn’t call out to her. He couldn’t even make his voice manifest in her mind. Why had they been able to speak so clearly earlier, and even felt each other’s skin, but were so far apart tonight?

  When he’d watched her in the dressing room, touching herself, he’d felt something sizzle in the air. Electricity, sexuality…he wasn’t sure, but it had sparked between them, parting the veil between his world and hers.

  Could that be it? The hornier he got, the more he could touch her?

  He followed her inside, his body—or whatever it was, his sense of self—passing easily through the glass door without disturbing the alarm. He trailed her up the stairs, into the bathroom and watched his wife unzip her dress. Bram hovered behind her, observing her in the mirror over her shoulder. Her reflection was the only one—over the years, he’d have forgotten what he looked like if it hadn’t been for the photos Minerva kept of him.

  He watched the dress slide across her skin. Bram felt warmth where he imagined his cock might be, if he were still alive.

  Well, if getting horny was what he needed, it was time for an experiment.

  Chapter Seven

  Wet

  Minerva eyed herself in the bathroom mirror, trying to see her body as Bram would. Had he watched her grow older all these years, counting each new wrinkle as it appeared? Had he been following her for that long?

  Or was this haunting new? Had the presence of the spectacled man at her show tonight drawn him back from the afterlife for the first time? She shivered, remembering the heart in his hands, reminiscent of the way her husband’s body had been found.

  Was he just now seeing the ravages of age on his wife?

  She unzipped the dress, shrugging the straps from her shoulders and letting the sequined fabric fall to the floor. A red bra held her breasts high. Curls danced around her shoulders. Freckles traced their way across her collarbone, down her chest. She reached behind her back and unclasped the bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her nipples sprang free, dark smudges against pale breasts. They were larger than on her wedding night with Bram. Heavier. She held the orbs in her hands, weighing them in her fingers. Her nipples had pebbled already. Every inch of her skin felt sensitive and alive.

  Could he see her now?

  In the mirror, she watched her fingers trail downward from her breasts to her stomach, cupping the soft flesh. Her body was no longer that of a young woman. The faint hint of pale-pink stretch marks were visible by her hips. The thatch of brown curls between her legs held speckles of white.

  She teased at the hair with her fingers, spreading her legs.

  “Can you see me?” she asked to the air. “I miss the way you did this.” Minerva ran a finger in between the folds of her labia, teasing herself. Her other hand fanned at her pubic hair, moving it aside for a better reach. She moved over her clit, keeping her touch light and delicate.

  “I want you to touch me like this.”

  In the past, she would have responded in her mind with his voice. Her best fantasizing came from remembering him. But she wasn’t remembering or imagining now—she was listening.

  “Please, Bram?”

  There was a soft brush on her shoulder. Her own hair, moving in a breeze from nowhere? His mouth? She couldn’t tell.

  “Please.” She pressed a finger inside herself, up the channel of her womanhood as far as it would go, flicking against her G-spot. Her other hand tickled her curls. She watched herself in the mirror, her red lips partially open, breathing quickly, her breasts heaving with the motion, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. The space between her legs grew slick with wetness as she moved a second finger inside herself.

  As she watched in the mirror, the curls at her shoulder moved aside, slowly, deliberately. There was no breeze. She felt a warm breath in her ear and knew it was him. He was speaking, though she couldn’t make out the words.

  “I miss you,” she said and with those words she felt a touch, delicate and moist, on her earlobe. His tongue stayed for a moment, teasing her, then moved, licking down her neck, across the top of her shoulder. The ghost—she was sure it was him now—placed kisses across her shoulders, though she saw nothing in the mirror. “I miss you, Bram.”

  She closed her eyes and took a step backward. The bare skin of her ass brushed up against warmth, against him, her husband, and her shoulder blades pressed into his strong chest. Her fingers inside herself worked faster, sliding in her juices, then another hand joined them against her clit, flicking fingers at her delicate pearl. Minerva breathed hard and she could feel his chest moving in synch against her back. His other hand wrapped itself around her waist. She worried about what he’d find there—her curves were significantly curvier these days—but her fears were eased with the growing erection against her ass, slipping in between her cheeks. His pre-cum dripped down the side of her thigh, mixing with her own wetness. She leaned harder against him, removing her hands from herself, grasping at him instead, slipping his cock between her legs, sliding it inside the folds of her labia, willing him to thrust, yearning for the friction between them as it had been in the past.

  But then with strong, nearly corporeal hands, he turned her around, placing her ass against the bathroom counter. Minerva’s eyes flew open, seeing nothing in front of her, no ghost, no husband. But she could still feel him against her body.

  And then the lights went out. The bathroom was dark, with little light from the window this late at night, and it no longer mattered what she could or couldn’t see.

