by Suzanne Rock
"Oh my.” Rose placed her palm to her chest, embarrassed at having walking in on such an intimate moment but unable to tear her attention away from the gorgeous men before her. The desire she felt earlier spiked to new levels, and she felt her heartbeat quicken.
The tall, dark-haired man never slowed his movements. As he drew back, he raised his head and met Rose's gaze. A sultry smile passed over his lips as he drove his cock deep inside the man before him.
Rose wanted to run, but the man's gaze held her immobile. Need slid down her center and made her legs shake. Intercourse with her husband had only been a quick obligation to marital duties. She had heard that the act could be enjoyed but never really believed it. The fact that it was happening between two men only heightened her interest.
What they were doing was illegal, punishable by death, and yet it didn't seem to matter to them. She knew that she should be shocked at their behavior, but instead of being appalled, she was intrigued.
Their movements were so joyous and uninhibited, and Rose craved that kind of freedom in her own life. She wanted the same wild abandon, the same recklessness.
The image fascinated her, excited her. Desire slipped like silken fingers around her body. She wanted to touch them, to feel their skin next to her own. Were they real or just some figment of her imagination? If it was a dream, then she didn't want to ever wake up.
A small bead of sweat trickled down her neck, then slipped under the edge of her dress and dipped into the channel between her breasts. Her nipples became hard and painful, her undergarments wet.
Rose watched silently as the thrusts became quicker, harder. Before she knew what she was doing, she widened her stance, then eased her hand along the front of her dress and cupped the thick fabric over her breasts. She longed to free them and ease some of the torturous ache.
The dark-haired man looked up at her and smiled, a special twisting of the lips that seemed to be reserved for her alone. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, losing himself to the moment. The blond man's moans turned into cries. They moved hard and fast, and Rose sensed that the men were on the verge of something extraordinary. She moved her fingers over her nipples in time with the thrusts, but the thick fabric prevented her from finding any real enjoyment. She resisted the sudden urge to throw off her dress and plunge her fingers into her cunny like she had done on so many lonely nights before. Instead she kept her focus on the men, not wanting to miss a moment of the erotic exchange.
The blond man's eyes opened, and she could see the mixture of pain and pleasure in his features. His cries rose louder as he strained against his bindings. Rose held her breath as the tension in the air grew. She could almost feel the man's yearning, his desire. She sensed his body stretching toward something big and beautiful and wanted to join him in that special place. Pressure rose in her lower abdomen, and she leaned against the doorway to keep from falling over.
"Lionel.” The blond man cried, and his whole body shivered. The air shifted, and a breeze kissed Rose's skin. The curtains on the window rustled, and more light spilled into the room. Rose's desire soared to new levels as the image of the two men flickered. The dark-haired man groaned as his thrusts became jerkier and more sporadic.
Then the curtains settled, and the dark-haired man thrust one last time. Rose held her breath as the air filled with erotic tension. Then something snapped, and the pent-up emotion exploded around her. Rose covered her mouth to keep from crying out as her desire snapped and she became bathed in pleasure. For one brief, glorious moment, she felt connected to these two men in a way she had never felt connected to anyone before. She felt their pain, their frustrations, their pleasure. Oh, the pleasure. It was so rich and glorious, like a soft, velvety blanket sliding along her skin. She had no idea that such feelings were even possible.
Both men shuddered. The darker-haired one bowed his head, his long, inky locks covering his face.
The room fell silent. For a long, agonizing moment, Rose was afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. She didn't want to break the sensual spell that had been cast around them. She watched as the dark-haired man leaned over his lover and placed a chaste kiss in the middle of his spine, then whispered something unintelligible in his ear. The bound man turned his head and met the other's lips in a gentle, affectionate kiss.
Rose shivered as a deep longing filled her soul. She imagined it was her that he had tied up, her that he kissed. She moistened her lips as he untied the blond man's hands with amazing gentleness. When the last knot was undone, the blond man rolled over onto his back. The dark-haired man reached out and ran his fingers over his lover's cock, caressing it from root to tip with easy, gentle strokes. The blond man shuddered as his limp member began to swell once more.
Rose's eyes widened as she moved her attention to the dark-haired man. He watched her with thoughtful almond-colored eyes. “Perhaps next time you'd like to join us."
The glow around the men intensified; then their bodies started to fade. Rose squeaked, ran out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.
Her heart thudded as she turned and pressed her back against the door. Did she just see what she thought she saw? Rose covered her breasts, as if the small action could protect her innocence.
What had she seen? She wasn't sure. The men were there, but they weren't, some apparitions that flickered in the fading light. Rose moved her hands down and covered her still-aching nipples as she thought of the tall, dark-haired man thrusting, sweat glistening off the sinews of muscle in his chest and abdomen.
