by Ellen March
Breece.
She sighed and tried to picture a man with that name. She wondered what he would look like. Hot and horny, she decided. A young, muscled, charming warrior who wanted to ravish her.
And by Christ she was ready for some serious ravishing. Grace decided that the fantasy of Breece, along with her high tech vibrator from the real world, would be the perfect bed mates.
Chapter Four
Breece cast his eyes around the lounge, at the empty wine bottles littering the floor. He couldn’t figure out what had happened. Had he gotten pissed up and wandered into a strange house? Picked up a girl and come back to her place?
He didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that he felt confused, strange. He also wondered why he had his training clothes on. Why would he have been out on the pull wearing a T-shirt and joggers? It didn’t make sense.
Suddenly a woman walked into the room. She ambled past him as if he wasn’t there. And one thing Breece knew was that no female ever ignored him.
“Hey,” he called.
She continued to snub him. Standing in front of the mirror, she weaved and stumbled. Her fingers locked into the end of the plait of hair she struggled to unfurl.
Breece realised she was drunk. “Oi, I’m talking to you.”
“She can’t hear you,” said a male voice from behind him.
Breece jumped and stared at the man before him. He wore an old fashioned costume and looked as if he’d just stepped out of Pride & Prejudice. That was the one period film he’d watched, and only because someone—he couldn’t remember who, but it must have been a woman—had insisted.
Breece glanced back at the woman, who continued to ignore him; however, she’d managed to loosen her hair. It fell around her hips in a blaze of fire. He felt his cock twitch. He loved long hair, and had the crazy urge to trail his fingers through it. “What do you mean, that she’s deaf?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her, my friend.” The man with the long sideburns grinned. “It’s you.”
“Me? What are you talking about?”
“You’re dead.”
“Run that by me again?” Breece brushed a hand through his hair and wondered what lunatic asylum this man had escaped from.
“You’re dead, have been for a quite a few years. But not as long as me, obviously.”
“Fuck off.” He looked around. At any moment someone would run in and shout, “Joke.”
“It’s true, my friend, and that lady over there summoned you.”
Breece scrubbed a hand over his eyes and shook his head. “I think I’d better go. I don’t know how I got here, but I’m leaving. Now!”
“Go on, touch her.”
Breece paused and turned. His gaze once again fell on the woman. He sucked in a breath and slowly, almost against his will, moved towards her. Something attracted him. She exerted a strong pull, one he’d never experienced before. He came to stand behind her and stared into the mirror. His reflection gazed back.
“I can see myself.”
“You’re a ghost, not a vampire,” chuckled the stranger.
“Funny fucker,” muttered Breece. The female was still ignoring him. He touched her shoulder, but she didn’t flinch. Merely raised her hand and rubbed at the spot, as if it were an itch.
He moved to stand in front of her and wave his hands.
She continued to stare through him. Breece leaned forward. He was close, so close he could feel the heat of her body. Almost taste the wine on her lips.
Then she turned, and on her way out of the room, flicked the switch. They were bathed in darkness, except that Breece could still see the stranger. He glowed, a soft blue-white light surrounding him. Glancing in the mirror, he saw that same glow around his own body.
He sank into the nearby chair and cradled his head in his hands. “I can’t be dead! I can’t.”
“Afraid you are. I just popped along to explain a few matters to you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Breece could feel his already short temper grow shorter.
“Things that you’re going to need to know.”
“How? How did I die?” Breece couldn’t believe he was asking the question at all. He was still convinced it had to be a joke. Yet nothing supported that theory.
“Let’s see.” The stranger rummaged in a bag that looked oddly like a large school satchel. “Ah, here it is.” He frowned and read from the sheet of paper. “Seems like you were involved in a hit and run accident.”
Breece stared at him, at the paper he held.
“You were killed instantly. I always thought jogging was bad for you.”
“Please tell me I’m not having this conversation.” Breece shook his head in disbelief.
“Afraid so. Think of me as a welcome committee of sorts.”
“What the hell are you talking about now? And why can’t I remember anything about myself?”
“All you’ll recall about yourself is your name. What means the most to you? Any emotional attachments will be erased from your memory.”
“Like family?”
“Yes, that will make your new life easier.”
“I’m dead. How does that work?” His voice rose in frustration.
“You don’t have to check them out. Everyone you loved is extinct. All you’ll remember are your bodily needs.”
He scrubbed a worried hand through his dark hair. “I’m so not having this conversation.”
The stranger continued, “I like to explain the way of things to new arrivals who appear here unexpectedly through a séance.” He cricked his head. “Unless of course it’s a bad spirit who’s been summoned. Those I keep well away from.”
Breece opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“Now, once you find your feet, you’ll be able to have some fun.”
“I’m dead. I’m a ghost. How the hell can that happen?” Breece shook his head.
“Believe me, you can. At the moment the female who called you can’t see or hear you.” He folded his paper up and placed it back in his satchel. “But gradually, as your power grows, so will your abilities.”
“What? I turn into superman and fly?”