  Hot, wet lips pressed against hers. She moaned, opening her mouth to let him inside. His tongue danced with hers, slick and wanting. He held her close, her breasts smashed firmly against his strong chest. She ran fingers down his arms, tracing the muscles exactly as they had been seven years ago. She let them follow across his chest, through the light dusting of hair, finding a nipple that she tweaked with her thumb.

  She thought she heard him moan.

  And then his cock, his glorious cock, which she’d missed every day for seven years, pressed in between her legs. Their hips moved as if glued together and she angled herself, waiting for him to find her cunt in the darkness. The tip of him nestled at her entrance, firm and hot. She reached for his cock again but he grabbed her hands, holding one up to his mouth, placing small bites along her palm. She buckled at the knees, done in by the familiarity of it, by how much she missed the scraping of his teeth on her skin, so gentle.

  “Take me, Bram.” Why wouldn’t he fuck her? She was wet and waiting and ready for him. “Why are you here, if not to have me?”

  To protect you, the voice in her head said. It was in his accent, but was it her speaking this time, or him? How could he protect her if he
was dead?

  “Sexual energy,” she gasped. “Is that what you need?”

  As if it were an answer, his tongue plunged into her mouth again. She sucked his saliva into her, wanting everything she could get. The more she could give him, the stronger he would be, she realized. The more they could share…

  She pulled him with her toward the shower. Damn, but she would have loved one of these when they were married—two showerheads, one on each end, pretty much wasted without the ability to share them. She broke off the kiss reluctantly, sucking on his lip. Then she turned and started the shower, fumbling for the taps in the dark. Her hands slid off the metal more than once before she was able to grip it and turn. She braced herself against the cold tile of the shower walls. “Don’t leave me, Bram,” she warned him, scared to break contact for even that brief moment. She felt his hand run down her side, tickling the skin, and felt better. She had both showerheads running now and turned the water up, keeping it hot.

  “Remember Escondido Falls, Bram?” she asked, panting. They’d spent their honeymoon there in the Santa Monica Mountains. They’d gone to the falls on a cloudy day, with rain on and off keeping the tourists away. They’d made love under the falls, taking pleasure in the heat of each other’s bodies contrasting against the cold rushing water.

  When Minerva stepped into the shower it was like being there again, but a total contrast in temperature. The heat of the shower rained down on her, the dual heads covering her body with water like a monsoon. Her eyes were beginning to get used to the darkness and she could see water all around her, sparkling in whatever light must be leaking into the house from the moon.

  She’d lost Bram at some point and reached out with both hands, panicking—where had he gone? Her eyes searched the shadows blindly. Her fingers found him first, his skin now wet and slick. She pulled him close, digging her nails into his back, remembering the roughness of his male skin, skating downward to the light dusting of hair on his ass. She pulled him against her, fixing her mouth on his nipples, his chest, his arms, his shoulders, wanting to taste all of him. And she could now. Her senses were filling in. The rush of the water around her echoed in her ears and the clean scent of it mixed with that citrus Earl Grey of Bram that she so remembered.

  “I can smell you,” she told him and she leaned in to him, inhaling. His chest moved against hers and she imagined him doing the same. What would she smell like? Sweat from the stress of the show? Sandalwood like her shampoo? Something else?

  Whatever it was, it clearly pleased him. His cock was hard again between her legs.

  “Take me, Bram.” She closed her eyes, spreading her legs…

  And then she opened her eyes and they were there, in her memory, under the falls. The roar of the water was a hundred times louder than her shower could have produced. The water was cold and she snuggled into her new husband’s body for warmth. As it ran down their bodies it felt like a thousand tiny icicles piercing their skins. And the stars—they were so beautiful, just as she remembered.

  “Look,” she said to him, pointing skyward at seven bright stars. “It’s the Pleiades.”

  Now she could see his face, the tan skin, dark, heavy brows, the boyish dimples as he gazed at her, too enraptured to look heavenward to the stars. He was as young as when they’d married.

  But no, not as young. She could see the slight silvering of the skin by his bottom lip, a scar from a football game he’d played with her brothers. He’d received that scar at least five years after their honeymoon. Then he was as young as the day he’d died. A ghost.

  Water ran through his hair, turning it black and plastering it to his cheeks. He grinned at her, perfect white teeth, full lips and that tiny scar, so familiar. She pulled him close. They kissed again, tongues dancing, battling for supremacy, proclaiming their love.

  In between kisses she said it again, “I’ve missed you,” and she heard his baritone say it back. Somehow she heard him over the falls, though she remembered that on that day they couldn’t hear each other at all. “Minerva, Minerva, I’ve missed you so much. I want you. Watching you every day for this long—you have no idea how much I’ve wanted you.”

  With that he finally thrust inside her. Just as they had over a decade ago on their honeymoon, they tripped and fell against the rocks, laughing, Minerva’s back scraping against the cliff face and Bram apologizing, all the while with his cock inside her.

  “You’re hurt,” he said.