Whoever those men were, they seemed to have a curious effect on her body. She had never felt such a strong need for sex before. The sensations both frightened and intrigued her. The men were so large and powerful, and yet after sex, they seemed to be so gentle and affectionate with each other. Could sex be more than just a spousal duty? Perhaps even pleasurable? She would have to see the act again, just to be sure.
For the first time, Rose considered the possibility that Lady Denville's claims had merit. But...ghosts? It defied all rational thinking, and yet she couldn't deny what she saw, what she felt.
Supposing for the moment that those two men were indeed apparitions, how could she get rid of them? And if she did manage to make them go away, would the passion she felt go away as well? Rose didn't like the thought of returning to the cold, emotionless existence she had led her entire life. The men appeared to be filled with such strong emotions while having intercourse, so lusty and full of life. More than anything, she wanted that for herself, but how?
Rose knew there was only one way to get her questions answered. She was going to have to face the men in the bedroom once more.
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Chapter Two
Rose couldn't stand out in the hallway all night.
For one thing, it was chilly. She shivered as another cool breeze brushed like a lover's caress over her already taut nipples. She closed her eyes and thought about what she just experienced in the bedroom. It had been so erotic, so incredible, and neither of them had even touched her.
She had never thought of herself as someone who liked to watch lewd acts performed in front of her, but seeing those two men did something to her body that was hard to ignore. She felt such strong desire while watching them and wondered what it would be like to participate. The thought of entwining herself between the two hard males made her skin heat and the muscles in her limbs turn to water.
What was happening to her? She had never been this wanton before.
It was something about this house, those men, that was making her feel this way. That had to be it. Rose hated to think that deep down she was a sexual deviant. Good women of the ton never behaved in such a lewd manner. To have sex with two men at the same time! Those acts were reserved for courtesans, not a young dowager who'd spent most of her time doing charity work.
Regardless of her feelings, she had a job to do. Rose had promised Lady Denville she'd get rid of the ghosts in the townh
ouse, and she never went back on her promises. So what was she going to do?
Her options were clear. On one hand, she could ask the ghosts to leave. She'd use her best manners, of course. Although, considering what had just happened, propriety might seem silly. Still, she was English through and through, and the English were nothing if not proper.
What if the ghosts didn't want to leave?
Then her only other option would be to find some clue in the house as to why they were there and how to get rid of them. She ignored the hole that formed in her chest at the thought of sending the ghosts away. She only just saw them. It was ridiculous to feel such a strong attachment.
Why did she feel like this? The sudden urge to touch and fondle them was so strong that it almost overcame her common sense. It scared her. Rose had lived her entire life devoid of any emotion. Day after day, she did what others expected of her, never really considering her own feelings. Now, ever since coming to this house, she has been feeling once more. Everything crashed into her in an overwhelming rush. She didn't know what to do with them.
What if she was unable to control her actions? What if those ghosts hurt her? She fought an impulse to run from the house and never look back. It was getting dark, and a young woman running alone in the streets of London was dangerous. No, she would have to wait until the morning to leave.
So what should she do next—question the ghosts or search the house for clues?
Rose stepped away from the door and stared at the gold-plated knob. There was no more light pouring through the cracks, no more low moans or whispers. Were they even still in there?
Her breath caught as images of the two men, one dark-haired and one light, came to mind. Her body heated as she thought of them in the throes of passion, muscles bunched, sweat glistening from their skin. The dark-haired one had invited her to be a part of their escapade. His words offered danger, excitement, and sparked a dull ache between her legs. There was no doubt about it; approaching the men was more preferable to searching the house. Rose had spent twenty-three years living the life of normalcy, and she was tired of it. She wanted adventure and excitement, and the two men she had just seen seemed to exemplify those traits. Why shouldn't she take advantage of such an opportunity?
Rose placed the extinguished candle on a nearby table, reached out, and turned the door handle before she could think better of her decision.
The men had finished whatever they'd started. The dark-haired man had left, leaving the blond to his own devices. The blond had sprawled out on the bed in a dressing robe as blue as the ocean, a book in his hand. His long hair hung loose like a mane around his thin face and reflected the light from the nearby candle. Long, muscular legs poked out from underneath the robe and stretched out over the deep crimson coverlet. The same crimson velvet and gold trim rolled along the carpet and crawled up the walls. This room, like the hallway, contained dark-colored furniture. The bedposts, armoire, and small desk were all made of the same type of wood.
After a brief scan of the room, Rose stared at the man before her. He seemed more godlike than human. His features were angular, his eyes a brilliant blue that matched his robe. His jaw had a dusting of hair that she found attractive in a rugged sort of way. An image of him strapped to the bed, his body taut and straining, filled her mind. A dull ache formed in her lower abdomen and ran through her torso like a vine, twisting and stretching until all her muscles tightened with anticipation. For a long, exciting moment, Rose stood motionless under the gorgeous man's spell.
If she was ever to learn why these two apparitions were in Lady Denville's home, then she needed to get a grip on her emotions. Rose fought down her craving and tried to think of something to say. How did one address a ghost?