The small man ignored Breece’s sarcasm. “Your first sense will be touch. She’ll feel you, then hear you, then eventually, when you allow it, she will see you.”
“And that’s when she’ll freak out?”
“Stop being flippant.”
“Well, excuse me, but it’s not every day I find myself dead. Learning the A to Z rule book of ghosts is a bit daunting.”
Again his remark was flouted. “When you appear to her, it will be your choice, and she’ll be the only one who can see you.”
“Yeah, and …?”
“And just because you’re dead, that doesn’t mean your sexual urges were buried along with your body.”
That perked him up. “You mean I can still fuck?”
“Yes, my friend, you can, and now I leave you.” He glanced down at his fob watch. “Another portal has opened. Time to break the news to someone else.”
Breece stared as the image of the man faded. His satchel under his arm, he put his hat jauntily on his head and disappeared.
“Oh shit!” Breece realized it was true. He was actually dead.
Then he remembered the woman upstairs, and the fact he could still use his prick. Because that’s all he’d ever lived for, at least that’s what he recalled. He’d kept his muscles honed to perfection to impress. He’d worked out regularly and kept fit.
A temple to be worshipped by a string of beauties … although he couldn’t remember any of them.
And then some fucker had to run him down.
* * *
Grace staggered into the bedroom, attempted to set her alarm and knocked it to the floor.
“Shit.” She stared down at the clock, and dragging at her clothes, flung them off to pool alongside it. Flicking her hair back, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Grace paused, studying it. Turning
to the side, she tried to suck her stomach in. Then she swivelled, attempting to examine her ass. She was not happy with the way it was going. Down.
Christ, she was only twenty eight, yet by all accounts she had the backside of a woman years older. She toyed with the idea of jogging, but with her tits, she’d end up with nipple burn.
Breece strolled in, glad she’d left the door open. He wasn’t sure about going through obstacles yet but assumed he could. Hell, he still couldn’t wrap his head around being dead.
Then he stopped.
Breece stared at the woman before him, who was busy examining herself in the mirror, stark naked. He felt his cock harden, relieved that the weird stranger hadn’t lied about that. Yet the fact that she aroused him even though she was so different from what he usually liked in his women bothered him.
Another thought soon followed: how did he know that? Finally he went with his instincts. He tried to work out what it was about her, and decided it had to be the naturalness—nothing fake, no silicone tits, no hair extensions, and no plastic surgery. She stood before him as nature intended.
It sent a shiver of excitement over him. It also left him with a question: how did he know so much about fake women?
He watched her weave to the wardrobe. She bent over, and he couldn’t resist crossing to her. His hand caressed her backside. Christ, it was a peach of a bum, one he’d like to bite.
Grace rummaged in the box, searching for her vibrator. A whisper of a tickle touched the cheek of her ass, and she scratched at it. At last gripping her toy, she rose and turned to the bed. Falling backwards, she flicked it on, but then realized she’d left the light blazing. But Grace couldn’t move. She lay there in a drunken haze—the need to come her only focus.
Hell, she couldn’t live with nothing but a weekly sex session!
Breece raised a brow and watched her open her legs for the large vibrator. A low groan rumbled as she slid it in. He rubbed his hand over his cock, which was hard and hungry. He wasn’t sure how many years he’d been dead, but he was as horny as fuck.
Grace thrust the vibrator in deep, but she needed more, a lot more, and arched into it deeper still. Even drunk she knew she wasn’t going to have an orgasmic explosion. A small circle of heat flared and fluttered in her belly, and she gave a little whimper. It wasn’t happening. She flung the gadget onto the floor in irritation.
Rolling onto her stomach, she closed her eyes and passed out. One hand was flung to the side and dangled off the bed; her legs were spread-eagled.
Breece swallowed, hard. He wanted to fuck her. But hell, she was unconscious. He glanced down at his dick, which ridged his joggers and strained hard beneath the material. His decision made, he tugged his clothes off and carefully slid in beside her.
Unsure what to expect, Breece worried that he’d dissolve into her. Also, would he be able to feel her skin? Relief washed over him; it was exactly as he’d remembered. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d actually had sex with, but sensed what he liked and let his libido be driven by instinct.
And she wouldn’t remember a thing. At least for now. In time she would, if she’d really called him, was the cause of him being here. The least she could do was to let him use her body.
And fuck her whenever he wanted.
He dropped a kiss to her shoulder, and her skin shivered beneath his lips. The reaction was slight, but he felt it. He slipped his cock between her legs, rubbing it across her fanny, and her ass gave a small push back. A faint groan fluttered from her open mouth.
Her lips whispered his name. It gusted out on a small breath of air: “Breeeeece ….” That was enough to seal her fate.
She’d called him forth, and she wanted him.
Slowly he pushed home, sunk his cock into her and filled her till he was balls deep. He didn’t care if she was almost comatose. What he wanted was release.
* * *
Grace moved. She felt herself being fucked. Her dream was awesome and she bucked back against the heady thrusts that slammed against her ass. “Oh God, Breece, I need it faster, faster.” A loud groan escaped her throat, her clit squealed, and her sex clenched as she pushed hard against his hand. Her fanny felt attacked by a battering ram, and she loved it.