  “Nothing to apologize for, my love,” she said and she grabbed at his ass, pulling his cock in deeper. He held her against the rocks, bracing her firmly in his arms so she wouldn’t slip, and thrust into her again and again, the girth of him filling her completely. She watched his eyes, the pupils dilated with pleasure. She clutched her inner muscles against him and he leaned forward, whispering in her ear. They fought jokingly against each other, Minerva squeezing tight and holding his cock inside her, Bram pulling out slowly, deliciously, before moving with a hard, quick thrust to end up inside her again. His hands held her upright while hers wandered in his hair, across his back, down his chest, wanting to feel every part of him that she’d missed all these years.

  But of course it couldn’t go on forever. They reached a fever-pitch, with him panting in her ear, thrusting faster, in time with the rushing of the waterfall overhead. She felt his release inside her. Her body shuddered as she came and came again, the stress of the day evaporating with the water, falling far below them into the rushing stream.

  She let heavy eyelids fall. He pulled out of her, his cum trickling from between her legs in time with the water. Everything was a haze of liquid, the roar of the waterfall melding into the smooth rush of water from her showerhead. The throbbing between her legs coupled with the sound of the water filled her with a sense of purpose and power. Minerva leaned back and her skin slipped over the tile surface of the wall, smooth where the cliffside had been rocky.

  She opened her eyes and she was in her bathroom shower, alone once more.

  Minerva gasped out loud at the loss of him. She couldn’t see him, even the shadow of him in the darkness of the bathroom, or feel his cock inside her. She reached out blindly with her hands but there was nothing in front of her except the controls for the shower. She reluctantly turned the tap and the water stuttered to a halt.

  In the darkness, she wrung out her hair. Her physical movements were on autopilot while her mind raced. Where was Bram? Had that been real or had the waterfall simply been in her mind? If it had been a figment of her imagination, was he as well? Why, then, did she feel as if she’d just been completely and utterly fucked? Why was she feeling the aftermath of an orgasm still rattling happily through her body?

  Her legs were numb as she stepped out of the shower. She grabbed a red towel from the rack and enveloped herself in its plushness, burying her face in the warmth. She wanted to cry an ocean at his loss, but her body refused to cooperate. No tears came and she stood, face buried in the towel, mourning him all over again.

  But the pleasure between her legs had told her otherwise, hadn’t it?

  She wasn’t sure.

  When Minerva finally pulled on her robe, not bothering with panties or pajamas beneath it, slipping into bed beneath her Egyptian cotton sheets, she thought she heard, I love you, Nerv.

  Was it only in her head?

  “I love you, Bram,” she replied.

  She closed her eyes and, in the aftermath of an orgasm and a memory, she fell into a deep sleep.

  It didn’t last long.

  Chapter Eight

  Bram

  He almost felt human again.

  Seven years of watching his wife had been torture. Seven years of wanting desperately to call out to her, to touch her, to thrust his cock deep inside her, ejaculating semen farther than he could reach in order to claim her once more as his—if he weren’t dead already, he’d say the anticipation had nearly killed him.

  What exquisite pleasure to have her again.

  He�
�d observed her over the years. It had broken his heart to see her standing at his grave, crying, her chest heaving until she ran helplessly to the cemetery gardens, grief forcing her to puke up her lunch in the flowers. It caused him no end of pain to hear her curse him late at night, when she wandered by the pool with insomnia, asking him why he’d lied to her, gambled away their small savings, betrayed her by his foolish actions.

  He’d done it for her.

  How ridiculous that sounded, even to himself, but it was true—that’s how it had started. Poker with a few friends had been harmless. He’d been good at it. He’d learned from Nerv over the years they’d been together—she had a natural gift for reading a person that she’d taught him. It was perfect for determining a player’s tells. He’d won a hundred here, a hundred there, just for fun. He’d played with coworkers on Fridays, just a way to pass the time while Minerva was filming TV pilots, and Bram had soon fleeced the English teacher who had family money to spare. Ms. Henley had taken it good-naturedly, passing over several thousand in one night, which Bram had used to buy Minerva’s engagement ring.

  Playing at school had soon turned into playing at an infamous Santa Monica bar. Then the bars had gotten shabbier and more dangerous, in worse and worse areas of town. The players had gotten better and the stakes higher. A bad night meant tens of thousands in debt.

  A bad month meant they were going to lose the house.

  A bad winter led to Bram tied to a marble table that Victor Grayson called his “altar” as Bram bled, screaming, while his heart was cut from his body.

  Had Minerva truly forgiven him? Could she?

  He had to believe it was possible or he would go mad. Certainly the way she’d gasped in his arms tonight had told him yes—but did she even fathom that he was real?

  Bram lived so much in his own head these days that the footsteps outside the house didn’t register at first. The quiet female voice of the alarm saying “Disarmed” simply blended into the night.