As she contemplated her approach, the air changed, and another cool breeze rushed past her skin. The blond's image flickered like a candle flame, then extinguished. Rose's desire faded along with the image, and panic took its place.
She put her hand to her chest. What just happened? Where had he gone?
More than anything she wished the strange, mysterious man would return. She told herself she only wanted to ask him why he was staying in Lady Denville's home, but deep down, she really wanted to run her fingers through his long, blond mane, then stare in his eyes as she caressed the trail of stubble along his jaw. Her chest tightened with longing as she imagined his receptiveness to her attention. Next she was kissing a line down the sinuous planes of his chest; then she was stroking his erection and straddling him with her legs on the bed...
The air changed once more, and Rose felt the familiar breeze caress her skin. Then the man of her thoughts solidified as if nothing had happened. How did he do that?
The man looked up from his book. “Back so soon?"
Rose's breath caught. The man's voice was soft and rich, like fine silk across her skin. A tendril of desire made its way through her center, burning up her fear and setting fire to every inch of skin in its path. Her throat went dry as he turned his lips up into a half smile.
"Well? Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come in?"
His words snapped her out of her daydream. Rose shut the door and took two steps into the room. “How can you talk? I thought you were dead."
The apparition smiled. “No, not dead.” He looked down at his body. “At least not yet."
Interesting. Rose had thought that ghosts, by definition, were the spirits of dead people. Maybe she was wrong about that. “I-I've come to discover why you and your friend have taken up residence in Lady Denville's house."
"That old biddy?” The man snorted and snapped his book shut. “That foul woman is in our house. Not the other way around."
Rose sensed his rising anger, his frustration. They reached out across the room, crackling through the air like a bolt of lightning. She felt a strange connection with this man, one she couldn't quite explain. His sense of injustice burrowed its way deep into her heart. Rose resisted the urge to rush over and ease his fears by holding him close to her breast. Why did she want to soothe him? It didn't make any sense. This was Lady Denville's house; she had bought it a couple of months ago when her old townhouse no longer suited her. The transaction didn't hold a bit of scandal. If the blond's claims were true, then the information would have been all over London by now.
She gathered her thoughts. “Excuse me? Lady Denville bought this townhouse from the former owner and moved in to prepare for the London Season. I'm sure she could show you the paperwork."
The man frowned and tossed the book onto the bed. “That woman and the family before her were trespassers, nothing more. Good riddance."
Clearly this line of questioning wasn't working. She needed to change the subject. Rose glanced at the title on the edge of the book.
"You read Byron,” she observed.
"'I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves.'” He glanced at his book. “Yes, I read Byron. Among others. Do you like him?"
"Very much so."
Rose couldn't help but stare at his face. Those deep blue eyes pulled her closer, and before she could form a coherent thought, she was closing the distance between them.
"Everyone should read Lord Byron, if given the opportunity.” The blond man sat up on the bed and held out his hand toward her.
Rose ignored his hand and stopped at the edge of the mattress, mere inches away from his face. “Who are you?"
He smiled, a beautiful, sensual smile that showed off a boyish dimple in his cheek. “I think a better question is, who are you?” His gaze slide down her body like a caress. “I bet you're someone very special."
"People say that I can talk to ghosts,” she said. “But I don't believe them.” Where had that come from? It was odd, how she wanted to share everything with this man. She didn't even know him.
The man's lips twitched. “Are you sure about that?"
"You said that you weren't dead. Are you real, then?” Her voice falte
red on the question. Even though she was talking to him, looking at him, she found it hard to believe. Everything that had happened since entering the townhouse had felt like a dream.
"Of course.” He waved his hands to his sides, as if welcoming her to touch his body and see for herself.
"But you're a ghost.” She shook her head. “No, there's no such things as ghosts. You must be a dream."
"I beg to differ."
She frowned. “What... How..."
He picked up the volume of Byron and placed it on the bedside table. “Why am I here? Because this is my home.” He waved his arm around them. “What's left of it anyway.” His grin dissolved into a frown. “I can't help you with the how."
She reached out and touched his forearm. The dressing gown's fabric was warm and soft to the touch. “You feel real, like me."
"You're real?” He inched away from her touch. “You're not some other apparition passing through?"
"Of course I'm real."
His eyes widened, as if he just realized something. He looked at his arm. “How can you touch me, then?” He dragged his gaze back up to hers. “And how can I touch you?” He reached out, then hesitated, his hand inches away from her face. “May I?"
"Of course."
He swallowed, then brushed a stray blonde lock from her forehead. “Oh my...” He slid his fingers down and cupped her cheek. “I can touch you."
She covered his hand with her own. “And I can touch you.” Was that significant? Rose didn't know. The man sure seemed to be acting strange.
He shook his head. “I haven't touched anyone from the real world since...” He blinked, then seemed to remember himself. The man removed his hand from her grasp and lowered it to his side. “You must be a witch."