She tried to remain in her dream, to submit to her fantasy. To give her body to the man of her dreams.
Breece groaned and held onto her. His cock deep inside, he fucked her hard. The thought came to him that he was dead screwing an unconscious woman having a wet dream.
Was he going to wake up to his own fantasy?
He quickly dismissed these thoughts and turned his attention to the woman writhing beneath him. He could tell she enjoyed it, her body reacting instinctively to his cock. She thrashed back against each lunge. She was pissed but she wasn’t paralyzed, and so he continued to surge into her.
Grace groaned. Her dream swept her along the path to Breece, the Viking warrior she envisioned—a sexy demigod in a short outfit. One from the era of the Roman Empire, a tunic that showed off his heavily muscled legs, legs that were pinning her down as he thrust into her. Again she canted back against the cock that drove into her with the power and tenacity of a freight train.
She couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her lips; his driving thrusts were turning her into his helpless, willing slave. Every slam enslaved her further, played along each taut nerve, and she welcomed them. Arching her back, Grace took everything he gave her as he fucked her senseless. Her hands gripped the sheets, and she twisted them in a tight hold.
“Oh Christ!” she cried, her eyes tightly shut, her clit in charge. It itched and burned, ached and hurt with the need to come.
“Yes, baby!” Breece growled. He stayed hooked over her and bit at her shoulder, his hips twisting and gyrating as he tunnelled in deep. “Come for me now!”
“Oh shit, oh Christ, oh my God!” Grace writhed against him and began to climax hard into his hand. She groaned and yelled as she squirmed beneath him, taking every inch he gave her.
“Fucking hell,” cried Breece as his hips merged with hers, blistering across every inch of flesh along her ass. He came, over and over. Years of spunk made its way into her sex.
At last sated, he glanced down and noted that she’d dropped back to sleep. For one moment she’d actually looked alive, awake, but as soon as she’d climaxed, she’d collapsed again.
He held her close, kept his cock deep inside her. And wondered how she would cope when she could hear him and see him.
Shit, being a ghost wasn’t easy. He wished he’d asked the stranger more questions.
Chapter Five
Grace slapped at the alarm screaming on the floor, its incessant ringing tearing through her hangover. She moaned and flung the sheet back, and struggling to rise, debated pulling a sickie. But she knew that if she did, Sage would descend. He’d take one whiff of her breath and book her into an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
Then she recalled her sexy dream.
It had been so real, even down to the tenderness between her thighs. She stroked her fingers across her sex, and they came back sticky. All she could think was that it had been one hell of an orgasm last night. Grace hoped she could repeat the experience and dissolve into more hedonistic delights tonight.
She stumbled to the shower.
Breece watched from the wall he leaned against and casually fisted himself.
So what if she wasn’t his usual type? There was something about her natural beauty that appealed to him. Vague images blew through his head, misty visions. Visions that contained designer clothes, hip places to be seen at. The woman accompanying him in those clothes to those places would be nothing like this one.
The visions faded, but they left a lasting impression. He hadn’t spoken to this woman, didn’t know her, and she was so far removed from the images he had just recalled it caused him to doubt himself. But were they really memories or wishes?
He wanted to know when he’d be able to speak to her and materialize. Finall
y he shrugged his massive shoulders. As long as he could still get in her knickers, he didn’t much care.
* * *
Grace stood beneath the shower. The water sprayed over her and she arched her head back, welcoming the refreshing onslaught. Grasping the shower gel, she began soaping her body. Her hand slipped between her legs, and she frowned; she definitely felt soreness there. As if she’d been given a good going over. She wondered what the hell she’d done with her hand; obviously she’d masturbated with more force than usual. Judging by the tenderness and the vivid images of her dream, she’d really gone to town on herself.
Quickly drying herself, she dropped the towel and wandered into the bedroom. Her hangover still lingered. But so did the ache between her legs.
* * *
Breece had finished his hand job and lay draped over the bed, watching her dress. He wondered where she was going. Most likely work. He decided to go along with her.
Breece wasn’t impressed with her driving, and was relieved when they’d arrived, although he had to reason nothing could happen. He was already dead, after all. But somehow there was still that crazy smidgeon of doubt. Was he in a dream, was any of this real? He looked up at the huge white building. A large sign hung outside: Our Lady of Neamh Hospital. The car park she’d driven into was accessed by a gate, and another sign hung there: Employees Only.
He grinned and bet she was a nurse. Just think of the games they could play—doctors and nurses!
A wicked smirk played around his lips. He’d give her an examination, all right!
He watched her fuss and tug at her plaited hair. Breece preferred it down; she looked years older with it twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. His gaze lit on her tits and he couldn’t resist cupping one tempting breast, his finger rubbing across her nipple.
He grinned as she swiped her hand over his. Sheer devilment rode him, and he pinched down.
Grace let out a shriek and rubbed at her nipple. She glanced around and peered inside her bra, convinced something was in there, a spider maybe. She shuddered.
